Poems Of Any Length

[Tarantism]

when did the jack of spades ask for callateral?

[Loricybin]

throw yourself

off that shelf....

 

dive into the moon beams,

the light streams over your head

screams, plays dead...

you just can't get up, can you?

 

ran?

 

you?

 

never,

 

you sitting and dicapitating

waiting for

some one some thing

no one no thing

snake in the box,

you're coiled

you're stuck

 

well, **** it.

suck it

off,

some jerk

cough,

 

some blowing playdough playboy,

hey though, seriously

vicariously

seriously scariously

fairies in my sleeves

but they leave...

 

going....

going....

splat.

[Loricybin]

someone somewhere no where sometime

danced.

 

entranced in the moonlight starbeams giving birth to earth bound colors beyond some disc wheel rainbow rainblowing bubbles at hubbles that spied night glows stone throws away to universe city university varsity cheer leaders

 

who led the cheer for murder.

 

they led cheers for hate and crime and hating times of peace, solitude, good will.

 

christ, you christians are christening glistening stones that no one knows.

 

made up fairy tales point fingers at "sin"

let it begin.

 

let it start, let it shine, let it off, allow the "swine".

 

what is the real problem here?

the real problem here is that there is no problem.

we have to create a false importance to carry on because of all the lies. we can't (we is society as a whole) accept what's true, cuz they feed you the falsehood stew of "reality within society"

 

what a bunch of bullshit....

people magazine

celebrity paparazi...

"you can have 7 milion dollars f or this photograph of some shiny person on an unshiny day"

 

why the craving for disaster?

why the craving for a master-

-race.

 

space

time

 

sour

lime

 

floating about some spectral pallette.

mallet.

smash.

destroy the maim the contain the sustain the fight the kill the forget the ending now the....

[Loricybin]

go

go

go

go

 

know

go

go

go

 

no

go

now

go

 

now you know.

now? no.

no way, jose.

sand, jose.

 

crumbling off the santa cruz beach clothes

soaked from a lovely day in the sun with mother earth, mother ocean, and our big brother Sol.

 

Luna, You-na are Beaut-a-FULL tonight.

i love you sweet sister of my rock.

my home.

 

how i long to reach out,

touch,

fondle my big white beautiful satellite.

 

-out of insight

[Pyrotex]

After the Election

Nelson Thompson

 

We don’t like what you’re saying. We don’t like the questions you ask and the facts you recall. We will interrupt you as necessary and prevent you from speaking. Our man won, and we can do that now.

 

There are a lot of you that we don't like, but we had to be civil in the past. Now we will spew our mockery over the airwaves and tell it like it is. Our man won, and we can do that now.

 

We don’t like history, as it appears to reflect meanly upon us. Therefore, we shall rewrite it. Oh, we won’t lie, we will just conjur an emphasis to suit ourselves. Our man won, and we can do that now.

 

Argument is so disagreable, don’t you think? There’s an easy way to fix that: those that disagree with us are just stupid, that’s all. They don’t understand how the real world works. Our man won, and we can say that now.

 

You say you won’t stand for this? That this is unfair? Well, that’s too bad. We’re in the majority and that means we're right and you're wrong. We get to define what ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ mean. Our man won, and we can do that now.

 

What? You point to the dictionary and encyclopedia and try to tell us that we distort the facts? That we distort history? Perhaps you better learn to hold your tongue. Our man won, and you better do that now.

 

If you aren’t one of us, we will insult your intelligence, your honor, your integrity and your intentions. Don’t mess with us, or we might question your loyalty and sexual orientation. Our man won, and we can do that now.

 

We’ll go to war if it’s fun. We’ll burn the books if we don’t like the science. We’ll bankrupt the treasury and blame it all on past administrations. We’ll turn the clock back to the good old days. Our man won, and we can do that now.

 

The Law is good -- as long as it works for our side. If it becomes inconvenient, well, we’re sure you’ll understand. We’ll make sure the judges know who the ‘bad’ guys are. Our man won, and we can do that now.

 

Get over it! God’s on our side. Relax and forget your Biased Press. Oh, it doesn’t matter, they won’t be around much longer. Our man won, and we can do something about that now.

 

 

P.S.: Clarification. This was originally written in a much longer version shortly after the election of 2004. I removed direct references to parties on purpose to enhance the ambiguation. (NT)

[Loricybin]

fly

oh fly,

you silly girl.

 

interpret beats with movement.

EXPRESS your love with your whole body.

 

ALL can be,

when ALL you see

is pure rhyme,

reason,

and a rhythmic essence

of spiritual expression

[Loricybin]

silently stalking the city streets.

a face without a name (or a dollar),

a broken cell phone

and a prevailing energy (curious).

 

vivid cloth and a human body

drift alongboard the concrete slabs (foreign yet familiar)

knees bending fluid:

soft travel surf through metropolis (humming and thumping).

 

a slow and overdue descent, i'm

creeping like a spider turtle roller

to a large park,

conga's fury(us).

