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Geoffery Mchugh Poem
It has been DECADES!
And yet, for some ridiculous reason, we
still choose to TIE our shoes and
BUTTON our trousers, ZIP our
blouses.
How ridiculous.
When Man first invented the wheel, do
you suppose that there were some naysayers who said;
"I'm still going to drag my loads through the dirt on a rope. It was
good enough for my father and by gawd it's good enough for me!"
I doubt it.
So. (BUTTONS FLYS LACES)
Why do we stoop to such Medieval methods of
attatchment Today?
Who knows. But I eagerly await the day that Velcro finally
gets the credit it rightfully deserves.
Copyright © Geoffery Mchugh | Year Posted 2009
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Geoffery Mchugh Poem
Compressed air rose
In autumn air most lovely
Her mouth wide open
Copyright © Geoffery Mchugh | Year Posted 2009
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Geoffery Mchugh Poem
Hark!
Peanut butter and
Miracle Whip collide in coitus
between two slabs of pumpernickel.
Disgusting eugenics!
Copyright © Geoffery Mchugh | Year Posted 2009
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Geoffery Mchugh Poem
What hides beneath the busting red-tide waves, what wains?
Have you seen the Fat-white, would-be Samurai that lives 'round these parts?
To him you see, the
warrior code is the word of the fiery gods, and he
follows it to the letter:
Two minutes and 11 seconds on high, heat only
when thawed for best results.
A divine wind guides his every move, blossoms and bombs are his
orations, his
deeds are explosions over many oceans, an amalgam of
light and splendor, interracial
hues and shades of color illuminated by the bare bulb above his head.
Pin pricks dot his thumbs, shinto values are not the order of the day. Outside of
his house, we see his vista; a rising sun
shining through blackened thorns and smog.
The burrito is irradiated, ready
for consumption, a victim of the .00005 kiloton explosion within the off-brand microwave.
Our feudal soldier draws his fork from it's sheath, a
tsuba well worn and scarred.
Copyright © Geoffery Mchugh | Year Posted 2009
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Geoffery Mchugh Poem
There are frozen furrows in the Earth where
the plow made love to Terra.
It looks so pitiful in the dead of winter, with
no vegetable detritus on the ground to attest to any
kind of harvest.
For control over the forces of nature,
many have struck a blade into the earth and ruptured her
trust in spring. They say that when your cart is full of corn, it
is easy to counsel frugality to your neighbors.
This would have been a killing field, had the seeds been planted.
Had control been granted.
But it is icy.
Here the weak sun is rising to cast its pall light
on the scape where the would-be prometheus collapsed,
and his ventricles ceased to allow his defiance of the
Gods.
Copyright © Geoffery Mchugh | Year Posted 2009
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Geoffery Mchugh Poem
For external use only-
enter the dragon and the spore.
The mold.
Allergen and Alopecia.
enter the giant ceramic logger and the ballad of the
blown fuse.
This is the outtage of power
interim
buds begin to flower and birds breed where
apple blossoms shower on
the living pretense of
Astroturf.
Sweating now, the
father of the flame
the serf draws his kerchief from his shirt and
wipes his brow
raises his axe and slaughters the
pregnant sow.
The Universal Man by
Ted Davinci. or was it
Leonardo Kazinsky?
Copyright © Geoffery Mchugh | Year Posted 2009
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Geoffery Mchugh Poem
Excuse me sir, but
I always tend to wonder when
I think of you and
your awesome powers, your
infinite wisdom...
What in heaven or earth were you thinking when you created the Platypus?
Copyright © Geoffery Mchugh | Year Posted 2009
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Geoffery Mchugh Poem
What fools do sing of Karma?
Justice meted out like some kind of sick equation as though
any thoughts or theorems are constant.
I'm sure Pythagoras and Euclid would be very proud of all of us.
See this place and time:
Sigma batwings beat like boomerangs,
doors slamming out the dust-choked sunlight,
trapping sinners in the saint saloon.
An argument!
There at the corner table where
pink flesh meets inlaid wood and
the oily leather squeaks and cracks around the
ultimate geometry machine the
steel bed for brass and lead and rifling.
This is bar-graph justice, an
erxcercise in mean and percentage, or
was it median?
Bam!Bam!
Like a prophet fired from the kiln those bullets eat the air
between the foresight and the torso.
This is aborigional justice come
'round full circle on a decent man.
Copyright © Geoffery Mchugh | Year Posted 2009
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Geoffery Mchugh Poem
I
wish
the sky
were falling,
I really and truly
do. Why's that? you
say, following it up with
Why on earth would anyone
wish such a terrible thing? Well,
you see my fellow Americans, If
the Sky were really descending upon
us, intent on crushing us, It would elliminate
all fear of consequence in me, and I would stalk
the neighborhoods doing what I have wanted to do
for a very long time- Namely, I would find every daffy
car with those ridiculously bright blue and purple lights that
blind me and everyone else on the road at night, and I would
smash the lot of them until they were bits of broken glass- NO light
emmiting diode would escape my fiendish grasp! (And then I'll eat lasagna.)
Copyright © Geoffery Mchugh | Year Posted 2009
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Geoffery Mchugh Poem
I see a savior everywhere, I see
a prophet everyday, shining purple through the faces of
Teachers, Stockmen, Welders, Prostitutes.
Those halogens shine, pilot lights burning bright in
Cyan, Magenta, Hunter green and Mauve, stained-glass
saints made free from that flat and veined dimension.
Those are
Figurines,
translucent they bear before them brushes and
cisterns filled with lamb's blood, marking
the houses of the unlucky as they pass-
(they walk on hallowed ground not a place for me they walk with heads held high eyes up to
the sky contemplating visions I am not blessed enough to see)
Hushed voices in oaken pews speak
litany and mumble
Hymn, while doomed players act out the
stations of the cross within the
Lavish temple.
Ah!
see this rimmed with gold and platinum:
A chorus made for angles of war and angles of peace rides upon the
heavy air, gliding
upwards from the ladies choir.
I suspect that if Gabriel or Michael were to lend an ear and hear them, tears
would pour out from the heavens, covering the
world in a second flood, and
Once again, our
bastion of hope would land on Ararat, but
this time it would be a super-tanker.
Copyright © Geoffery Mchugh | Year Posted 2009
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