"fugazi" poems
As humans, we are quite thoughtful
Given such a beautiful and powerful mind
Yet we aren't trained to utilise its magnificence
So at certain times we tend to overthink the awful
And dwell on all that we know
If only we had continued to explore as children
O' I wonder what is there to find
In our society though, conforming is virtue
So what fate will befall me if I stray far from the collective mind?
We speak of the Unknown as if we know it
It's majesty forever lost in a fugazi
Our own little lie in our own little world
Try as we might she remains unknown
A wonder untold, a joint unrolled
And as her mysteries unfold
She reveales herself again as we had always known
Unknown
The essence of something is Nothing
The essence of thought is Being
For it could not exist without it
Without silence, sound would not be
Without space, matter would not be
It is the home of awareness
It is everlasting abundance
It is the beginning and the end
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 9:36 AM UTC
People of Wal-Mart:
what the **** is wrong with you?
You are reducing our lives
and prices in unison...
Today, in passing, i saw on T.V.
a special report: a year
after super-storm Sandy, New Jersey
still hasn't gotten its
sand dunes back.
This is news?
It took 5 years for the
Gulf Coast to begin recovering
from Hurricane Opal.
No national headlines about
Okaloosa Island a year later.
It was flat. It didn't
used to be.
A year after Hurricane Katrina,
all i heard was that Kanye West
thought President Bush didn't
care about black people. But
Wal-Mart helped with logistics
deliveries. Because Bush asked (kind of).
We basically lost a major city
that time.
Where was our airborne toxic event?
Our 15 minutes post mortem?
Thanks for helping, Wal-Mart.
But this is all your fault.
Because without cheaper stuff,
the People of Wal-Mart
would still be able to think.
They would know that
consumerism is great, but also
that it is an identity crisis.
A buzz in their heads.
Our nation fights wars
for capitalism,
but our soldiers fight
for their lives.
So i will see you on
Black Friday, Wal-Mart.
We are dying here in the
South, we have to save
a penny where ever we can.
And, People of Wal-Mart, don't forget:
No president cares about any individual.
The greater good prevails.
And **** your sand dunes, New Jersey.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 4:22 PM UTC
It was all a blur...the day I met you
A headache of which 200 MG of Ibuprofen would not satisfy
You might as well have cut my forehead open and questioned if its contents were love or lust
I didn’t know
I had a headache
Oh it was a doozy
Whew Whew Whew
Thoughts whizzed around my head in zip a dee doo das
Fugazi's of Love or Lust
I don’t know
I have a headache
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 3:39 PM UTC
Woman at diner who knew Fugazi,
I wear all these pins
on my denim jacket
waiting for someone like you
because a t-shirt isn’t
loud enough.
Woman who knew Fugazi,
waitress at diner,
had “seen them twenty times,”
without exaggeration—
with cracking olive skin
and graying curly black
hair to her shoulders,
the light refracting off my pin
my friend bought at a record store
in Philly reflecting her the image
of a slender, voluptuous youth
donned in fake leather
worn Levis and beat Vans
shaking her mop of jet-black curly hair
in a throng of like-minded dressed
individuals in a dingy club
angsty Washingtonians
fleeing the Reagan Youth
mad at Capitalism
mad at Middle Class,
mad at Excess, Abuse, Malaise—
driven by the furious punk rhythms
of sweat-drenched Fugazi.
Woman who knew Fugazi,
friends with Ian MacKaye,
hadn’t seen him in years—
waitress at restaurant
where the scrambled eggs are dry
and the coffee is stale.
Waitress at diner,
Mother now,
wife, adult,
[[punk]]
at heart.
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 3:51 PM UTC
Secrets we share
Because we like the Cohen brothers
Love Torchys tacos
Because people gossip but don't care
When your mom dies I'll help you clean her house
I'll drop everything and come down to be with you
I'd leave my life now but then I'd have no stories to tell you
Remember in the summer when we would steal swims in random apartment complex pools
Texas sunsets
Bright and fading
Just like you and me
We had to skip town again
All these courses for you in grad school
All these cities for me to rethink
Sometimes I'm fatigued and my mind and heart can't settle on a single person or thing
Palpable memories
Remember getting high and listening to fugazi
Just like you and me
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 12:37 AM UTC
This is that remarkable shish,
Extra ordinary type of writing,
That makes me feel some type away,
With my thoughts, solitary.
Befuddled by my own mindset conspiracy
Contradicting predicaments.
No Coachella for me,
My thoughts on parole,
Lost in a pandemonium with pious fiends
Blunted thinking of the known, unknown,
Unknown of the known, unknowns.
Things that we know we don't really know about.
At that time I felt like somebody chose me,
Feeling amorphous as a "POET"should be.
As it is written,
I am gifted,
I know it's fugazi
Come learn something...
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 3:54 PM UTC
***pseudo-expression's
jagged diamonds
a fugazi sans brilliance,
shiner midst vague skies
in the eye of
practical indifference***
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 6:52 AM UTC
Fugazi - The Argument (2001),
an album i liked to mention that
they forgot with Kwik Save supermarkets
and the 7 elevens - tangy twangy Boy Dylan
like lyrics about the mid-western
fake on punk, with the refused's *the shape
of punk to come*, sonic youth,
and oddly enough cobra killer's l.a. shaker.
i knew tool were ****** when
their last album hit the supermarket shelves
along with cucumbers and lack
of kosher meat (10,000 days), even though
not punk; remain cool... remain cool?
remain alive you Hilly Billy.
the swedes never did no much suede
as Elvis with the shoes: chopstick tap dancing:
hey! a pair of drumsticks!
