Poems Of Any Length

[Queso]

lurvaye mir+

written by

 

seventh vases covered on curved time.

trading again for drexor vist,

another wish wristlening with him yesterday.

reading ashed parchment before chemects below,

vist hollow affecting these things know.

do you remember prefixed meta?

brain stem crawling catapiller leaving omni-trails ascending beyond gold reperialist gates,

wristlening to all who's caught red hybrid-handed.

compressed cloneship trojan envelope.

we will take this city.

[Loricybin]

axel bashful in weirdwash mish mosh

soapy bubble lather penetrate

through to blue moons

 

and warm saliva across the surface

flowing like a dripping statue

at you

 

rearange and spange

some change on the gutters of

rightousness.

 

tight young bliss

as sleeping man has clock

 

TICK TOCK

 

ring around the rocky

acting kind of cocky

ashes, gashes

we all

have

pnuemonia:doh:

[Tarantism]

we sat in the cold

we did what we were told

emptied our pockets

searched to the brim

laughing and giggling.

 

**** the cops.

[Tarantism]

ah a front

oh that house front

oh that nice sack front

ohoh another day i will pay

in doubles

 

and then it was around

and up and down and out

stalking our woks for blocks of pour sickle marshes

and then a regognizeable sneer

and then a high bridge and lighter light seer

underfoot air and cars tool and rool along bye

cripple fall and sit

the day is always better with those large SANDWICHES!

root a toot toot

 

and then swerve through grass padio peer

and then up a watchtower slide follow, here

light not being watched can been seen

my mind of eyes a bag for thoughts

and fun

and then back and around

through bush and weed and branch

and track

and then to room blacklight conversations

and then back

but we shall meet again.

[Loricybin]

what's new

what grew

what's been burned to truth

 

ashes flow through the night

and now we know

to take flight

 

can't sit around

scuffing the ground

we need to do something fast

 

this just isn't gonna last

 

i can't believe

 

the good is gone

[Tarantism]

the picutre's far too big to look at, kid,

your eyes wont open wide enough

and we are constantly surrounded

by this swirling stream of what is and what was

and we could all make predictions, but

the truth still isnt out

and if you want to see the future go stare into a cloud.

 

so keep trying to find your way out

of that maze of memories

it all sort of looks farmiliar

and then you get up close and then its defferent clearly

and each time you turn a corner you are right back where you were

and your only hope is that forgetting might make a door appear.

 

is it your fear of being buried

that makes you so afraid to speak?

and avalache of opinions

like the one that fell that i am now underneath

it was my voice that moved the first rock, and i would do it all again

so, i mean, ots cool if you keep quiet, but, i like singing.

(*an author once implied that its the ones with the sorest throats that have done the most singing.)

 

so I will be holding my note, and stomping and feeling so very lucky

and there is nothing i know, except this lifetime is just one moment

and wishing would just leave me empty.

 

and you can try to live in darkness

but you can never shake the light

no it will greet you every morning

and then make you more aware with its absense at night

when you are wrapped up in your blankets, baby,

that comfortable cacoon

but i have seen the day of your awakening, boy

and its coming soon.

 

so go ahead and lose yourself in liquer

and you can praise the clouded mind

but it isnt what you're thinking, no, its the corse of history,

your position in line

youre just a piece of the puzzle, so i think you had better find your place

just dont go blaming your knowlege on some fruit you ate.

 

cause there has been a great deal of discussion about the properties of man

animal or angel, you were carved from bone but your heart is just sand

and the wind is going to scatter it

and cover everything with love.

 

so if it makes you happy then keep kneeling, but now im standing up.

 

because this vail has been lifted

and my eyes are wet with clairity

i havent been a witness to such wonders

and i will search for them all across the country

but then ill be returning, love

to this town where i was born

 

and i understand if you must keep moving, friend, but im heading home.