 

a simple james and floating disc

keeps a busy head (hat),

a new york drifter living in a van

(down by the river?)

 

so a wait is what it comes to aye?

that's fine (really, it is),

so long as a face meets this name,

this voice,

this being,

this friend,

 

this spirit that has so far been a mere

network-propelled information transfer (not that i mind it),

 

but to put a face,

(complete)

with eyes, (and)

a mouth

 

and oh,

a whole body/ indeed...

 

that should prove to be interesting

(and indeed does).

 

so floating about the city for hours,

our concrete surfer becomes (,once more,) a

digital pirate, floating:

in the information super-spill-ways.

 

and at last, long last,

a bright eyed girl peeks

around a corner...

 

...little energy conductress...

******************************

 

we're floating about, aimless,

finding ourselves mountains,

where backdrop yellow dots flicker,

brave and ignorant.

 

and after a carefully unplanned series of hesitations,

i chance the kiss...

 

not only surprised,

ATTACKED by affection itself.

a nearly menacing force of pleasure ensues

from the feelings in my neck (and body)

in combination with the veiw and the

cold.

 

that thing that cats do when they like things,

that cheek rub,

that's how we react to

each other.

 

a spark sets blaze to convention,

(in more ways than one)

and to the castro we head.

 

at an orphan's diner,

i remind her of whitefish by

wolfing down oatmeal.

(transvestites and homosexuals pay no mind)

 

finally, a trip back to the towers via-owls,

(whose bum-proof benches proved themselves

not to be

lust-proof.)

 

the radio transmitter,

the pay-per-**** box,

("space toilet,")

and of course:

 

the wall and the view...

 

nature's color wheel

rises, and the following:

what can only be described as

 

a waking dream;

 

a surreal truth,

 

startlingly calm,

 

unexpectedly real.

 

...and now the shiny eyed girl is gone...

we parted...

 

opposite directions on market

unable to resist the urge to look back at one another, smiling,

and wishing for more,

(The future?...)...

[Turtle]

'Twas a Night After Solstice

 

'Twas a night after Solstice, when all through the house

The soul creature stirring, 'twas that turtle, that grouse.

 

His stockings he wore, the fire put out,

To give by not wasting's what Saint Nick is about.

 

The cold blooded rascall so smug in his mind,

Imagined some heat had escaped through the blind.

 

So on went his sweater, his scarf, and his cap,

No rest get the wicked, or so says the pap.

 

When in from the kitchen a bell blasted a ring,

He lurched from the sofa to silence the thing.

 

He stumbled his head the wall a good bash,

And swore at the sirens outside at the crash.

 

The Moon was occluded by cloudy cold rain,

but the flashing blue light was taking its strain.

 

Then, what to his good eye, from one of his muscles,

But a little red cut, and eight tiny corpuscles.

 

With the smallest size bandage he covered the nick,

He knew how much Santa had cared for the sick.

 

Faster than rabbits the platelets did clot,

that turtle was thanking that Santa a lot.

 

Then Masher! Now Mancer! Now Francer and Fixen!

On, Bomet! On, Stupid! On Honner and Hixen!

 

From the front of the brow! To the front of the ear!

Then rush into! Rush into! Rush into mirror!

 

As broken bones knit by the set of the Spring,

When bumped on the wall such pains do they bring.

 

So back to the sofa and nothing to do,

With the ringing and blinking and bleeding done too.

 

And no sooner there settled came noises anew,

The gibber and jabber from a boisterous crew.

 

As he popped out his head, from his shell yet again,

The name of Saint Nicholas fell out of the din.

 

No matter some people care not for his fur,

To childrens' delight will no Santa demur.

 

Thank big bag of Toys, thank flang on a back,

Thank giving old peddler with a gifting ol' knack.

 

Now back to the sofa with narry a pout,

To see if that kid really shoots his eye out.

 

 

.

.

. .

[InfiniteNow]

by Paul McCartney:

 

Please lock me away and don't allow the day here inside,

Where I hide with my loneliness.

I don't care what they say, I won't stay in a world without love.

Birds singing out of tune and rain drops hide the moon,

I'm OK, here I'll stay with my loneliness.

I don't care what they say, I won't stay in a world without love.

 

So I wait and in a while

I will see my true love smile

She may come, know not when

When she does I'll know

So baby, until then, lock me away

And don't allow the day here inside

Where I hide with my loneliness.

 

I don't care what they say, I won't stay in a world without love. :(

[InfiniteNow]

I love to think of those naked epochs

Whose statues Phoebus liked to tinge with gold.

At that time men and women, lithe and strong,

Tasted the thrill of love free from care and prudery,

And with the amorous sun caressing their loins

They gloried in the health of their noble bodies.

Then Cybele, generous with her fruits,

Did not find her children too heavy a burden;

A she-wolf from whose heart flowed boundless love for all,

She fed the universe from her tawny nipples.