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 8:22 PM UTC
This is that remarkable shish,
Extra ordinary type of writing,
That makes me feel some type away,
With my thoughts, solitary.
Befuddled by my own mindset conspiracy
Contradicting predicaments.
No Coachella for me,
My thoughts on parole,
Lost in a pandemonium with pious fiends
Blunted thinking of the known, unknown,
Unknown of the known, unknowns.
Things that we know we don't really know about.
At that time I felt like somebody chose me,
Feeling amorphous as a "POET" should be.
As it is written,
I am gifted,
I know it's fugazi
Come learn something...
Mar 26, 2017
Mar 26, 2017 at 3:45 PM UTC
Stranger than fiction.
Do you think about us now and then, or am I completely gone?
Do you remember the love I sent, when you hear a certain song?
Or am I a victim of your love, lost to the next one?
Did I fall away and simply fade, like the smoke we used to smoke?
Did I make you laugh in my own way, or am I just something you broke?
I guess I’ll always remember the loving words that you spoke.
If there was a way I could see you again, do you reckon that I would?
If there was a time when you were on my mind,
Do you think my thoughts would turn out to be good?
Or are you just a constant reminder to me, as to what I never want?
I would tell you truths, back when I thought I knew you,
But the truth is I never really did.
I could wish for us and a way to trust,
But that time for me no longer exists.
Just like a dagger, you ripped me apart.
I wanted to thank you for all that you are,
But now all you are is a bad memory.
Remember that you never really had me.
You had a limited version of my love,
You are so fugazi to me.
I would soak you up like you were my favourite drug,
But just being near you was killing me.
You stand there a stranger, a stranger to me.
Now I couldn’t be happier, because you were only temporary.
You had half my love and even that was too much.
You are nothing now, so unworthy.
Go and read my books, take another look at love.
I want you to see clearly, what you have lost.
You were secondary, now just a memory.
I couldn’t write you love stories,
Because you never even loved me.
(C)2019 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 2, 2019
Jul 2, 2019 at 3:01 PM UTC
This shish is deeper than an ocean,
It's harder to harbor but that's all I digest.
As Adam took a bite of the apple,
They see us through the eye (i) of the apple
The world they put in our visualizing sight of mental,
Is to own an APPLE while they pull away the real world
Using evolution, entertainment & electronics forming fugazi.
Presidents in our pockets, these people all dead.
As we aimed for the pin point that we won't miss
Instead we should missplace jealous, aggression & hate.
The more we act upon our emotions we turn to be emotional
Vivid devotion holds us tight than tighter.
We're that over loaded vessel of pure vivid devotion.
These days we have people treating others carelessly
Elevating motionless emotions over, metronome & loyalty.
As he was moguls, he should have not been mulish & took a bite.
A pious way of penalizing sinners would be...
Imagine the weight of the universe on our minds & shoulders
Falling down into the matter of endlessly space...
That's how it would feel like.
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 6:44 PM UTC
Such crude and foul filth fills the minds of us,
all of us, no pure, sweet angels exist.
Beneath the surface- all that we ever discuss-
and amidst the house shrouded in mist
Is where thoughts leak out like a cuts soaking pus,
Where wrong bends to right and wrongly persists,
Where woman are stripped and men are whipped,
Where colours are scratched off and blood runs from fists,
Where truth is only true until someone twists
it like a noose for a neck for their unassuming victim.
This is what we live in- A house with a thousand ceilings.
This is why some give in- Above them another man is kneeling.
And when their old ceiling becomes their floor,
they pour pennies down through the cracks
and laugh at those scrambling down below.
They watch them feel the walls for a door,
making smug remarks at the class each lacks:
“ Not a single painting or books in a row.
How on earth can they expect their riches to grow”.
But its not about how you know it, you know.
It’s not about having any fine things to show.
It’s natural persistence- the breeze and the rivers flow.
To climb the construction in which you have been confined,
is to fall for a foolish notion- a Fugazi another man designed.
I was born in it’s basement, among crowds
and foul, rotten breath. Flesh was scratched
from our backs as we were standing bowed,
they left some shoulders with their heads detached.
But I never fought to the top or leaped,
Never fought back in any fight I was matched.
I crawled, sickly on the splitting wood floor,
in search of what lay behind an old closed door.
It took a lifetime time for me to find,
but it lay there wide open with sky falling behind.
Our Mothers beauty lay within our Fathers patient arms,
and I ran to greet them while the house sounded it’s alarms.
His hands did not shake, her sea’s didn't boil.
But that old building now lays deep beneath their soil.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 2:55 PM UTC
Time is always in the past
Even now
Is in the past
Now
All the years I will spend waiting
Will eventually be one with
All the years I have spent waiting
Still, I will wait
Very Zen...
But it's not because I am patient
I am not a patient boy hums Fugazi
Or some studied guru or master of meditation
Nor am I Rip Van Winkle, for that matter
But if you ask me if I'm waiting, the answer is as it has always been:
Yeah, I'm waiting....
*
Apr 6, 2021
Apr 6, 2021 at 7:46 PM UTC
*
Circumstance-severed ties
Shine like fugazi
Labor under lies
Instead of being, set free
Smothered in shadow
Beneath that Giving Tree
Struggling to let go
The aftermath of deceit
Falling for the untrue
Failing my destiny
Calling out for proof
Smoke-signaling my sanity
*
Jul 5, 2021
Jul 5, 2021 at 6:33 AM UTC