Poetry Break #5
DOW JONES DEATH SPIRAL WATCH:
Another down day for the DOW. I’m not reading anything in the MSM about the FED doing anything to stop the current slide. Whatever the powers that be are up too, it don’t seem to be working:
|Trade Time:||August 28, 2007|
SOMEONE STOP ME BEFORE I POST MORE OF MY POETRY! Opps, too late. As always these are by me:
In an effort to build equality of the sexes
I pronounce myself liberated and will henceforth
Allow my dates to pay the restaurant and bar bills
Yes, date affirmative action!
When using the bathroom after a woman
I will scream at the top of my lungs
Damn woman, always leaving the seat DOWN!
Whenever someone refers to me as mister
I will insist on being called mers spelled M-E-R-S
Should someone ask why mers
I will ask why ms, spelled M-S?
I will never take out garbage or lawn mow again
These are considered “men’s work” by the sexist social structure
Men have been expected to do this kind of degrading work for far too long
I will instead spend hours or perhaps days
Running around the mall looking for
Just the right shade of chintz curtains
To match the new wall paper
When a woman tries to pick me up at bar
I will no longer accept a nice piece of ass
As has been expected of men
I will instead be seeking a gainfully employed financially secure provider
Who will bring home the bacon to build a stable nest
For the children I will bear
To those that say “wait a sec, men can’t bear children!”
I can only say this is exactly the kind of gender Based procreation myth
perpetuated by the chauvinist pigs who run this sexist, female dominated society
Brothers in liberation step away from that football game on TV
There’s quilting to be done!
How to Become a Poet
Be born into a dysfunctional family
If your family is perfectly normal worry not
Just claim they’re dysfunctional
Spend your childhood being abused
By one or more drunken parents
If neither of your parents drink
Convince them to start
Spend your teen years
As an unpopular, isolated geek
Turn to drink, drugs and sex
As solace for your fucked up life
I can’t stress step four enough
If you haven’t made
Sex and drugs and rock n roll
Your three basic food groups
You can’t be a poet
Get fired from job after job
Be broke all the time
Spend periods of your life homeless
Develop a warped view of the world
Write it down
Inflict your writing on audiences at open mike nights
Being a poet is like being a rock star
Without all the chicks and money
These next two were inspired by a couple of blog friends of mine, whose bolgs I read everyday. They are Kristina and Little Indian, if you haven’t read their blogs just click on their names and check em out.
For Kristina; Who makes me question: What’s in the Cards?
Sometimes I feel stuck at a place on the path
The Hermit I am, ever striving to light the way
For other travelers who then pass me by
Am I ever to stand here lantern in hand?
Will I forever forgo traveling further on?
Can I ever gain The Strength
To take The Chariot back
Perhaps to The Lovers
To make the choice and take responsibility
For moving to and fro
On a repeating cycle
Perhaps on ahead to spin The Wheel of Fortune
Alas luck seems always to fail me
Better to find Justice
Out with the old, in with the new
Use well balanced mind to stir things up!
The other cards seem out of play
But the change of Death is ever present
Rebirth and renewal
But what of this present life journey?
I can always rush back to The Fool
Equipped with wand of will
Ignoring the warning of the domesticated canine
Over the edge of the precipice
In a leap of faith
Into the wild of choice
Then onward, toward The World…
For Little Indian, a Chief of Big Heart
When I read the words of my fellow writers like Little Indian
when they speak of the horrors of war
When I FEEL for them human compassion.
When I understand we are all in the same boat.
When the lives snuffed out by an “a” bomb
By a “b” bomb
By a suicide bomb
By a b-2 bomber
When my fellow writer makes me feel
That the dead are truly my brothers and sisters
That the pain and loss is ours to share
Then I understand just how free
I am to act for change
To stop the killing
To live in peace with my fellow humans…
Thanks for your words little indian.
The telepathic crickets on the ClapSotronics editorial board insist that my posting of my poetry now and then is having an ad-verse (pun intended) effect on the rhythm of their chirping…
The scientifically impossible I do right away
The spiritually miraculous takes a bit longer