Aaron LaLux Aug 9
Mumok Museum [24]

What am I doing in Vienna,
staring at cold sterile pop art as the whole entire world we're on burns,
in a city I never wanted to go to,
doing things that never really seemed that inspiring,

& it's not that I have an antipathetic attitude towards these pathetic fools,
in fact it's actually just the opposite of that because I'm an actual optimist,
which is why I don't feel inspired by bored cyborgs their wires or their tools,
& precisely why I'd rather gather flowers than be an actor for their power,

see I find more inspiration in a single leaf on a single tree by a river bank,
than from all the colors & lines contained within the walls of this museum,
which is why when I'm asked all the time what kind of poetry I read,
I reply I don't even read poetry see I don't find it in books I find it in seasons,

It's the same reason I don't need to go to church to pray,
because I don't need my messages from God to be translated by a human,

anyways where am I at & what am I doing?

Oh yeah Im at a museum in Vienna wondering where the inspirations gone,
& why everything seems so excruciatingly tiring,
see it seems we’re on the verge of a collective mental breakdown,
at the same time like we're on the precipice of a collective enlightening,

either way the system’s short circuiting & could do with some rewiring.

Why does every rags to riches story I know of those that've made it,
end in an overpriced designer outfit at home bored all alone & jaded?

Why is Consumerism followed like a religion,
I mean we're all made of the same DNA strands regardless of name brands,
I mean everything is just carbon hydrogen & oxygen anyways,
which may explain why materialism is immanent in every independent man,

while an apocalypse seems undeniably immanent &,
we dwell in the highest heights ever built still we don't totally understand,

we don’t worship Jesus we worship Visa,
putting good credit ahead of good morals,
don’t praise Muhammed in a daze we say our grace in front of TV Dramas,
no Buddha dreams just computers screens no real friends just PayPals,

& maybe that’s why it's easier to be blind than to see,
maybe that’s why we hide in museums behind Valentino sunglasses,
because we'd rather have expense tastes than be free,
but when you’re behind any type of four walls you’re trapped in,
whether on a Penthouse terrace with Paris in Paris,
or doing hard-time for white collar crimes with Madoff in a Federal pen,
either way we’re victims of our own additions trying to buy more time,
but running out of credit as banks are collapsing & the recession is relapsing,

so why even buy things when we know not so secretly,
that only Love will set us free from these retro restrictions & their trappings,

see,

the best things in life still are still free,
& yeah liberation is expensive & self renovations are extensive,
but freedom is priceless so live a life that's righteous,
seems that the Love Pyramid is the only pyramid that’s not a Ponzi scheme,

because we are all equal even if we’re not all treated equally,
that’s why some have no clothes while others wear designer denim jeans,
but these Diesels're 2 tight on my thighs this macabre carnival has no prize,
& I can do anything I want with my life but all I really want to do is breathe,

breathe,

breathe because this lifestyle is expensive,
but freedom is priceless,
even though they'll try to capitalize off of anything,
so they market it & try to price it,

I just,
want to find a place to relax & release,
& be free of all of this,
find true love & say “Fck off to the politicians & all their politics!”,

fck their programs fck their projects,
fck their ugly agendas dressed in artificially splendid splendor,
fck their quotas & their motives for treating human beings as objects,
fck their pre-programed consumerist culture of conmen capitalists,

fck there putting machines over human beings,
just to increase the place where their profit sits,
& I say all of this regardless of who it offends because I'm not an Apologist,
I'm more of a Lyrical Pharmacist,
who serves indiscriminate prescriptions in the form of transcriptions,
in order to assist in the additions that come from positive developments,
which will occur for sure once we switch the position we currently sit in,
& restore Divine Order once more in the name of Humankind's betterment,

in the game of life I play,
they know I'm so official that I don't even need a Letterman,

I just,
don’t know what else to say,
I don’t know why I’m at this museum in Vienna,
hiding away on the top floor writing this to you on a Sunday,

on the 5th floor got it all but I just want to give more,
I just want to gift these words then make my escape,
don't you get it I don't want to get more sh!t,
if anything I just want to find a way to give more of what I have away,

just want to be alone,
but also want these words to be known so the truth can be shown,
but where do you go when you’re tired totally over it all,
& all you want to do is rest & write these poems,
but even with all you have you still don't know where to go,
because even with all these things you still don't have a home...