 

im gunna follow my road, and let the sceanery sweeping by easily enter my body.

and i send you this message in code, under ground over mountains, through forests and deserts and cities:

 

O! all across electric wire, its a baited line

yeah this hook's in deep, boys, there is no more time

so you can struggle in the water, be too stubborn to DIE

or you can just let go and be lifted to the sky.

[Loricybin]

a young murdered self today

in the presence of an absense

for the absence of presence

 

his mother walked in and

screamed tears from her

hot juice sockets.

 

collapsing on the floor, or

in horror and cursing god

for allowing things

 

then she saw the note read

"i'm dead. . .

this is nobody's fault but god's,

for not existing"

 

her third eye opened

 

god could be a man-umental creation

to sum up that which is

incomprehensible

 

the mother was so overwhelmed with despair,

she took great care

in guiding second bullet

straight thru

roof

of her mouth

[Queso]

wow Man Thats Sad

 

AS The Sun

[Loricybin]

once your eyes

go unrested for

over two days

loopiness comes with

a certain swoopey-ness

thumbs become grumblers

 

arms get shakey, tumblers

 

fumblers

bum-bum-bumblers

 

and i can't help but giggle

about the histerical histeria

hystorical hystoria his-terick

high-jynks, low-jynx

we all scream at ice rinks,

 

why go in circles?( , , ,

when you can explore?

this is not something to simply

ignore

 

you see that sun crapped

out of the east

in all it's early morning beastliness

but we are actually crapping out on it's west

 

not that it has poles

nor has it moles

or holes with moles

eating sea

-gulls

 

but oh to see a gull mole hole

plant dynamite, and have them

throw it

back at you

like fourth of july black cat

battles

[Tarantism]

Rejoice, rejoice a noble birth, a prince is born.

Behold the birth of violence, beasts of fang and feather cry for our concrete rapture,

and if we beg to be put down, unto us the most inspired storm

A princess ravaged by her prince behold: the birth of sex and distance,

two frail corpses both were they, his eyes were the first to stray...

every tree held fast the earth to sky

concrete replaces every branch and twig as they were frayed upon the birth of ambition.

The heavens filled our gilded vessel with poison tears, before we drink, I propose a toast, a final prayer.

Here's to the watchers in the wood, here's to the last days, unto us a most inspired song.

Shaper, stop the music. Halt the harpstrings whose chords confuse our histories with textures.

With the disheartened chorus of a hymnal whose choir is the conviction of the starving,

artless, tempted by the feast of proof that this body of work has worth.

Uncertain as the fingering of a chord torn prematurely from a piano's womb.

As we fill our precious lungs with concrete, that faithful shade,

a shaper's song is stopped short- a dying breath a sinking shore.

Then the only movement and the last remains of grace:

Pollen falling off the simple hinge joint leg upon the final breath of a dragonfly.

A cardinal, lost but headstrong in midflight cries for our concrete rapture,

wade...in the water, wade.

Let the flood swell, thank the storm for her tears.

The faithful say its beautiful,

its god's will, but the fool knows what the prophets have seen,

no salvation's impending.

The faithful say its beautiful,

its god's will, let the flood swell

and the bodies that break we'll just float down the river.

Stay tame, soft river, while we weigh our faith, stay sweet,

run softly, sweet river, the fool who wades in doubt will float like concrete.

Come and fill your lungs.

There's so much hope buried underneath tragedy, its the same shade as concrete.

The faithful say its beautiful, its god's will, let the flood swell

on the loudspeaker sermons and a parish descending.

There's so much hope buried underneath tragedy, its the same shade as concrete.

Let the flood swell.

[Queso]

my buddy loren,

your last poem, i enjoi ed

[Turtle]

Oh for a good fine poet now...

one of those good fine not-yet-dead poets too; you can't carouse with a dead poet.

can't argue a not-yet-dead poet to stuble back from that rail,

stumble back from that rail!

poets rail

poet's rail

po et srail!

 

Oh for a good fine poet now to scribble down some frothing lament,

for a good-fine-po-et now-yet-dead,

stumbled back over that rail,

poets rail

poet's rail

no poet to stumble now

po quoth the raven dead somehow.

