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Archive for July, 2020

sick flux (16 chump Trumps)

Thursday, July 30th, 2020

sick flux
aka Trump Virus
aka pedarest rapist racist liar cheat thief









 

4 from 1995

Wednesday, July 22nd, 2020

Only wrote 8 poems in 1995, but the final 4 were quite nice

1995.4 — Promise Land
1995.5 — Fertile Lies
1995.8 — Fungu Stew
1995.8 — Lots Overlapping

~ ~ ~

Promise Land

Greyhound bound
To Tupperware City
Light like liquid Zen
Wars time, tatters tight
As tight asses tie
Meat neat man to kine, kino
Contempt of course
Playing Plato’s barn

Blue bloods
Stabilize fish at 7
Mime the ma’am
Bamboo cathedrals
In wondrous disarray
Just outside real
Where the fat
Flee frantic
Fleece feed the poor

Competing EXIT signs
Dance specific disease
Rude crude
Plus tax
Bouncing Betty’s
Slouching Bethlehem belly
Slips on guilt
& splinters.

~ ~ ~

Fertile Lies

Small particles of truth lace love’s lies

Peeping one-eyed cat’s seafood stores
Mount used two-love carnivore rides
Cast past sated loss

Self to self slip service schemes for the day
Emasculation Mama stiff with semen
Screams dreams porta piss shit machine
Messaged me to mine

Bile regenerative truth du jour:
loving spoonful’s pearl jam
nirvana to my hole

~ ~ ~

Fungu Stew

Old piano roll’s wrong:
Slime can’t slide.
Hot crotch coffee time’s
Limited clearance
For the effluent affluent,
The halfway whores,
The herd nerd cud kulchur,
And the old ass versus mass.

Psycho servitudes feed the fever,
Fodder optional.
Prime apes ape pre ape,
Mom’s ashes my dust.
People getting fat.
Soft.
Old.
Luxury cushioned
Nurture negating nature.
Easy pickings.
Easy meat.
Easy feeding easy street.

Women leak.
Men bleed.
My country ’tis of greed,
Cleveland cop corruptus.
Onion nation bent on killing shame.
Sodom insane.

~ ~ ~

Lots Overlapping

Seems to me a lot of people
are sleeping with a lot of people
under various rules and regulations
while I deal in shadow
(for not all place bound in time)

I think it’s neat sniffing sheep in heat
though not my style
I’m more rock n roll cool cruel lean scene
with lots overlapping

I’m the high in Ohio
Fractals friend
Mom made whether
Dad’s leaks and squeaks
(which is white of me)
Proof positive ant’s scant
leather lash shadow due

I fear neither name
nor knowledge
for magic round bounds
joyous in between
high noon weed easy
stone throw from sanity
optional

Step outside the lines
Stable tables
Video yesteryear roarshock inkblot
new age pap
mammaries for stars

Be one
Be nothing
Bananas brown Asian to African
Albinos weep white
dark, as Africa used to be

 

anne sexton – live or die die die die die

Tuesday, July 21st, 2020

They wouldn’t let me go into the Cole Eye Clinic with Lady for her horrendous traumatic massive eye needle shot today, so I sat on a side street for 2.5 hours with nothing to read but Anne Sexton’s Live or Die (poems 1962-66).

Instead of Live or Die it should be titled LET ME DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE… she killed herself 8 years later, believe Cleveland was her last reading.

Good writing, but I felt nothing for her sadnesses nor these poems.

Anne Sexton (November 9, 1928 – October 4, 1974) was an American poet known for her highly personal, confessional verse. She won the Pulitzer Prize for poetry in 1967 for her book Live or Die. Her poetry details her long battle with depression, suicidal tendencies, and intimate details from her private life, including relationships with her husband and children, whom it was later alleged she physically and sexually assaulted.” – Wikipedia

 

fresh words, cheap

Monday, July 20th, 2020

4 most recent poems

2020.7.7 – Darwin’s Revenge
2020.7.16 – Plague
2020.7.19 – The Mullbelly Be
2020.7.20 – Meat Beat

Darwin’s Revenge

Trump’s in trouble
cuz
you can’t rape the virus
you can’t bully the virus
you can’t cheat the virus
you can’t buy off the virus
you can’t lie away the virus
so he’s way outside his skill set

~ ~ ~

Plague

The dead and their others
lie corpseless in coffins
confined by ideals
the corporates offer
their wages of win
and sages of sour
too often for gains
which piss away hours
and heart’s comfort steals
for irregular options
from menapaused mothers
in sauces of sin

High ho high ho
it’s off to the aquarium we go
we’ll hook some meat
to cook and eat
and then
most hurridly go

Evil can evil
good can good
some is teaching
some is blood

So I’m done

Time to toke
and piss
& bed

~ ~ ~

The Mullbelly Be

This soup we swim
of gospel and weasel
is a thick and weary brine

I got through today
as far as I know hurting no one
plus pleased the wife and cat

I endure
I continue
I try to earn my keep

~ ~ ~

Meat Beat

So many dances this rock roll
there’s the Sisyphus
the Rat Race
the Tortoised Hare
the ReRun
the Karmic Loop-d-Loop
the Follow the Leader
running around the real
wheely fast
and of course the ever present
Let’s Whine Again Like We Did Last Whimper

Guess we do the Do It Again
until we Get It Right

Never enough this almost done

 

last month’s ego

Friday, July 17th, 2020

My 57th monthly feature on Medusa’s Kitchen was posted yesterday, and I haven’t blogged last month’s yet.

Gone from blogging daily to 1-3 times per month.

Don’t care much anymore… maybe my ego’s not quite as needy.

Of course they’re 4,469 posts since July 2006, so it’s not as if it matters.

But i’ll be posting more – some of the hundreds of poems and thousands of fotos lying around.

So, here’s last month’s 56th feature – 10 fotos, 9 poems/songs… 8 with music by Peter Ball, 1 with music from Billy Clarksville:

https://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/2020/06/the-trees-they-are-dancing.html

 

 
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