Man, graceful, robust, strong, was justly proud

Of the beauties who proclaimed him their king;

Fruits unblemished and free from every scar,

Whose smooth, firm flesh invited biting kisses!

 

 

Today, when the Poet wishes to imagine

This primitive grandeur, in places where

Men and women show themselves in a state of nudity,

He feels a gloomy cold enveloping his soul

Before this dark picture full of terror.

Monstrosities bewailing their clothing!

Ridiculous torsos appropriate for masks!

Poor bodies, twisted, thin, bulging or flabby,

 

 

That the god Usefulness, implacable and calm,

Wrapped up at tender age in swaddling clothes of brass!

And you, women, alas! pale as candies,

Whom Debauch gnaws and feeds, and you, virgins,

Who trail the heritage of the maternal vice

And all the hideousness of fecundity!

 

 

Degenerate races, we have, it's true,

Types of beauty unknown to the ancient peoples:

Visages gnawed by cankers of the heart

And what one might say were languor's marks of beauty;

But these inventions of our backward Muses

Will never prevent unhealthy races

From paying to their youth deep and sincere homage,

— To holy youth, with serene brow and guileless air,

With eyes bright and clear, like a running brook,

Which goes spreading over all things, as free from care

As the blue of the sky, the birds and the flowers,

Its perfumes, its songs and its sweet ardor!

 

— Charles Baudelaire

[Racoon]

This guy has a pretty good poem on video

 

 

True Lies a Poem by Taalam Acey

[Queso]

Water falls and there you are in the center

 

of Jaguar pentagramism.

 

Every star gives life a chance. We're here to scream

 

and believe that this, is not a dream.

 

This dream I've dreamt of dreams I see you

 

tasting all the sounds, Awake

 

and out of bounds- The beasts

 

purr in your bioluminescent presence.

[Loricybin]

(yeah, yeah, i post a lot of poems about love... but what of it?

it is a constant source of intense inspiration, so i run with it... whether you enjoy or not, i don't mind, because i know i do, and i know i like sharing. :D

 

walk with me

won't you please?

i've found a hidden path.

take my hand

and follow me.

please do not look back.

 

if one of our grips

happens to slip

we could run out of time.

but if we don't let go

i know

you and i'll be fine....

 

now,

we both have people

after us,

in time they could succeed

in pulling us apart,

you see

without us they are weak.

 

but we can't let

that happen, no,

i need/ you /need me...

i can't let

you go, you know,

you're exactly what i need.

 

we've both made

mistakes, i see.

from looking at our pasts,

it's not surprising really,

that these things,

they didn't last.

 

****ing with our heads all day

and hurting us

all night,

none of that,

i promise you,

it's all gonna be alright.

 

so take my hand

and run with me,

we can get away.

shake it off

and come with me

where we can hide for days.

 

don't let our grip,

start to slip,

who else could

i dream of?

 

if you don't let go

i swear,

we can live

and love.

[Queso]

Freedom assembled a new dance.

It was this sort-of . .

collective dance that everyone was to be a part of.

 

Freedom, which is the English word for being free,

is terribly misdefined, and I demand it be changed to

YES! (as loud as you can)

 

Freedom is an old word now that the spirits

have been dredged, and dug out of

the concrete asphyxiation spilled

for more cars.

 

Freedom assembled a system like a

fat body that fell over and sprawled out

all over the natives who were already

free, and dancing like the

wind itself which blew away

the wigs of those blind souls looking for

new freedom

which I found in the place they ****ed, just down the road.

 

Up Highway 9 off to the side I sat with all the universe.

I called it Mind

and brought it home

where heart beats and

eyes close.

 

Freedom unspoken and hiding from black ties and white houses.

 

Freedom, et cetera . .

 

[Loricybin]

roll traaversing

speel.

drifing along,

 

again of course,

 

in that white bright dino.

low to the ground.

thumpey.

 

yorkshire froggier sings a rhythmic radio(inmy)head(outloud)

 

simply splinter.

 

going go go gone go.

 

keep rolling, occasionally flicking sparks, catching fires from bics

in an otherwise dimdark atmomsphere.

sean goes nuts on my left.

nothing new, i guess. yeah.

life is hard for those who can't stop thinking.

 

it may sound pretentious, condescending, silly,

 

but we really can't stop thinking at frequencies all to often and intense.

 

this is great, surely, we are the humans amongst those who push the psychological envelope.

we acknowledge knowledge, sitting in this moving hunk of shaped metal.

 

a thumping bass box sevag's car in the dark.

[chill]

Taxi @ 12

 

City lights trail

In hazy orange caterpillars

 

The only sound

The periodic thud of uneven asphalt

 

You look outside

The caterpillars laze down your face

 

I look at you

Hoping you’re trying not to think of me

 

It was then

At the moment you moved your head in your arms

 

It was when

You looked at me with the vacancy of your eyes

 

And perhaps

I knew it then and there and ignored it

 

Perhaps

[Tarantism]

we all just want to live in movies.