ClapSoVerse™ #3…
This being the over tanned poetic musings of a bum on the beach of experience…
Here’s a suggestion for real hope, change and responsibility:
– Ralph Waldo Emerson
ClapSotronics Official Motto™: MOTUS ORATIONE POTENTIA!
THINGS THAT GO FAST!
Reflections on Se7enth Heaven by ClapSo
For those of us
For whom
A HANS device
Is some sort of German rhyme scheme
The 2016 NASCAR championship
Will be
A big “SOOOOOOOO WHAT?”
But, for those of us
For whom
The smell of burning rubber and spilled race fuel
Has become an acquired taste
WE ARE IN AWE
AS Jimmie Johnson
And his 48 team
Enter the Pantheon
The se7enth heaven trinity
As it now stands
In order of ascension:
Richard Petty
Dale Earnhardt SR.
Jimmie Johnson
But before I reach my big finish
Hat tip to Carl Edwards
For his championship move
Trophy or not
Post crash he proved
Yet again
He’s the class of the field
And to all the young drivers
Xfinti in number
NASCAR ride or dirt track slider
I’m happy to say:
You’ll get your chance
In due time
To enter se7enth heaven
Just look at
Sliced bread and Chase
To name but two
Ably representing your class
For inspiration
And perhaps a peek at what’s to come
Your way on the tilted highway
Next year, or beyond
All that said
I must relate
Jimmie now has a date
With number #ei8ht
Drivers, start your engines…
BOOM CONFETTI!
Reflections on the Art Industrial Complex By ClapSo
Once a star is born, and from them their work is shorn
It becomes about THEM and not THAT
The patronage of the halt, the lame, the blind then
Does render their heat and light, lukewarm and murky
It is not a possessed molten ball of hydrogen
I ever sought to be
But an eccentric orbit dirty snowball
Pointing my tail like an upraised middle finger
At all who would steal my work
And ensconce it in their crushing black hole treasure houses
As if the simulated gravitas of their manufactured singularity
Could ever truly waylay such as me
Flying free in my massive ellipses
Cold as ice and up to my ass in fertile creative muck
My mercurial aspect, ever shifting scope
Renders their pitiful event horizon meaningless
For it is the light speed privilege of those like me
To seed the perhaps still earthbound souls of those yet to come
In hope that they shall break the surly bonds of moneyed mass
To instead travel the deep black expanse free of creative consumptive judgement
Mayhaps to come full oval, to seed the next generation of perhaps still earthbound souls
By pointing their own middle finger tail in angry triumph
At the seemingly endless supply
Of covetous, clutching, credentialed, authoritarian, management cretins
Who ever attempt to rob from us of our very purpose:
To speak without their limits!
To simply render them as null as they are fully void!
Fuck their star machine, and may all their stars go super nova . . . KABOOM!
The X-15: Party Gone Out of Bounds by ClapSo
She rose aloft
Snug under her big mama’s wing
At height she was ceremoniously
Kicked out of her nest
To soar alone, but beloved
Higher and faster then even her B-52 mom could dance
Tripping the light fantastic
Her on board lover strapped in her gentle embrace
Guarded against that jealous bitch goddess gravity
And her sometimes evil twin inertia
Those scheming two ever trying to play the spoiler
To break our young couple apart
She with a great set of gams
He, gentle and careful at the first
But then their song comes over the radio
GO FOR ROCKET BURN!
Her engineer daddies, having raised her right
Hopeful, yet maybe a bit worried back at home base
Watched as their little girl then blossomed into womanhood
Dancing with the stars did they!
At apogee crescendo her first of 199 proms half over
The lovers floated weightless, almost lost to this earth
Just then a new song came over the speakers
GO FOR REENTRY BURN!
So back to Terra firma they did come, screaming across that 3D dance floor
He promised to have her home before midnight after all
To Brooklyn slide onto the Mud Lake driveway
Back into the loving embrace of her slipstick papas
Exhausted and spent the lovers bid a fond goodnight
A peck on the cheek and a wink
Awaiting perhaps, the next cotillion
When they would again dance deep into the night…
Round Trip Rocket by ClapSo
She’s a stout ship
Tall as she is lean
Though sans captain
The star we steer her by: Ol’ Sol
Beams with delight at her glory
Shot she was deep into the night
Only to return from whence she came
In a rumble of fire and smoke
Light right on home target she did
Ready for her next trip
back to space or perhaps into
America’s attic
The Smithsonian
To take her well deserved place
Along side
The others of her kind
Our stairway steps
To the rest of our galaxy
And beyond…
The Telepathic Crickets™ on the ClapSotronics editorial board and I hope you enjoyed this visit to our verse…
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