"prog" poems
i never used to understand why people
hid their pop preferences like
they might hide a **** room...
or like: the toilet paper ran out,
so i jumped into the shower story;
what's with pop music in older people
and getting the embarrassment sticker
that says: HI, MY NAME IS JEFF
AND I LIKE BRIE POP FROM SCANDINAVIA:
nostalgic culmination? death growl
dark metal: the frustration apparent throughout:
frustrated amateur singers with their
strained veiny necks... see that aorta?
opera singers? are they even opening
their mouths, or is this opera meets Roy Orbison?
and by god, that's the case, people are
ashamed to actually acknowledge their
pop preferences... no wonder Patrick
Bateman is fuelled by it...
it's very much like that... pop's the foundation
in you actually liking music...
shame i love music more than women:
keeps my sanity... 2 months apart
and you can't hear a vacuum cleaner,
maybe once a week... maybe...
then the radio starts playing some vintage Roxette...
Abba who? that's for those aged
40 and above... Roxette is my generation's equivalent.
Roxette's masterpiece? Joyride:
the entire album, yes, you'll listen to
this album like some prog rock feast:
Joyride ( : + italics
is the same as bold:
double emphasis )
***** you will! Roxette's Joyride is the
epitome of pop!
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 7:36 PM UTC
when arrived, feels like home
like a bubble, like a dome
peaceful people all around
enjoying this crazy sound
so much colors, crazy figures
all this smells pulling my triggers
intense, incense, aromatic
be tense? no sense, just be static
entering, meeting the fellows
or should I just say some jellos
wiggling with the rhythmic music
for us this is therapeutic
waves of sound hitting my face
punching hard with deepest bass
I believe that things will turn
I choose not to be concernded
this 'so crazy, this 'so good
here we find the greatest brood
jewls of every generation
some eletric, others pacient
colored waters, not for thirst
only if you need a burts
shining patterns underneath
make it hard for me to breath
then the sun comes up for us
contributes for the new buzz
now you see who's there with you
and who didn't make it through
sunglasses get pulled out
soon the sun will loudly shout
soul, mind and body fused
into one nice breakfeast juice
that's when people start to leave
not what I like to archieve
"I will stay", I always say
until the end of the day
molly, goa, lucy, prog
buds and buddys, love and fog
I'm so glad this moments caught me
this is just my type of party
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 2:34 PM UTC
On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few,
And men of religion are scanty,
On a road never cross'd 'cept by folk that are lost,
One Michael Magee had a shanty.
Now this Mike was the dad of a ten year old lad,
Plump, healthy, and stoutly conditioned;
He was strong as the best, but poor Mike had no rest
For the youngster had never been christened.
And his wife used to cry, 'If the darlin' should die
Saint Peter would not recognise him.'
But by luck he survived till a preacher arrived,
Who agreed straightaway to baptise him.
Now the artful young rogue, while they held their collogue,
With his ear to the keyhole was listenin',
And he muttered in fright, while his features turned white,
'What the divil and all is this christenin'?'
He was none of your dolts, he had seen them brand colts,
And it seemed to his small understanding,
If the man in the frock made him one of the flock,
It must mean something very like branding.
So away with a rush he set off for the bush,
While the tears in his eyelids they glistened —
''Tis outrageous,' says he, 'to brand youngsters like me,
I'll be dashed if I'll stop to be christened!'
Like a young native dog he ran into a log,
And his father with language uncivil,
Never heeding the 'praste' cried aloud in his haste,
'Come out and be christened, you divil!'
But he lay there as snug as a bug in a rug,
And his parents in vain might reprove him,
Till his reverence spoke (he was fond of a joke)
'I've a notion,' says he, 'that'll move him.'
'Poke a stick up the log, give the spalpeen a prog;
Poke him aisy — don't hurt him or maim him,
'Tis not long that he'll stand, I've the water at hand,
As he rushes out this end I'll name him.
'Here he comes, and for shame! ye've forgotten the name —
Is it Patsy or Michael or Dinnis?'
Here the youngster ran out, and the priest gave a shout —
'Take your chance, anyhow, wid 'Maginnis'!'
