Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Two Poems: State of the World & Allen Ginsberg

Two Short Poems

Two Poems for the Goats!

State of the World
((April, 2011) (poetic prose))

President Obama gave the country a big squeeze, between Bush and Hitler, now he’s just watching us bleed. Venezuela’s oil is funding all the thieves in all the South American Capitols…and then some. Haiti is demanding the world pay up what they promised them, for their earthquake; Japan is waiting in line for their bid. Cuba’s rising like the Nile, and Egypt’s looking for Democracy down the road, in all the wrong places I suppose. Libya’s killing people like swatting flies, a civil war, like Pol Pot, back in ’74. Obama is giving Iran the big bomb; Israel’s no longer singing our National Anthem. North Korea’s blackmailing us again, waiting for another handout— let’s give it to them, a Mickey Finn. Everyone’s sinking is sand, and we’re all clapping hands. Russia’s unseated the EU and UN, and calls America “Friend.” China’s trying to squeeze the old buffalo on the American nickel, like squeezing a pickle, waiting for it to bust, but they like us. Afghanistan and Iraq, our twin Vietnam is still going on and on and on, and not one American is in protest, the strongest country in the world has become gutless. I suppose I can go on and on, Peru is picking out a new president, called Cancer and Aids, and all the Peruvians are waving flags. I think there’s something very wrong out there.

No: 2934 (4-28-2011)

Oh Deep Sigh
(Elegy for Allen Ginsberg)

((April, 2011) (poetic prose))

Okay Allen, dead as a doornail spirit, dark as an abyss worm, gray as a city’s furnace, unhappy as dark unleashed by night, over your nasty gravesite—
Your appearance is unnecessary you were quickly replaced— No more 1200-pages books filled with cremated words of disgrace.
Ugly spirit, you touched him with your ugly hands, when he was young, a beautiful kid and body, so pure, it had hope beyond the ugly spirit, what he became.
Impersonal ugly—
You showed the world your muscle, cold and clad, over forty-years, zipping that zipper up and down, up and down like a clown! Listening to moans and groans with your eyes closed, then writing it all out, with a warped pen and mind, to remind us you were once alive.
You would have been better off—and us—had you never been born.

No: 2935 (4/28/2011)