 

So Poe is dead & so I said that he was not allowed,

but as it is for counting crows, that dead guy's not a crowd.

Grab a hat Edgar!

I got the papers.

Let's rail!

:lol:

[Pyrotex]

For those of you who love Jazz and Cosmology: :confused:

 

 

Quantum Variations on a Theme by Miles Davis

Nelson Thompson

October, 2003

 

[chorus and trumpet over a background of quantum hush, whisper quiet]

--We’re all Jazz now, diggity…

 

[announcer’s voice]

Ladies and Gentlemen, please take your seats. Thank you.

This administration is committed to solutions. Solutions.

The paradigms of the past have gotten us this far,

But only solutions will take us into the future

Of prosperity, justice and freedom.

 

[Miles Davis]

We are at the threshold. Traditional solutions can take us no farther.

Freedom is only another word for quanta on the loose.

 

[announcer’s voice]

Ladies and Gentlemen, please take your realities. Thank you.

This administration is committed to realities. Realities.

The paired rhymes of the past have gotten us. (thus far),

But only realities will take us into the fruition of… diggity…

 

[Miles Davis]

All Blues. Jazz Blues. All the way to the Event Horizon.

As you can see from this chart, Red Shift has become

A local epi-phenomenon. Never mention it again.

 

[chorus and trumpet over a background of quantum hush]

--We’re all Jazz now, diggity… diggity…

--We’re all Jazz now, diggity…

 

[Miles Davis recites the progression of human history to present and beyond.

A dialog occurs between the Left and Right brains of his audience,

Until Cosmic Unity is achieved.]

 

Iron tools, Empire, the first relapse to the Dark Ages.

Renaissance, Reason, Technology, the Age of Exploration!

Live Jazz, recorded Jazz, digital Jazz!

The second relapse to the Age of Superstitious Terror.

Recovery! The Awakening! The Great Hegira! The Stars!

Symbolic Jazz, quantum Jazz, ontological Jazz...

All the way to the Event Horizon.

Quantum is only another word for Freedom on the loose.

Please take your consciousness to a higher level.

 

[chorus and trumpet over a background of quantum hush,

gaining volume and depth, with the Cannonball and Coltrane]

--We’re all Jazz now, diggity… diggity…

 

[announcer’s Left Brain voice]

Ladies and Gentlemen, please raise your reality to its full upright position.

This administration, council, senate, tribe, government, whatever,

Is committed to these laws, precepts, gods, concepts, rules, whatever,

For the betterment, perfection, protection, control, abasement, whatever,

Of humanity, this nation, the economy, this administration, whatever…

 

[announcer’s Right Brain voice]

Ladies and Gentlemen, where it’s at is rhythm, music, love,

Getting down with a groovy universe.

Take your Reality neat!

Take your Universe neat!

Take your Music neat!

Rhythm rules all the way to sub-atomic reality!

Feel it! Dig it! Move on out and BE it!

We’re all Jazz now!

 

[chorus and trumpet over a background of quantum hush,

approaching crescendo with Chambers, Cobb, Evans and Kelly]

--We’re all Jazz now, diggity… diggity…

--We’re … all… Jazz… now… diggity… (she-bop) diggity…

 

[announcer’s voice]

Ladies and Diggity… please take your Jazz now…

As we have… diggity… to the Event Horizon…

The quantum flux of… diggity… this administration…

With music for all… diggity… and quantum commitments… diggity…

Reason rules in five part harmony...

 

[Miles Davis recites the progression of human history to present and beyond.

An infinite flock of pink flamencos sketch a cymbal in the sky,

Trailing all the way to the center of the Milky Way.]

 

Monarchy, republic, democracy...diggity...

Meritocracy, digitocracy, hyperocracy...diggity...

Ultimocracy, mindocracy, jazzocracy...diggity...

