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CH Gorrie Aug 2013
for Nick and Kaitie

1.
Yesterday, right when our call got dropped,
I was going to tell you something about marriage.

I was going to tell you something gnomic,
a maxim worth getting engraved.

I've since forgotten,
but I believe it was akin to saying that, like Truth,
marriage is impossible to define in verbal space.

So, I guess I'm glad I forgot. The words
would've seemed either too hastily conceived for their subject matter
or else weightless, enigmatic – without impact.

I think it was Auden who whined, “Marriage is rarely bliss,”
though he lightened the phrase by encapsulating it in the context of modern physics –
namely, *at least it has the ability to take place
,
and that should be enough to bring bliss equal to Buddha’s Emptiness.

So, I'm happy our call got
dropped,
for the dial tone was
the pithiest aphorism on marriage any sentient life could've produced.

The key word is “produced.”

2.
    This is what marriage is not:
Socrates gurgling hemlock
    on his dusty prison cot,
giggling as he glimpsed a dikast’s deformed ****;

    Nietzsche tenured for philology
at Basel; Nietzsche feverishly etching
    Fick diese scheiße! on a Jena clinic's wall; biology
predetermining the team for which he was pitching;

    a poem; a hotdog; *******;
a discharged Kalashnikov
    engendering generational pain
somewhere in Saratov

    circa 1942;
this is what marriage is not:
    hatred, jealousy, ballyhoo,
obsessive yearnings for a yacht;

    this is what marriage is not:
anything one pair of hands has wrought.

  *August 22, 2013
^"I think it was Auden who whined, 'Marriage is rarely bliss,'..."^

from "After Reading a Child's Guide to Modern Physics" by W.H. Auden

Marriage is rarely bliss
But, surely it would be worse
As particles to pelt
At thousands of miles per sec
About a universe
Wherein a lover's kiss
Would either not be felt
Or break the loved one's neck.

^"...that should be enough to bring bliss equal to Buddha's Emptiness."^

Śūnyatā, in Buddhism, translated into English as emptiness, voidness, openness, spaciousness, thusness, is a Buddhist concept which has multiple meanings depending on its doctrinal context. In Mahayana Buddhism, it often refers to the absence of inherent essence in all phenomena. In Theravada Buddhism, suññatā often refers to the not-self nature of the five aggregates of experience and the six sense spheres. Suññatā is also often used to refer to a meditative state or experience.

^"I am not talking about inside-out space giraffes / debating Tensor-vector-scalar gravity..."^

Tensor–vector–scalar gravity (TeVeS), developed by Jacob Bekenstein, is a relativistic generalization of Mordehai Milgrom's MOdified Newtonian Dynamics (MOND) paradigm.

The main features of TeVeS can be summarized as follows:
- As it is derived from the action principle, TeVeS respects conservation laws;
- In the weak-field approximation of the spherically symmetric, static solution, TeVeS reproduces the      
  MOND acceleration formula;
- TeVeS avoids the problems of earlier attempts to generalize MOND, such as superluminal propagation;
- As it is a relativistic theory it can accommodate gravitational lensing.

The theory is based on the following ingredients:
- A unit vector field;
- A dynamical scalar field;
- A nondynamical scalar field;
- A matter Lagrangian constructed using an alternate metric;
- An arbitrary dimensionless function.

^"...Socrates gurgling hemlock / On his dusty prison cot..."^

Socrates was ultimately sentenced to death by drinking a hemlock-based liquid.

^"...Giggling as he glimpsed a dikast's deformed ****;"^

Dikastes was a legal office in ancient Greece that signified, in the broadest sense, a judge or juror, but more particularly denotes the Attic functionary of the democratic period, who, with his colleagues, was constitutionally empowered to try to pass judgment upon all causes and questions that the laws and customs of his country found to warrant judicial investigation.

^"Nietzsche tenured for philology / At Basel;"^

Nietzsche received a remarkable offer to become professor of classical philology at the University of Basel in Switzerland. He was only 24 years old and had neither completed his doctorate nor received a teaching certificate. Despite the fact that the offer came at a time when he was considering giving up philology for science, he accepted. To this day, Nietzsche is still among the youngest of the tenured Classics professors on record.

^"Nietzsche feverishly etching / Fick diese scheiße! in a Jena clinic;"^

"Fick diese scheiße!" is German for "**** this ****!"

