Rants. raves and ramblings from celestial circles . . .

Posts tagged ‘poets’

:OBSERVATIONS ON A NOVEMBER DARKNESS ON THE EDGE OF TOWN

It’s almost time for me to head back home
but today I feel a darkness creeping
across the globe dark forces seeping
they find the holes when I am sleeping
or when I am not fighting them and keeping
them on the defensive.
They are greedy green mean machines.
Real powers and real forces. There are those that
don’t believe me. They don’t see them every day.
So they give them holidays, so they can do what they may, and take away, more of what you pay and pay. They do not understand that only they can stop them. But they must fight them every day. Without a holiday. Believe what I say.
Drugs you don’t need.
Healing plants you can’t have.
Poisons in your food to make you pay.
Wars and weapons to pay and pay in lives.
Watching and listening, taking away your dignity,
your humanity, your joy.
Tricks to fool you, pay you to work,
then take your money away.
You never own anything. They own you.
You can stop them.
You must stop them.
Stop the banks from stealing.
Stop the companies from cheating.
Stop the people from lying.
Stop the government from killing.
Love.
Love is not religion.
Love is not a competition.
Love is not waiting for the reward.
Love is Nature.

===================

11/13/13 – fjl

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CHILL

i opened my refrigerator today

cool sensations of life inspired me to dig deeper

the light of the universe filled a dark room

and the cabbage made me think

juice of a thousand wars pure and unsweetened

tomatoes hit every bad act ever performed

by any slice of meat

egg head lined eyes on the embryonic world

from every chicken never born

lest the rotting stench of life decay

tickle a nose with the sulfur mine of love

shake your mustard

or else

not even your best squeeze

will stop dripping wet first fallen

from lonesome cucumber

where is your cavity

lemon sour yellow dreams

no limes, no clouds, no perfect life

where are you hiding sweets

why is your sweet hiding

is your middle shelf always full

or does unspoiled milk still feed

your baby right times

waters of a thousand lies

keep yogurt smiles healthy

hold your mayonnaise tight

and don’t let your ketchup slip

or you will never catch up

you will never slip tight

sleepless nights might

frighten you to close the door

and never again open

and never open it again

never knowing if the light turns off

alone.

————————————-

August 2013

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SOUNDS OF NOTHING AND THE SIGHT OF NO ONE

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NO ONE LISTENS, NOTHING IS HEARD

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FOOTSTEPS IN THE SANDS ARE WORN AWAY BY THE WINDS OF TIME

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

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THROUGH THE LONG HALLWAYS AND DOORSWAYS

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THE TOWERS OF MEN IN THE SHADOWS OF THE PALMS

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER COMMUNION

They run like colts
in river beds of solid wines
flicking whatever berries

at each other
or something.

They both understand the language
wondering with each other.
Laughing
and knowing

when they hurt each other.
Suffering for each others pain
and crying
because they dance

within each others rain.

 

—————————————–

MOVING PICTURES

You have always been a movie to me
knowing I could never touch you.
Now you sit and stare at me
through the other side of this bottle
setting on the table here between us.

I feel as if a magic is missing
you are not the star I dreamed of.
Once you were the shining light
of my heavens dreaming
in a momentary wish.

Now I can see what I am left with
is not what I had hoped for.
I see what I am watching
is not what I had once enjoyed.

You have always been a movie to me
now my life plays in reverse.
I never could quite touch you
now I know
I’ve touched too much.

——————————————-

12/21/12

 

A thick blanket of fog covers the Earth

I look out to see the new day

a bright ray of the sun breaks through

the darkness and only those who see the light

will dream.

THE MACHINE KILLED CREATIVITY

The machine killed creativity

I saw it for myself.

It bludgeoned all artistic strides

and massacred the rest.

 

Musicians were first bound to atoms

and then cast down to synthesize.

Pouncing notes on keyboards

for light waves to analyze.

 

Painters great were also slaughtered

by brushes of true bits.

Destined for the graphic tabs

and bland electric tits.

 

Sculptors once again were chained

by circuit boards and digits

building funky little trites

of solder, wire and widgets.

 

Writers were then gathered up

and tortured by their software

making  acronym of literature

and cleansing hard drives bare.

 

Movie folks were also brandished

and scattered without vision

destined for the rerun click

on the mouse of indecision.

 

Poets, whom of course were last

bore out the worst derision

for they were left with just a hint

of electric mysticism.

 

The machine killed creativity

I’ll show no remorse

I’ll keep my wafers powered up

for the next new resurgent force.

 

I SET SAIL

My sails have weathered and aged
through the years.
They are not as crisp as when they were new.
Yet they take good form to a hearty wind.

My strong treated hardwood masts
even now, stand tall and looming,
proudly visible from a distance.
My polished bow still gleams
in a splash of favorable sun.
And though my deck has keenly felt
the belting torment
of a thousand salty ocean storms
it remains immaculate and polished.

My rudder does not fail
to hold my bearing,
my journey and direction true.
All my instruments are accurate.
And all my lines and ropes, secured, not frayed.
My cabin is a hearth, both warm and soft
of carved and shiny patterned wood
with fathomed depth and heart without bottom.

I am still the captain and the first hand
and the sailor
and the laboring crew.
I still float brisk along bobbing waters
and long to feel the edging wind upon my back.
I still follow guiding stars in pitch black darkness.
And fear the trembling storm
seeking the promised light of a bright new day.
For I was born a great and mighty vessel
and I shall push forward
until my creator
to the great ocean
does call me home.

 

——————————————

THE POETRY CIRCUS

  

 – a day on the playground –

 

It was a sunny day in the park 

and all the world was roses.

The playground toys around the gym

were spread about with vision.

 

In the garden of the park, the poets

played with poesies. They danced and sang like

foolish ones and praised the words

that brought them. 

 

The poesy poets on words with wings

within the sun, without the suns

all about were scattered.

Playground fun allowed to run

what else then should much matter.

 

      -Dark Clouds In A Rainbow Sky-

 

Suddenly in the happy playground

all the birds were silent.

Everything began to change

even knights and mystery.

 

Round the bend was heard

the sins, of all of mans misgivings.

In the playground, smells of men

whom smelled as no man ought to.

 

Two torn t-shirts, big boy, thin

stank the park. Stopped all the barks

and all the poets scattered.

But poets pass where powers lost

and no one is the wiser. 

 

    – The Sinister Sisters of Words Un-gathered –

 

Then the menace unto the park

descend a death, feline faced fat.

From steroid soaks and moldy books

his toy sword poking

maybe nothing matters. 

 

Into the spin, swatting thin

bull dog face fly swatter.

Came to beat the big boy thin 

came to beat the batter.

But no one came to watch him swath

the same. That was the matter.

 

Panjo pirate, one eyed brit

between the feathers, tickled him the parrot.

What sweet scheme, if rhythm matters

save the world. One mad librarian

a perfect world I gather!

 

(2003)

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