--- for all the dharma bums,
hanging out beneath broken
down bridges
I want to rant like a over sexed rooster, staggering toward
some decadent hen house full of skeletal politicians,
I want to blow out the pilot light on the stove
in White Houses that compose songs about burning
wheatfields and magnifying glasses that inspect
the lovers in every bedroom in America.
Get the hell out of our bucket of tears will you. . .
for Christ’s sake, release the scaffold you’ve got
draped around our unfulfilled mysteries
and archbishoped medicine cabinets full
of broken dreams.
Oh you cancered catastrophe conundrum of drop dead
open window blues, I blow my continental harmonica
up your swollen ass and blind your insightful eyes
with shooting stars and the poetry
of Charles Bukowski.
I have heard an ode of blistering plutonium,
have met Jim Morrison inside the hidden doors
of his trembling sensitivity, watched as you battered
him senseless because he would not conform
to your biblical pablum and water fountain
of supposed normality.
Like a cockroach inside the guesthouse of a magnesium
monotony you bleed with the retired blood
of a 1940's radio station, offering nothing but
the same old static and untuned guitar chords
of a toilet bowl that flushes the remnants
of your pretentious bombs down the drain.
I traded in my new testament for a used copy
of Allen Ginsberg’s Howl, I stripped myself naked
on a Kerouacian highway and ran screaming past
the sunflowers, chanting something about
the berries of a forgotten wisdom,
waving a Tibetan prayer flag from the portal
of my eyes.
And as the amphetamine parade marches on the legs
of expiring diplomats, as the molesting ministers
are unrepentant outside native sweat lodges,
as Hieronymus Bosch repaints his garden
of delights, I collect the crushed flowers
of our history and place them in an envelope
marked FOR GOD’S SAKE, RETURN TO SENDER.
So you skeletons peering through my window,
you purpled and bruised excuses of humanity,
get thee back inside the abstract abyss
where you belong, where mirrors of spiritual earthquake
will haunt you forever and let me get on
with the railroad truths spoken by the hobos of yesterday
when freedom was as simple as a meal around a campfire
and there were no epilogues of confining grief
in our coffee cups.
In a list
A contest entry
- favorites - prewrites. by Melissa Gayle.
1000 points, ended February 6, 11 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Should you be on my favorites? by unraveled.
700 points, ended March 15, 52 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 23 of 23
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that was pretty cool. i found myself wishing for some line breaks (psychologically i tend to need them o.0 )
but i liked it. thanks for the entry
-cassidy
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I am SO glad that you entered this - it is fabulous. Strong, powerful and your voice demands to be heard!
: -
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Ah shucks Melissa . . . thanks so much for the silver goblet. I haven't been around on AP as much as I would like of late . . . busy, busy, busy trying to formulate and edit another book.
Marc
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this is simply wonderful, to me it is divine
I went slowly and it caught me and kept reading amazed till the end by man I really need a cup of coffee a real strong cup of coffee to read and re-read this extremely amazing piece, I envy you for your intellect, choice of words and style of writing and imagery and all, but I do not give you the evil eye, what I simply want to say is that I wish I could write half or even a quarter of what your written and have a fraction of your wittiness
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Nermin . . . good to meet you! Understand that I have been playing the poetry game for a long, long time. I honestly believe that each and every one of us has a unique and individual voice within us, so keep listening in and get it down on the paper as best you can . . . you never know what the results might bring.
Namaste, Marc
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There are other hen houses I would rather stagger towards and I don't mean gay evangelical preachers either. I want my fat ass lifted from its chair and placed in a palace of damsels deperate and they will have to be desperate in my case.
The rest is a rant I can applaud as I pound my coffee cup in laughter and demand for more java.
peace & Light,
Tom B.
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Liked the strong sentiments and thoughts shared in these lines, the alliteration and the forcefulness of the ideas mentioned throughout. Great metaphores used as well.
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If this was all written out over one cup of coffee, that cup must have lasted you a long time.
I love the imagery in this, can't really see anything to critique. -
very good sounded like you wrote this as your mind freely giving you the words almost you knew what the next line was going to be almost ameditly sounded great and flowed well awsome write
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coffee cup junkie
Well, I am a coffee addict and this write really got me AWAKE!!! Brought around lots of memories of "past times" and the insanity of Life.
Very intriguing write.........
Lady Dragonwyck
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Some of it is really great. Some extremely evocative stuff in there ex:
"I collect the crushed flowers
of our history and place them in an envelope
marked FOR GOD’S SAKE, RETURN TO SENDER. "
but there are a few places where it comes apart. A couple of things I read more than once and went 'huh?'.
"I want to blow out the pilot light on the stove
in White Houses that compose songs about burning
wheatfields and magnifying glasses that inspect
the lovers in every bedroom in America. "
The stoves in white houses are composing songs about wheatfields? or are the houses doing the composing? I get where you're going, but it seems there's a noun missing?
there are a couple of images I didn't get as well. "magnesium
monotony" for example.
Great slam, overall, but I think it could be a bit more accessible. -
this is simply stunning marc.
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Thanks Cin . . . I gotta admit, I kinda like this one myself . . .
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Wow... All I can say is that this is the kind of stuff I dream of writing. It's slam - angry and assertive, without being aggressive, with a whole lot of "what is going on here?" to boot. It rambles, but I love it, and can still find enough shreds of understanding to appreciate it.
It reminds me of a rant with a friend in some remote, tucked-away coffee shop on a rainy day, after not having slept for a good 24 hours.
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with the railroad truths spoken by the hobos of yesterday
when freedom was as simple as a meal around a campfire
and there were no epilogues of confining grief
in our coffee cups.
sorry i will go away after this. LOL
man how you have betrayed the raw harsh beauty of roadlife here is timeless. and oh how so many of the ramblers are "running with the devil shooting for the stars" from as you say ..confining grief.
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blow my continental harmonica
up your swollen ass and blind your insightful eyes
with shooting stars and the poetry
of Charles Bukowski.
man that is a poem in its own right.
this whole poem just pulled me down the page. upon the third reading
I traded in my new testament for a used copy
of Allen Ginsberg’s Howl, I stripped myself naked
on a Kerouacian highway and ran screaming past
the sunflowers, chanting something about
the berries of a forgotten wisdom,
waving a Tibetan prayer flag from the portal
of my eyes.
-- can i paste and credit this to my hompage?
please.. LOL -
I AM DUMBFOUNDED!
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Thanks man . . . much appreciated . . .
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Unable to respond to this. A bad case of despondency, hopefully temporary.
Just a couple of things - freedom is never 'as simple as a meal around a campfire', and I think it's 'plutonium'.
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Hey, thanks for noticing the spelling error, much appreciated . . . and why the despondency, it will, I am sure, pass in time . . .
Marc -
JustMercedes, I myself have found freedom in that very thing. not a penny in the pockets, a stranger in a strange land, and was the richest man on the planet. a half a loaf of bread amonst fellow ramblers and a warm fire was a divine ensemble to the senses a few nights.
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Yes, of course you are right, and I am losing sight of fellow ramblers, struggling to make sense of alienation. I warm myself at your fire.
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grins and passes a jug of Mogan David's and the tamborine... LOL
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