As the howling young cub ran away to the scrub
Where he knew that pursuit would be risky,
The priest, as he fled, flung a flask at his head
That was labelled 'MAGINNIS'S WHISKY'!
And Maginnis Magee has been made a J.P.,
And the one thing he hates more than sin is
To be asked by the folk, who have heard of the joke,
How he came to be christened 'Maginnis'!
3.1k
both my grandfather and father
were army conscripts
without the benefit of a choice,
it was conscription...
Marshall Law was introduced,
hungary didn't feel like a satellite any more,
nor did Czechoslovakia in the 60s...
the poles were eager to keep the empire
intact like the Vietnamese, ironically
without as much violence,
just empty supermarket shelves...
i wasn't given such a benefit,
i had to learn a "woman's" trade,
being enlisted in the army would
have assuredly given me a
chance progression into a suitable life,
even a lifestyle! i'd be earning enough
to distract myself with theatre and opera!
alas! i'm not that well instructed
to enjoy a comfortable revenue and
the comfort of sadistic ballerinas
(what i mean is an education in taking orders
and not daydream, kept order, a clean
pair of shoes, a suit that's not creased)...
i know, modern pop and the 8 minute long
prog rock piece... let's test our attention
spans and care for distractions of
digression off the rhythm...
it's not necessarily rap worded,
nothing about the ghetto,
it's not exactly jam-rock Kingston town
aphrodisiac... i call it a shared salute,
a black panther with a shaved head.. well,
somewhere along the line we need a feeling
of being in it together.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 5:58 AM UTC
It could not be better than
to discover the music of the early 70s
It was so more than Prog
the singer songwriter hold his sway
under the tree cultivated by Bob
and his one time bandmates the Band,
gave a template back to basics
The Beatles shadow set the standards
in creativity.
before Glam rock lifted the lid,
leading a fallacious path into Punk Rock
and our music savious were truly shot.
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 11:49 AM UTC
(for my fellow dharma bums)
why is this backpack so heavy?
chicken & country cole slaw
forks & knives & spoons
a bicycle helmet hanging off
a sketch pad
books
the next 100 years
how the beatles destroyed rock’n’roll
a walkman & cds
the soundtrack to the darjeeling limited
faust’s first two albums
tom waits & alan holdsworth
compilations of local prog rock
modern blues & albert king
old newsweeks
a black t shirt & blue scrubs
a folder with poems & instructional material
the brain death protocol
a stethoscope
but why is it so heavy?
must be the hot sauce
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 6:31 AM UTC
*eating breakfast in a long time,
half a teaspoon of sugar,
coffee black, three marzipan
nuggets coated in chocolate,
two cigarettes...*
and wondering where did the time
go since silverchair
released their debut frogstomp (1995),
or what happened to the offspring
after americana (the song *pay the
man* still wasn't a commercial song),
or the sudden thrill of red hot chilli
pepper's reunion with john and
californication, deftone's white pony,
or when buying the mortal kombat
soundtrack, and someone nice enough
at our price putting a different c.d.,
not the score, but the soundtrack
with actual songs: type o negative
(subsequently ****** kisses),
monster magnet, k.m.f.d.m., and beside,
days with cassettes (m.o.d.'s mr. oofus
ha ha) - and gigs, tool in glasgow
with that awesome german girl
who i gave water to in exchange for a kiss,
wolfmother in edinburgh, a few gigs
in london (papa roach, disturbed,
type o negative, iron maiden, the offspring,
american head charge, rammstein,
slipknot, korn, red hot chilli peppers -
when that arena at canary wharf was still open)...
but then there was verdi's la traviata in st. petersburg,
and aerosmith in hyde park, and boy
did depeche mode rock hyde park too...
i mean, most these influences came from
my uncle, but i can't give him credit
for king crimson, jethro tull and other
prog bands (early genesis, for example)...
or the jazz...