On January 6, 1889, Burckhardt showed the letter he had received from Nietzsche to Overbeck. The following day Overbeck received a similar letter and decided that Nietzsche's friends had to bring him back to Basel. Overbeck traveled to Turin and brought Nietzsche to a psychiatric clinic in Basel. By that time Nietzsche appeared fully in the grip of a serious mental illness, and his mother Franziska decided to transfer him to a clinic in Jena under the direction of Otto Binswanger. From November 1889 to February 1890, the art historian Julius Langbehn attempted to cure Nietzsche, claiming that the methods of the medical doctors were ineffective in treating Nietzsche's condition.

^"...Saratov / Circa 1942;"^

During World War II, Saratov was a station on the North-South Volzhskaya Rokada, a specially designated military railroad providing troops, ammunition and supplies to Stalingrad.
martin Nov 2014
Mr Kalashnikov I'll ask you nicely
Please don't point that thing at me
Laszlo Biro how nice to see you
Without you where would we be?
Mr Molotov may I remind you
You are in polite company

May I present the Earl of Sandwich
Do partake of his wares
And special desserts are served soon after
Presented in person by Anna Pavlova

The Duke of Wellington brought in some mud
Mr Macintosh is expecting a flood

Candido Jacuzzi and Joseph Pilates
Appear to be making friends
Henry Shrapnel and Joseph Guillotin
Who invited them?

Ferdinand von Zeppelin,
Perhaps you would like a schnapps?
Mr Winchester, Mr Colt, Mr Gatling, Mr Lewis
So many gunmen I'm alarmed I confess

May I trouble you Mr Hoover
To help tidy up the mess?
RMatheson Oct 2014
There is a long tail of madness
that echoes from this wreckage. Molotov is making cocktails,
as Kalashnikov assaults us
at forty-two plus five.

Triptamine takes the backseat,
and your carpet bombs
lay me to waste,
******.
Àŧùl Feb 2017
My name is Atul Kaushal.
Atul has 4 characters,
While Kaushal has 7.
This was the reason,
The reason to dub me AK47.
My HP Poem #1447
©Atul Kaushal
Àŧùl Oct 2015
Fact: Bananas have more trade regulations than AK-47s.

Something healthy must be having such ridiculous regulations,
But not the Kalashnikov as it won't be good for trade relations.
But hey, even she dubs me as her loving exclusive AK-47,
'Coz my name is Atul Kaushal - the letters are 4 and 7!
I shoot poetry and spilled is love instead of blood.
My HP Poem #910
©Atul Kaushal
He was taken into custody on Friday
After he got off a bus in Marseille
That had come from Amsterdam
By way of Brussels,
According to police.
The manhunt began
After he opened fire
At the Jewish Museum
In the center of Brussels,
Killing at least 3 people,
Obviously: an anti-Semitic attack.
He was taken into custody
“As soon as he set foot in France,”
According to François Hollande,
Congratulating himself
For an efficient round up of
The usual suspects, all Jihadi
Round trippers from Syria.
He was taken into custody in a mere 6 days--
A magnifique display of French efficiency,
A sublime achievement by
Our furry friends in
Police-Protective Services.
The swarthy perp was carrying a Kalashnikov--
That’s AK-47 for you NRA gun nuts--
A handgun, ammunition, a baseball cap,
A small video recording device, and a
Copy of The Koran,
All items matching
Descriptions of the gunman,
And, even if not, a known-terrorist
Named Mahdi bin Laden,
Carrying an assault rifle
Would have been enough
To fit the profile,
Justify the profiling,
Sufficient to stop anyone
Passing through Customs,
Except, of course
The French Corps Diplomatique,
Wreaking most of the havoc in the EU these days.
There was once a time when any Thom, Dieter or Heine
Could get outta town on a ratline,
Blessed by the Pope,
Assisted by the OSS.
A white linen suit and a Panama hat:
Was all it took any Schutzstaffel
To pull off another Argentine makeover,
Melt into the landscape,
Speaking Spanish with a thick German brogue.
It’s nice to know
Jew persecution is criminal,
Socially frowned on these days.
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; aopicho@yahoo.com)