The ups and downs of… diggity… (she-bop) diggity…

The ultimate progression of real-awareness… diggity…

Consciousness is just another word for… (she-bop) diggity…

The cosmic membrane of gravitational tension… diggity…

Upon which plays the buzzing, throbbing rondo of the Cosmic Fugue…

WE'RE! ALL! JAZZ! NOW!... (she-bop) diggity…

We’re the Hadron Jazz and the Boson Bossonova

In Cosmic syncopated harmony! Welcome to the Groove!

Please unite your minds in a higher consciousness.

 

[chorus and trumpet over a background of quantum hush, fading to silence]

--We’re all Jazz now, diggity…

--We’re all Jazz now, diggity…

--(she-bop) diggity…

[Loricybin]

hard to scamper

hardly knows

 

but upon a hill

we see the bills

flippa-flapping

snapping gills

 

read through all of it

before you dismiss those cards

they used all night, for the

stale moonlight

 

turn around and lick your crotch.

now you are outstanding blotch

[Tarantism]

not a fragile waste from piles

that build and court six shrine does do

nay supreme unwanted leasure

so sure

sauser

 

the wings hang upon the wind

and thy bribble drags upon the sand

the beach where the depths meet

salty < land

minus the greater normality of pulp

 

in a world uncharted

once

a tree there grew sublime

a head sat upon the ankle

and talked in fluttered rhyme

or babbled, (if you prefer)

 

great does the mean who pratices want

or need to slomper

sulk

skunk

sklunk.

 

wrest gruble and flowing steam

the pillows from a hole the breathes

and instant tells us that fortune smiles

towards tommorow, and sum and|of miles.

[Tarantism]

i am walking

in a courtyard with me

simply happy, walking and being

when then, out of the corner of my little eye

i see tree!

O! what a glorious tree he seems to be

there, standing, and not seeing me

yet i can feel tree

speaking to me

in a language that i like

and speak freely

and so i walk over

just to say hello

and tree, to my utter suprise

says hello just the same

and i am tree

and tree is me

and eventually

i left my new friend tree

and though tree will not always be with me

i will, in heart

all-ways be with tree.

[Pyrotex]

Alpha Geek Blues

Nelson Thompson, 1999

 

The lurch factor of software engineering just rippled again,

But I'm too doggy to die - too foggy to fly.

The cubes got snarfed under two meters,

Making the desk to wall ratio under one for the first time.

Gotta stand it or sell apples, as they say.

Obscurity sucks.

I'm a mere coordinate in a tri-dim reference frame,

With origin zero, zero, zero on the first floor

Precisely between the D-cup mammaries of our receptionist.

She's very bright - can spell "engineering", "co-aptive", "befuddling pin",

And dates only lawyers with perfect teeth. Put it on a stamp!

I got rent on the Octane at noon, but my buffers are bogged.

If I could tolerate the shinola, I could peg up or even snag super.

Take that, you dirty Dilberts.

Notice board cork hasn't seen light in two years,

The older Urgents turning to yellow mulch.

Any info that barks, they'll give me face-o, else frag it.

 

Flip side, they let me rule the roost and I got Geek to burn.

I'm an obscure blur, but I got Geek to BURN!

 

We gotta new flock of 20-watts right outa "KAH-LIJ".

And no, scabface, I don't punct inside double quotes.

Strings are sacred, in or out of code.

Gotta find sockets for the 20-watts, with their shiny scrubbed brains,

No-clue grins, and perky torts.

God, I hate their perky torts, wanna push 'em down their throats

But that would mez the regs.

So, I slot them broomed cubes and dork their faces into the paper trough.

Preppin for the Octane, maybe I can wing the proto with sumluck.

C'mere, baby, let me put my hands on you.

Flip them switches, listen to your drive purr.

It gets lonely out on the cold, barren stretches of the bell curve beach,

Four sigmas from "sexy". IQs don't breed, as they say.

Still looking for a 20-watt that can count that high.

Maybe then. Maybe then.

 

Flip side, the money is paid for and I got Geek to burn.

I'm a horny hermit, but I got Geek to BURN!