Whose chalky bones lay along the cracked quay?
Whose sighs were heard beneath the sky that day?
No elegies are sung, no church bells rung,
when knives come out to stay.
Our leaders well met! By begot they get.
And “theirs” are mines that line-by-line are set.
“They’ll say of our pact, ‘It was time to act.’ “
But no one’s left to let.
When great leaders meet, great greetings they tweet,
whose entrails we parse, and coat-tails we pleat.
Those days that we chose, where anything goes,
have so much left to treat.
“You’ve stolen my
treaty!” “Oh, no, sweetie.
Wave bye-bye for now. My, my! You’re sleepy!”
Cribs come with coffins; fibs, far more often.
Why are
we not weepy?
HIMALAYAN CROWDS! NO PARKING ALLOWED!
Their ropes fray by day and at night by shrouds.
In a run-up to stars, best check your bars.
Lest you get lost in clouds.
Piping through mountains: chocolate fountains—
too sweet by far (candy bar accounting).
They ponder, they probe, they question like Job.
Can’t they see who’s drowning?
A massing of waves by quorums of knaves,
whose punting of troves soon stove-in our days.
Parliamentary bells--ring-in night’s knells.
“Oopsie!
Poopsie!” they say.
NEWSPEAK IS NEWS PEAK!
(Ungood as it gets).
MIGHTING IS RIGHTING! We’ll call in those bets!
No need for dreams because others will scream
(Their no's we'll soon forget.)
“So, my iceberg’s ice fills your glass quite nice.
It melts the same, so can you blame my vice?”
DELIVERY SHORE-TO-SHORE! So
who wants more?
“Please, sir,” comes
with a price.
Piecing the pie so we living won’t die,
is like cutting the air fair in the sky.
Such tries the unseen, unseemly and mean.
We’re spuds with cut-out eyes.
“Oh, It’s just like Iran to write that in sand!”
Lines made with sticks or swinging dicks so grand!
Sands blasted this time won’t stop on your dime:
they’ll bleed right through your hands.
One nukie, two nukies, three nukies, more!
When they start melting, we all shut the door!
When it’s all over—and we’re in clover—
who will tote up the score?
DRONES FLYING INTEL—THEY TORCH HUTS! “Don’t tell.”
“Those bloody guts and foreign sluts all smell.”
So, WORK CLEAN, WORK
SAFE! Just
toggle and strafe;
witches won’t cast your spell.
War rides his proud horse, a charger of course.
And Death rides behind, yet finds such a force
unnecessary now—absurd somehow,
after the Great Divorce.
………………..
Now, is there a place with some time and space
for calico cats, magic hats and grace?
Or is some other, some call her “Mother”,
running a different race?
WELL. SORRY ABOUT THAT! I’ve been reading too much
about war and such, and watching too many D-Day movies. Oh well. Bombs Away!
Re-reading what I've written, I seem to hardly have time to catch my breath, with all sorts of stuff coming at me left and right! Even the end stanza wants to blow and suck at the same time. Most of NoW #20 seems like the stuff you'd find in your typical evening newspaper: Chock-a-block with tears and terrors, worries and wonders. And if I dare be optimistic for a moment, I think if we look hard enough, we can find that place I mention in the final stanza, and we can have time and space. But we'll have to look really hard for them.
Of course there are the usual whipping-boys: climate change and the environment, murder, death, pompous-ass politicians, pipe-lines and oil, Julian Assange, and there's even a calico cat thrown in for good luck.
Re-reading what I've written, I seem to hardly have time to catch my breath, with all sorts of stuff coming at me left and right! Even the end stanza wants to blow and suck at the same time. Most of NoW #20 seems like the stuff you'd find in your typical evening newspaper: Chock-a-block with tears and terrors, worries and wonders. And if I dare be optimistic for a moment, I think if we look hard enough, we can find that place I mention in the final stanza, and we can have time and space. But we'll have to look really hard for them.
Of course there are the usual whipping-boys: climate change and the environment, murder, death, pompous-ass politicians, pipe-lines and oil, Julian Assange, and there's even a calico cat thrown in for good luck.
The rhyme scheme was a bit of a pain. The first
line has a double rhyme; the second line, a double rhyme also, and with an end
rhyme scheme of aaba. (The third line
also has a double rhyme.) The meter is “tens” except for last line which is a “six”,
set within four-line stanzas. After a while it got easier, but it became obsessive. Eventually, I wanted to shoot myself because I was starting to babble in rhyme at the supermarket checkout. Though it must be said, people do tend to give you your space at such times. ("You're letting me go ahead? Why, thank you, Alfred!")
Well, I’ll just let "NoW #20" sit there for a spell like
a roadside IED, even though it's in plain sight and not at all likely to blow off anyone's fingers picking it up. There’s
more things that I’m ‘peed off’ about, but I’ll save them for a “Rant” or another poemgasm or during poemageddon, or I'll poemsplain them in an article or whatever. And I
toss these three little guys into the mix below for the sake of humour, however lame. Life
sucks I know, but is that worse than when it blows?
Cheers
 |
| "O, fuuuukk meee!" |
chagrin
caught
drifting from shore in Lake Evermore,
our
captain sat scratching his balls.
he’d
lost his last bet: the
shoreline we’d get;
he
forgot that the lake came with falls.
In This Corner...!
EXECS FACE POSSIES!
WHO’LL BE THE BOSSIES?!
You do know that wrestling is rigged?
"By powers
that be, on land
and the sea--
'tis a
tie that we'd not yet twigged!"
trumptrumptrump!
so, how
many times do we have to parse
the
rings and the whorls on that guy’s arse?
how
many turds must we study and smell
before
we say he can to go to hell?
 |
| Click me! |
The photo is of a SJW in shock following The Hillary's loss in 2016, and I include it for a bit of levity. I thought she looked like how I feel most days when I read the newspaper. I'm more of a Bernie guy, so I won't be shedding any tears over HRC any time soon, after all, there are a lot of other things to be more upset about in this world, such as school shootings, rampaging neo-liberal/neo-conservative capitalism, wars, famine, poverty, violence, plastic in the ocean, industrial farming, the climate emergency... etc, etc. I'd express my utter shock and dismay over such things, like she's doing for HRC, but I'm Canadian. We don't do gob-smacked very well, and we tend to apologize for your mistakes, instead. So, sorry about that....
No comments:
Post a Comment