On this 23rd day of December, 2013
Mikhail Kalashnikov is lying dead
In the coffin on the pyre
In Moscow the city of Russia
Away from Siberia his child hood home
Waiting to be buried by the people
His invention the Ak 47 and 74
Has not yet killed,
Good bye Mikhail Timofeyevich Kalashnikov
Son of Alexandra as you travel to land
Of the dead where a million of Rwandese in Africa
And million of the Vietnamese are now citizens
After having been shot dead by the AK47 and AK 74
You will not be lonely you glorious son of Russia,
You natural tinkering skills
Gave the world ubiquitous weapon
That has done wonders you looked on
Tell your gods where your poems you wrote are
The world is now free from your vice of the AK
Man can city now in peace and read your poetry
As the fettered politicians have no where
To get the weapons for mass peasant destruction,
Reveal to us the armoury in which you stuffed your poetry
as the gods of peace turn your guns into plowshare
Marshal Gebbie Jul 2011
Were that I were bounteous,
Were that I were strong,
Were that I had substance
I would sing for freedom’s song.

I would sing, as does a blackbird
With a resonance so clear
As to wake the deaf of humankind
And hound their jaded ear.  

To awake their sense of sameness
To jolt their sense of fair,
To arouse the warmth of brotherhood,
To cleanse our racist air.

For the blacks, the whites, the brindle
Are homogenously one,
You break the skin, the blood is red
We’re born beneath one sun.

Each man loves his mother’s warmth
Each man holds his wife,
Each man feeds his children
And cherishes his life.

So where’s the racial difference?
What makes this problem start ?
What prompts the cold Kalashnikov
To **** that other heart?

What prompts back alley beatings
Of infidels who stray ?
What price religious difference
By men who say they pray?

Who is this God who fosters war ?
How can he profess to be
A champion of sanity
To unleash this killing spree ?

Were that I were bounteous,
Were that I were strong,
Were that I had wisdom
I would sing for freedom’s song.

I would sing for racial harmony,
I would sing for such a day,
That men could laugh together
Be they black or white or grey.

Marshalg
For the United States of Humanity.
2 July 2011
Luke Apr 2015
It’s **** or be killed and I found out the hard way. Now I embrace the future with both of my fists clenched. Years spent in sorrow have hastened the death of all good things inside of me and though I made it out alive, I’m still trying to convince these ghosts to leave. Teeth bared. Steady hands. Taking aim. Shots fired. Blow them all away.
Rob Kingston Nov 2015
They say their is calm now,
smells of spent munitions subsiding.
Lying around and ferried under a different blue the viewers and listeners, the diners and walkers.
One witness speaks of the bodies so high his wife could not climb over,
another of explosions a block away.
Carnage the reporter says as a man mentions the sight of men in black entering a music hall with Kalashnikov rifles, him gifted a choice not to enter.
The news speaks of pierced body parts, an arm, a leg, a shoulder, so many dead, 120 the number that exist no more, rising, many many more the casualties of this next step in a new world war.
Flashes and bangs, whistles and booms, sirens scream as forces reign down.
Tears, shock, the misery on faces, much sadness heaped on a peace seeking nation.
We now know some say why they chose Paris, some claim it is the fault of the west.
Others of ignorance by intelligent beings that choose violence instead,of democracy, though democracy to them has lost its edge to a world full of capitalist cronies who themselves choose numbers over humanity, so's said.
We are left to pick up pieces of what is left behind, we will grow stronger in the face of adversity.
Hoping one day that the so called wise people are wise, seeing solutions instead of this continuous cycle of violence and death.
Nos pensées vont à tous ceux qui sont touchés, nous montrons la solidarité avec le peuple français et à leurs invités.
nivek Feb 2016
This is my Kalashnikov
fully loaded
with overkill on my mind

Lennon sung "Give Peace A Chance"
Bob Marley And The Wailers "Redemption Songs"
"A Slow Train Coming" Bob Dylan

This is my Kalashnikov
fully loaded
with overkill on my mind.
Poe Reimer Oct 2016
In some fields none deny,
Russian masters still loom high.
If popularity is the test
one artist stands above the rest.
The caps of the world, we reverently doff
to the great Mikhail Kalashnikov.
Stefan Michener Mar 2016
Twisted-life symphony
It seems so real
Brimstone meet misery
Balancing on oily steel
so glad you're not me
Namaste metal thunder

I have to leave you
vacant online junkies today
with your video eyes
and your mouths gasping
playing your games
Namaste ******-headed rag dolls