Hello,
could you please pick up the phone,
I’m calling because I still love you,
& I want to come back to you even though I know I’m already gone,

currently on the top floor of the Mumok museum in Vienna,
the floor is the 5th to be exact,
& yeah it’s true that I don’t know where I’m going,
but what I do know is I don’t think I’m ever coming back,

online & off track,
writing more words with more rhymes,
than any other living writer in contemporary times,
& no I'm not lying 'cause I'd never lie to you & yes those are both actual facts,

& yeah that’s a fact & yeah you can Google that,
but I’m going to follow that fact with a question,
before I forget to mention,
let me just ask you what I'm doing here in Vienna?



What am I doing in Vienna,
staring at cold sterile pop art as the whole entire world we're on burns,
in a city I never wanted to go to,
doing things that never really seemed that inspiring,

& it's not that I have an antipathetic attitude towards these pathetic fools,
in fact it's actually just the opposite of that because I'm an actual optimist,
which is why I don't feel inspired by bored cyborgs their wires or their tools,
& precisely why I'd rather gather flowers than be an actor for their power,

see I find more inspiration in a single leaf on a single tree by a river bank,
than from all the colors & lines contained within the walls of this museum,
which is why when I'm asked all the time what kind of poetry I read,
I reply I don't even read poetry see I don't find it in books I find it in seasons,

It's the same reason I don't need to go to church to pray,
because I don't need my messages from God to be translated by a human,

anyways where am I at & what am I doing?

∆ Aaron LaLux ∆

from The Holy Trilogy Vol. 2: Mandalas
available worldwide 08/08/18
Aa Harvey Jul 7
Pop Idol


Milk the applause, savour the day;
You only have thirty seconds left,
Of your fifteen minutes of fame.
Another band falls off the conveyor belt;
It’s time for you to be replaced, by another covers band.


Another wanna-bee, another piece of human trash;
Who simply follows the money.
In search of their star, in the music hall of fame.
Do you seriously think, you can last the pace?
And make another album that sells like your first?
You naïve fool, that’s what they call consumerism
And you’re definitely not, a new sensation.


You’re just another advertisement;
For their hit T.V. show, with the losers and the freaks.
Don’t you realize you’re only a star of car crash T.V.?


(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Aaron LaLux Jul 5
Another Heart Break Poem,
when we both know no one what’s to read it,
I Love really is blind,
because I loved her but she didn’t see it,

now I’m back where I started,
albeit a bit more broken,
in such denial that she was leaving,
that when she was packing I thought she was joking,

or teasing at least,
just to appease the Beast,
feeling like an Odd God,
with the power for war or peace,

and I’ve got all the offering of this world,
literally brought to me and delivered to my feet,
can order anything I want on Amazon,
it’s a jungle out there and I’m starting to feel the heat,

can’t cool off can’t settle,
can’t even work up an appetite to eat,
can’t talk or focus on anything at all,
can’t even lay in my bed and get any sleep,

because she’s consuming my mind,
my God I’m obsessed,
feeling like I’m still sleepwalking in this nightmarish daydream,
eyes wide open with a blind fold on the high wire feeling stressed,

and I’m tired of trying and exhausted from a conscious that gets no rest,

seems like I spent all my Good Karma credits,
and I’m still playing the game without any credit left,
and they say home is where the heart is so I’m a broken home,
because I’m broken hearted and there’s a constant pain in my chest,

yes,
I know this too will pass,
yes,
I know nothing ever last,

but that doesn’t make me feel better,
it makes me feel worst,
because I know we will both depart any second,
I just wish we’d has a chance to be together first,

and it hurts,
because there’s nothing I can say or do,
she’s gone she left me she’s back on that lonely road,
and I’m left alone writing this poem to you,

another Heart Break Poem,
when we both know no one what’s to read it,
I Love really is blind,
because I loved her but she didn’t see it…

