There you go, movin across the water
There you go, turnin my whole world around
I thank all of you who have posted on this forum. It's great to see all the flowers of creativity.
Interstate Samhain Blues
The rolling view
from the car window
mimicks the clicking
of an antiquated sixteen millimeter
motion picture movie projector.
It's playing a bizarre
B-rated horror flick
dreamed up by a weaning neophyte
from the jack-o-lantern's teat.
An all saints chorus
of cirrus and sun
sprays Segrada Familia
magentas of flame
that melts the crystalline vapor
of an Itascan morning
flowing into the
Mother American river. [yes, I know. It's a road song like BTW :)]
The barren cornmeal soil
forgotten by the harvest,
yet familiar to summer's ghosts
expose tricks and treats
to the hard pressed
rock candy, salt water
taffy of the earth.
They're wearing yesterday's masks,
hiding in homes
all saccharin bloated
on waxy candy corn dreams,
and trying to atone
for the sins loaded with artificial colors
of red, white and blue.
Yellow dye no. 5
stains the road east
with it's jaundice justice.
The second half of electricity's sigh
is the pentagram spokesman,
a skilled vetriloquist of warfare might.
America has become a puppeteer
who's lost control of the marionette,
a Potomac Pinocchio of Bush, Cheney, Powell, Rumsfeld and Rice. (poem c. 2005)
Yellow dye no. 5
stains the road east
with it's callous cowardice.
An alternating current
of citizen thought
should mold marzipan martyrs
from America's backwaters.
the blistered sun
will be eclipsed in crude blackness,
bloodened with a viscosity
similar to the caramel
upon the golden apple
that hides the razor blade
we all must swallow.
The eye of the hawk
performs helixes on the heartland horizon.
It zeros-in on the military snake
bleeding from the apple's blade
and soaking in Eden's perpetual rain.
Lazarus is walking,
adorned with bandages to cover
and the lacerations of Cerberus' rage.
Lazarus is talking
of a reversal in fortune.
In three days
we'll be dead,
The desert storm troopers are painting
their own Hieronymus Bosch imitation.
"War on!", is an erroneous Bush insinuation.
bloats the U.S. economy
with artificial colors of
truth, might and heady
delusions of prosperity
that even Mark Twain coudn't fathom.
with elephant bombs
to whitewash our faces
and brainwash our
of lollipop rivers
and Pollyanna prairies.
The American dream
is an illusion of exclusion
from the rest of the world.
Globilization is the world's affliction
of the American predatory zombie
engulfing anything with a pulse.
The sarcophogus is empty,
so the indigenous shamans
are concocting potions of protection
from the top-of-the-food chain mummy
who believes wisdom is in the brain.
Bottlenecked in Coca-Cola corporations
our cheetah capitalism
is on a sorghum grass safari,
soon to climb a tree
and die a slow, molasses death.
The technological spider
has spun it's web
and forgotten about
the agrarian barn
that's shelters it's lattice haunt.
The road reels on,
and as I exit the heartland
passed the Arch and the river Styx,
I see Charon's ferry churning south.
The sign reads 'no vacancy'.
All is ready
to engorge the Mardi Gras meat
of debauchery and sin.
I shiver my last polar chill
and feel the chemotherapy fever
of the ever closer latitude of cancer.
The tropics warm
with leucocytic power.
A hurricane is no longer
just a drink you order
in the French Quarter.
Mother Nature's archery rivals
that of the new rising Orion.
I cover my eyes.
The veil is too thin.
The dependence upon
Earth's black death,
and the subsequent wars
to establish pallbearer status,
has made the corpse bride
of the widwower soldier
all to familiar
with her own death.
When her man comes home
as a letter shroud
in the army lieutenants' words of solace,
describing her as a newborn daughter of America,
she touches her belly
knowing more than he says.
The Liberty Bell's crack
is the cause of it's own ineffectiveness.
Our Graceland is no longer
a new frontier
of mountains and valleys
carved of glacial melt
and thrusting magma.
We have exhausted
the wilderness paradise.
It rivals the ruin of ancient Memphis,
choked with barbed wire fences
and bled dry
with concrete needles
that replace Earth's plasma
with embalming fluid
of unknown consequences.
Until our streams of consciousness
can set new courses
toward oceanic thoughts
with tsunami magnitudes,
we'll be stuck on
the Land Between the Lakes
surrounding doldrum marshes
of methane, peat and rotting carcasses.