You'll read a couple from Chechov
Admire the lines of Baryshnikov,
oil your friendly little Kalashnikov
under satellites and stations and junk
Namaste deaf, dumb and blind nighttime sky

You wasted your days with excuses
you played on your DSes
til they faded away like UFOs
carrying your doughyness
down, down
Namaste Friday night parking lot hometown

How large is the rock
Stopping my float
My rotten boat's making a
last trip from the dock
Promising ice-cold dark caresses
Namaste cold, crushing depths

How long is the rope
snaps my neck
So much loss of hope
in the blink of an eye
a bloated blue ornament
Namaste choking collar

Plug in now, oh wow!
Gigabytes in nanoseconds
Gigabods in nanomoments
Gigaflights in nanospans
What's a moth's life
Weigh dominion
Namaste my sweeter side

Why don't you join?
Are you scared of freedom?
Just flip this cosmic coin
Just a game, it's just a game
Filled with pain and ecstasy
Namaste en garde, sil vous plait

I think I might just play
lose without trying
play a freewheeling style
Nothing really matters
I'll come back hereafter
Namaste, hasta la vista
written under the influence of medications prescribed by my physicians and taken as directed
Chris Rhymez Feb 2019
Roses are red and violets are blue...
Love is so beautiful and true...
I really found this in you
Since the day I met you...
Sylvia, my baby boo...
So sweet and loving too...
Babe, you're the only one I dream off...
The only one I think off...
Like a soldier and his Kalashnikov...
You're my wife and your love...
Is truly sent from above...
Ka mungeli straight from Mushili...
Met this guy from Zambezi...
Two love birds fell in love completely...
Your love fills me whole you complete me....
Yours truly Chris, I love you dearly.....
Sometimes it's blank and
I sit and look but don't see
don't really hear much either,
and then I snap out of it
back into the thick of it.

Safety mechanisms
keep us safe,

yeah
a Kalashnikov's fine
but if you've got
a brain as scrambled as mine,
you'll forget to load it.
j a connor Dec 2023
Our world is in crisis.

I represent Kalashnikov.
Although we are currently doing very well in the world, we need your help.

Global conditions continue to be challenging but not enough innocent people are dying.
This causes all sort of problems, overpopulation and environmental impact being just two of the issues now facing our planet.

Please donate as much as you can afford to :
www.killthemall@nomercy.com

Help us to restructure the world into a far more dangerous place.

Thank you.
Lawrence Hall Mar 2018
I read lots of Russian lit (in translation, of course) while in Viet-Nam

I understood poor, young Raskolnikov
And read all I found by Anton Chekhov
Remembered nothing about Bulgakhov
Heard naughty whispers about Nabokov
Thrilled to the Cossacks in old Sholokov
And then I learned about Kalashnikov –
This, I decided, is where I get off!



Moc Hoa (pronounced something like “mock wah”) is a now-prosperous town on the Song Vam Co Tay near the border with Cambodia.  In 1970 it was rather down at the heels and was a center of military activity, including mercenaries presumably controlled by the C.I.A*.
Well, golly-gosh, I see the italics are all over the place again.  I meant for the body of the poem to stand tall, and the notes to be in italics.  The Machine does not agree.
Sarthak Dash Jan 2019
It was my birthday when I killed a man,
Shot him with a Kalashnikov as he was running away.
The commander congratulated me,
"Mard ban gaya tu ab", he said, patting my back,
I had become a man.
I felt so happy, so proud.
I was thirteen now and finally I could grow a beard.
Lawrence Hall Aug 2019
...of The People

           “He’s an individual, and they’re always trying.”

                      -The Colonel in Many Happy Returns,
                                  episode 7 of The Prisoner

I do not want to be one of The People
With nose rings and tattoos, tee-shirts, knee pants
Rush Limbaugh and Glenn Beck on the radio
Foul fungal feet and toes shoved into flops

I do not want to be one of The People
A howling face in an anonymous mob
With a Kalashnikov and ammo drum
A made-in-China heel-spurred baseball cap  

I do not want to be one of The People
And so…
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is: Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com

It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  THE ROAD TO MAGDALENA, PALEO-HIPPIES AT WORK AND PLAY, LADY WITH A DEAD TURTLE, DON’T FORGET YOUR SHOES AND GRAPES, COFFEE AND A DEAD ALLIGATOR TO GO, and DISPATCHES FROM THE COLONIAL OFFICE.

— The End —