∆ LaLax ∆
Losing lost in the loneliness
Feeling for hope and for bliss
God damn I miss being missed
And the euphoria of a close kiss
Even if it felt like another mis-take
Porno smash cuts, his take he takes
Awake for the departed, 3am’s too late
Plus Jack Nicholson said he's already made
But I don't know,  just can’t believe em’
They said I was the anti, another demon
I guess now I have something to believe in
Plus the thought of you can’t keep me from cheesing
So I fiend for heaven but also for another release
Knowing one way or another that I'll soon be at peace
rob kistner Jun 22
(for Hoppy)
_

he snapped his shine cloth
and shared his stories

tales of joy
tales of pain
his Memphis blues
his Mis'sippi river

his truth fixed there
in warm brown eyes
deep and turbulent
as that big muddy

his rich voice
broadleaf husky
thick as sorghum
smooth as bourbon
Beale Street bourbon

his weathered face
cut with sorrow
marked and scarred
by years of burden
tears of witness

each sculpted crease
bore testament

cracked hands reach
with suffered care
wrap tailored leather
in polished love

callused fingers
yellowed by habit
roll the rhythm rag
pulling the sheen
with sweat and spit
blood and bone

as if to wipe clear
the broken promises
the failed love
the soul stains
of pickin' fields
of cruel streets
of dark back allies

a harsh wisdom
hard learned

the pop and slap
the tempo'd snap
resonate
to please my ears

the soulful cadence
stirs my spirit
lifts my worry
brings a smile

and makes my step
strong as conviction
light as a feather

_


rob kistner © 2013
(revised 2018)
This is a tribute to a black man we called Hoppy. He had a shoe shine stand in an alcove, in front of the First National Bank in the Ohio town where I grew up.
As kids, my friends and I would sit on the bank's lawn, listening to Hoppy sing and tell his stories. We were fascinated by his tales and his Memphis twang. He rolled his own tobacco cigarettes. We thought he was magical.
I remember the day when Hoppy wasn't there, and we learned he had died. My friends and I all cried - a lot. ;(
Atul May 27
And that you were an infant.
I shall appear from your mouth
And I would pop before you knew.
For my dear Pooh Bear.

My HP Poem #1709
©Atul Kaushal
Aa Harvey Apr 25
Kawehi : Part Four


I breathe in your music to me whole;
I’m letting go of falling away.
Poptastic!  No such thing as plastic inside my heart-shaped soul.
I fill it with your songs and my reality is now a happier place.


Help me; I’m locked up on the inside.
Help me; to let love complete me and show me what I have lost.
Help me; I need to find my heart a home in which it can happily reside.
You help me, get me closer to God.


Time drifts away as I listen to your sounds;
Funky dancer, pink guitar; leave me here to fall.
I cannot be lifted because I am happy to stay down,
But listening to Kawehi raises my heart and I can rise once more.


I see a Sia Chandelier song by Kawehi,
As I stay here watching YouTube;
1,2,3 and I am silenced, by your silence…
Speechless you leave me because I am lost inside of your light.
Beauty sounds like you; in a woman with a guitar I could confide.


Secretly, love does not like me,
But with a woman like you I could try once more;
Unfortunately, there are no others like you, for you are unique.
An empty wish; a lying dream.  All I have is worth nought;
But I can listen to you whenever I want to, so I can still find peace.


Iamkawehi.  You are somebody that I would like to know;
But we have never met and we never will, I guess.
Still here I sit with a smile on my face at home,
Because if love sounds like this,
Then hopefully I can find my own music-minded muse to kiss.


Real garage music; connect the numbered dots.
I am happy ever after I have found this place to be happy.
I could write you a thousand poems so easily,
But I just can’t write a song;
So I experience music through your eyes and I love what I see.


(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
TheseRoots Mar 21
I don't know when I'm not home
This love I give, does not go
Where you are and here I stay
Nothing will make this love go away
I can't be alone, all by myself
This pain I have, you have not felt
As much as I pop, it does not stray
But my heart strings you pull have started to fray.
Another one, My saplings
Poem posted Mar 20
a \portal

what is it like to be so empty, no real creative edge
what is it like to not be special

you name yourself after ancestral cheese. first given is such a bore like many other girls. what's it like to be a commoner and flip-flop your position to gain an empty pen? you have no idea of your transparency. you fuck a guy twice your age, with an aging neck that spews old written garbage. battered is the brass sconce that adorns cobweb candles you burn for your saggy lover. oh yes, i am sure your penning is superb. tell me, you're an artist, or so you think you are.... how again will you save white women with your mop dyed red? wait, is it, jennifer, michelle, tracy, lisa, melissa...whatever your dull given name is? he likes them to dye their hair in the red. disgusting. not natural.
Update....well fucking well. Brittany Nelson knows her real name is boring just like her fake, empty soul. Bre Fauxpas the shit head.☭☭☭☭☭☭☭☭☭☭☭☭☭☭☭☭
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