but it's just annoying to not have seen
the holy wood tour by m.m.,
or not seeing slayer when jeff hanneman
was still alive - after all i pledged the
tribulation of growing long hair in school
to him, one day, looking at the band's poster,
i was 15 then and became known as chewbacca
for a while.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 5:36 AM UTC
*Clinton in Harlem, Obama in Dubai... shop at Watergate Mall till you drool on the lives of others! in sequence the N.S.A. archives, meaning you'd be safer off ************ in Siberia than in New York; oi! i'm shooting a documentary with David Attenborough! get your own Jurassic Park of artificial mosquito insemination!*
and with a Nobel prize winner
you'd think the racial tensions
would be left a dying count of
surprises by giving five donkey tails
to five blindfolded children
pinning it on the ***** dozen
of the new testament, starting off
with st. matthew in Ethiopia
and the king's daughter trying ****
in the shadow of the crucifix for
the first time to feel both pleasure and guilt;
hence the lacerations in the Philippines
and would-be philistines when interest rates
came about from chiselling-in faces of people
into raw materials:
write poetry within a canvas of permanent
employment,
otherwise jukebox that ****
come on, let's write mediocre and let's write
without a hint of desperation,
let's fear death... let's fear writing on the fringe,
non-oratory, just there, poetry like
a penny on the pave, a Frank Sinatra sing-along,
raining coppers and dimes...
let's just keep poetry on the knee readied
for the smack for disobedience juggling two
professions, one prog the other pop,
poetry like a penny on the pavement,
rather than an ingredient list for a curry
memorised for a lass a'coming home
for sheer and sweat.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 9:26 PM UTC
Though use of line breaks is art,
it needn't use them at all to be so.
Punctuation isn't necessary, per se,
yet some tend to opt for it anyway.
Sometimes rhyme serves only to detract,
but it can also catalyze familiarization of the abstract.
Meter is a byproduct, but it can be deliberate;
some people like pop, but others jazz or prog;
rhythm means more to some than others,
and some recognize in places where others do not.
Some find it unnecessary to consider; a waste of time.
Some find it to be balancing and are compelled towards it,
and would have it no other way.
Whatever it means to you
is what's truly important;
you have to feel something
so you might as well express it.
Those who will understand
will truly understand-
though that is a different group
than those who may well say so.
Be not jaded: they overlap!
The Traveler does not so much choose the Way
as the Way seems to Shepard certain Travelers;
how is it that can be?
Call it:
God, Tao, Zen, Consciousness, or the Universe itself;
it is all and nothing; inside and out,
it's neither a thing, nor nothing,
so tread lightly and embrace the paradox
because it really is irrelevant
how One chooses to effigize it-
it's what One has within already
that will serve as One's salvation,
and that's really all that matters.
Should we seek to harbor that of others, as well,
we could become as we've seldom been known to be.
In any case, we'll meet in the light;
whence we've all come, to begin with-
whence we've been ever since-
whence we've been blinded
seemingly of our own volition.
Be conscious of what makes you Live
and then help it to actualize,
all the while seeking that others
may do the very same.
Blessings upon thy Path-
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC
it’s saturday night and it’s that time of the week
when all the days disappear into diapers of new births squatting
with umbilical chord necklaces,
i open horace’s book, maxim something then close it:
‘too pedantic,’ i think then say it:
pictoribus atque poetis quidlibet audendi semper fuit aequa potestas,
which means i’m living in england when prog-rock was heaven sent -
where did the englishman disappear to, the 1960’s?!
then comes glasgow with bukowski (i found
him there with ivan karamazov) and i like the fact
that i’m drinking whiskey at 3am
with the neighbour’s kids watching from across the patches of green
while i: drum with my fingers against the collar bone,
weep over singing in german, wear sunglasses to dim the night further.
you know, many lucifers came with the crucifixion of words:
****** stalin, mao... jesus (the jews really took the golden calf
seriously now, although it’s pinned up and
it’s very diabolical to say the least - well d'uh...
torture for iconoclastic reaping of the knees to bend) -
but few satans - who came with the motto: the silent waters
nibble at the shoreline.
my grandmother said that one, all credit to her,
so about me and the lamentation of singing in german,
a little bit of enlightened thinking: brehta - which in silesian polish
means... he’s laughing... very close to schprehta - he’s talking in a foreign language -
good for commerce.
then i forget the strain and feverishness of lying in bed listening
to the clock tick tick tick...
i stand up and undress myself from the monkey suit worried
about tigers and mammoths and fleas...
i stand up, plug in to the ploughing of sounds, smoke a cigarette,
have a drink... and play with the kids across two garden’s worth of length
pretending to be the madman.