Our media heroes
and technological warriors
are dressed in camouflage
and performing marches
for the lofty feats
that democracy promises.
The tug of war
of the two-headed snake,
in lands of asbestos dust,
like a creeping radon death.
worldwide, iridescent glow
sits in a spinning limbo,
like the dark side of the moon,
when viewed from Olympus Mons.
Shadowed in the harvest moon,
a feared new Tartarus,
just a part of our collective consciousness
and a synaptic firing of the new world brain
reaches Mars upon Mercury's wings.
On the war planet of the celestial pantheon,
A false idolotry
of a mysterious god
suffices alien criterion
and a new, foreign religion is born,
adding to the hodge-podge
of public opinion.
my metaphoric muse
just makes me another minion
of our current controversy,
another Mary Shelly fantasy
reiterating the spiral energy
of life immemorial.
The saints and souls
of science and ritual
or mystery and chaos
are singing the same chant
from behind the veil of Cronus and Christ.
They're dethroning the old
with knowing grace,
celebrating the monarch of chrysalis faith
and dancing a jig of universal taste.
As the clock strikes midnight
on a new day, month, year and century
our ancestors are urging us
to plant a golden apple tree
worthy of Atalanta's ruse by Aphrodite.
*I know it's a bit long, but I hope you all enjoyed it.
......And there were days I know when all we ever wanted was to learn and love and grow.
We love you too!
I hate you more than I hate my enemies
I hate you more than I hate my opponents
I hate you more than I hate my adversary
I hate you more than I hate my rivals
I HATE YOU BUT.....
WHY I STILL LOVE YOU?
I looked at life as I was walking down the trail
Searching for the Secret that would finally lift the veil
Through the pines, to a ridge out in the sun
The river down below me said "Be forever young"
And as the wind blows through the trees
It whispers there's a world that is still free
The eagle cries, and suddenly you see
Ain't that the way it's supposed to be
Watercolor glint, intricate as the Vespers template
Liberates its aspect of daylight.
Cerulean particle, solitude Orb at stationary form.
Mind to mind, the simplest of light enveloped the purest of silence.
The mystic anomaly dissolves its ethereal obstacle.
Stubborn illumine interacts alongside the paradigm of our illuminant characteristics.
Ah actualization, perpetual focal point, neutral projection.
Suffused disappearance in the distance, guided through a charged ion of transformation.
Incessant after-fade, what's left to be rearranged ?
For this transparent hint, invisible clue, redeemed in a great sense of nothingness.
Drift, harmonious nuance, epoch of the light, recoiling cerulean fury.
Innate presence, hidden in a delicate rain, resolved to be as a tears'
Individualized sense of oneness, as if time itself, returns unto it's original form.
Elysian ever present, plays hide and seek amongst two sparrows.
Integrated similarities, cultivated common ground.
Here forth acknowledging the inner spirit's beginnings, the outer soul's continuation.
blintzes sparkle inside twined marshalled cabinets
sprinkles and frosting coupled with barbed sugar disasters
municipalities fail in the clutch of the drip
one for the agents and the scribes
portals into frozen shark-muscled wings
no trails to dessert
nothing to follow
| Wait until the veil is shredded, then reveal it |
wow, peakin that strikes deep chords with-in,very nice and thx!
and jerseyswartz, i like the way you think and write, pleeze more spewing forth of taloned word thrusted towards au THO r I zed op PRESS i ON of the mindnumb instant gratification masses swaying in front of the i got mine now i want yours ticks feeding on the underbelly of the beast we call home... well said, well spoken
Obedience holds a twisted cross of self righteous interpretation.
Think small it fits your personality.
Those who have nothing to offer the public dialog, confuse the revisionist.
Forsaken advisors, seduced by the beauty of the beast
Are being taking advantage of by those who oversee their own worst enemy.
Remaining afraid of what can’t be manipulated.
Guaranteed minimal transparency, the mediators randomness lacks warmth.
Regrets are individual, not political.
Shaking hands with their evil twin, aggressively reasoning their sense of priority.
Denied the access to prove a professional responsibility
Rationalize a changing world, they openly offer servitude
That's despised for the wrong indication, while honored for the wrong warning.
Desperate technology, a broken map, tributes of oil
Impersonal percent of citizen influence hangs on a popsicle stick crucifix.
Martyr's master a difficult opportunity to pacify innate abstracts of being
By living the way of those who must.
By rebelling against the terms of this nations court appointed theocracy.
Don't part with your illusions. When they are gone, you will still exist, but you have ceased to live.