Rants. raves and ramblings from celestial circles . . .

Posts tagged ‘poetry’

GRANDPA

With his brittle bones
 and his sun cracked face
   he rode near ‘bout every mile
  of the round-up trail.

He licks the wind
  and stares out at nothing
   tobacco dripping lip, spits.
Hell, I fought the sun,
  and I won
   fought a sneakin’ coyote once,
  he lost.
Broke rattlesnakes in half
  between bare hands.
Got caught in the drought of the Tulsa ride, too.

Thought I’d die in that damn burning desert
    never have I thirst, so much
  for one wet drop.
They found me about four miles from Breakers Pass.
Eighteen-ninety-seven,
   that was my last long ride.
Too many damn city boys
   tryin’ to run the drive.

And now my grandson drives off
   in that noisy pick-up.
He’ll never know the dry taste
   of sand and grainy dust
  between your teeth.
Wind kicking in your face
    like a thousand angry hoofs
   punched in your mouth.

And my friend,
  cold black night.

Damn all this fancy fiddle.

___________________________

Category:

MUSINGS, PHILOSOPHY, POETRY, SOCIETY

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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)

Category:

MUSINGS, PHILOSOPHY, POETRY, SOCIETY

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MINDY AT THE COFFEEHOUSE REVISITED

Mindy leans at me with wide blue eyes
sparkling stars above a steaming cup
of Bailey’s and Vanilla Bean.
Mindy always has a question
really meant for God.
Expecting me to answer her
mystified and energized
in canyon deep philosophy.
Why do lovers lock embraced
in fear and desperation
fighting odds against a world
fighting odds against a universe?

My buttered bowl of grits
stare back at me.
Lump-less and textured white.
Because they know they’ll never win
a vulnerable surrender.
Her fingers rubbing gloss red lips
hungry and seductive.
Listens distant
quite intent and satisfied
enough to pass the salt.

Category:

MUSINGS, PHILOSOPHY, POETRY, SOCIETY

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IN A TOWN ON A FARM

dedicated to G. O.

In a town on a farm
not too long ago
a farmer told his livestock
‘this is how it is,
this is how it should be’
and all was well
the chickens were fed
the cows had hay
and all the pigs were happy
in the mud.

One cold December day
the farmers dog went rabid
he told the farmer
‘I don’t care.
it doesn’t matter
we can all do
what ever we want.’
The dog bit the farmer
who later died.
The chickens had no feed
the cows had no hay
and the pigs lost weight
while rolling in the mud
they were not happy.
They all died.

——————————————

Category:

MUSINGS, PHILOSOPHY, POETRY, POLITICS, SOCIETY

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CHIQUE GOTH

It was around the time of the Middle Ages,

no the real Middle Ages, Goth

we were pretty much scared of anything moving.

We’d piss and shit in the streets.

Damn the smell of it all was horrid.

There were lots of fortune-tellers

making two bits or a byte

as in your mouth bite.

 

Lots of people using stupid shit

like frog eyes and newt nuts

trying to cure people dying

from black plague, an AIDS 1.0, duh,

or leprosy, venereal disease, or starvation

from no money honey.

Ya’ understand that, don’t ya’?

 

Religious fruits called monks,

no, not all, Sate-loon child,

there were some good ones hear,

and Court priests walked around

all the time and everywhere,

just like today, really, it was creepy,

in black robes,

and they’d cut your head off

if ya’ didn’t give ’em

a head job or your wife or

something for gods sake.

We ate with our bare hands

and burped and farted at the table.

 

Now we were Goths.

These kids today,

all dressing up like it’s Halloween

all the time.

As we look back now,

those were the really good times.

Lots of death and rotting flesh

in the streets. Plenty of corruption

and murder and rape.

Now those were the days.

Yeah, the good old Middle Ages days, huh?

Category:

MUSINGS, PHILOSOPHY, POETRY, SOCIETY

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DARWIN’S DEMISE

When Copernicus gazed into the sun

the Church of Earth fell.

Newton’s apple fell

hit him on his head

and set the world in motion.

Darwin evolved from chimpanzees

and single-cell ocean fish.

 

I came from Outer Space.

My floating DNA ancestors

wander

far through stars

vibrating masses invisible

eyes won’t see

the universe is.

My DNA ancestors

created

Darwin’s single-cell ocean fish.

Fooled poor Darwin.

Fooling you

and your evolutions.

 

I am Achilles

My father was a mere human

my mother was a goddess.

I am a Lugal.

Standing on the expanding shoulders

of the mighty Giants.

Your scientists and scholars

all shortsighted

believe Darwin’s Easter Island

only an Earth and an apple

vast oceans

dust whirling winds

fiery endless

motionless.

Category:

MUSINGS, PHILOSOPHY, POETRY

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GOD WARS AND DOCU-DRAMAS – A poem and philosophical inquiry.

 The Gods always seem to be at war with each other.

            I see it on TV.

A friend of mine has it on their smart phone as an app.

People walk around    or sit all day

staring at their    mini-screens    or       big screens

watching     the Gods at war.

Some of them     just enjoy    the Gods at war.

Others    type   as fast    as their thumbs   and fingers    can move

either        helping the Gods at war keep fighting

or    they are busy typing away

thinking    they can get    the Gods at war   to stop    fighting . . .

maybe they can.

But the real war,       well   the  real war

is convincing

all    of those people

with   or without      big screens           and     mini screens

that the   Gods at war    are    not worth              watching.

And the    Gods at war   are not     worth      fighting for.

The Gods     have fought    before.

And only     men      suffered.

The Gods      do not    suffer.

They   are   Gods.

Only men   suffer.

Women suffer     even more than    men.

Are the Gods    only at war                   for us

like the Greeks             said they were?

Trying to save us

from themselves

or from other Gods           not quite  so    benevolent?

Only the Gods    would know     the answer.

They     are    Gods.

We are     only     men and    women.

Have we ever asked      the Gods

why

they were       at war???

Would they even want us   to know

how imperfect     their world    was?

After   all   a Universe   of Gods    where they   had  to    fight     each other?

You would think   as Gods

since they already      knew  everything

they would be at  peace.

We are    the Gods   to ants     and    roaches.

We watch them    or

we kill them.

Do      we    ever    try   to   help    them?

They only like to    watch us    fight.

It’s the only way     they know   they are safe.

As long as we’re not fighting

hungry          over them.

Why are the Gods at war?

—————————————————

f j llorente

July 11 2012

thank you Stephane Mallarme – Poet (1842-1898)

for re-inspiring my visual verse

Category:

POETRY

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