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 10:16 PM UTC
Instead. You see, Ebony, ivory supremacies, that head-up the baskin + robbins of
23 flavors of supremacy that the united **** of assassins be, divided, conquered
the education system, working together in perfect harmony, coming up with a long-
term plan as the basis for this conspiracy, Ebony would legitimize white special
schools getting paid for by All, voucherization, by their getting special ones
like ivory has for their special supposed Christian, well off kids, the basis
of it had to be a subtle disinformation prog., 'Kid First', which was really 'My
Kid First', determining Charters, for Ebony, and the corporatizing, privatizing
of the public school system, the wants of the 'chosen' minorities, ebony, ivory,
outweighing the needs of the majority, the current destruction of public educ.
we’ve been unable to stop, followed. That backslided our education system to pre-
Plessey vs. Ferguson supremacy court ruling, to a 'separate but not equal' state.
Now, Ebony, ivory are targeting 'Zero-Tolerance', don't let them prey upon kids,
a lessening of terrorism is all we can do, by a video monitor in every classroom.
Soon they'll have done the same with the environmental, climate crisis movements.
'Environmental justice' is their panacea this time, which will allow them to get
from environment 1st of the climate crisis movement to 'my environment 1st' of the
supposed left, making sure any and all tax $ that relates only goes to improving
their demographics environments, and not to addressing climate crisis, when Earth
First is the only answer. As the lock, fix for la machine, the corp. structure,
republican conspiracy, global oligarchy, they enforce, 'might makes right', when
it only might, and always makes wrong, 'power corrupts, absolute power corrupts
absolutely'. Gandhi said, “be the change you wish to see in the world”, and "the
root of all oppression lies in (supposed) science". If you don’t want people to
be cowered you must be, "abhaya, fearlessness, most important for an individual
and a nation". Don't listen to the the silence is golden crowd, who are taking
it all the way to the bank. Exercise responsibility, or it's Siamese twin sister
freedom, will wither like an unused muscle as well. Viva solidaridad, evolucion.
Jun 7, 2020
Jun 7, 2020 at 4:52 AM UTC
oh man, abba is like
prog rock made simple;
and there's so much
cheese too... i could
start a factory producing
edible shoe laces - but
then the hot flush butterfly
of puffed up cheeks of smiling...
and what, today's hit single will
not get the same treatment?
we don't remember cavemen
and dinosaurs these days,
we're stuck remembering the
20th century, as the fashion
industry makes a testament of
on a catwalk of designing
a wardrobe no one would wear...
art-house tedium with skeletons
in an open closet...
they mind the logos, so people
say Versace! Dolce & Gabbana!
they really look out for those
signature stilettos and handbags...
the poor ***** just get the
logo printed on their shirts
so people can learn reading once more,
gimme gimme sweden's weather at
midnight so i can chase those Nike
blues away... the new signature of the
illiterate, once the X, now the tick;
tick tick tick... clocking into
a system of being educated to decipher a - z
like a cabdriver,
then pulverised by images to buy spend buy
and become dyslexic when oiled up ***** ****
became a slogan of trademark & copyright of
a certain style of writing C in cocks-in-cockle-doodle; cola.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
unto Stratford-upon-Thames
tomorrow!
nicely attired
blue zamsz (suede) shoes -
o brother i'll attire myself
for the occasion, not like my english teacher
told to walk the suit and tie respectable while his sermon
on Led Zeppelin's black dog and Miles Davis' kind of blue
prior to hitting the prelude of a mid-life crisis, quote:
'if you ain't got this album aged 30
there's something wrong with you',
of course the Glaswegian accent got lost
as a fake typo...
me throwing chimney bricks on Prince's St.,
a **** you at the moon...
i too lost the fight given a scare acknowledging
accommodation and the privy of churches' allowance
for an upkeep of bishops and beggars!
highlands 'ere aye come!
bonny lass bonny cheap expression for a haggis!
anglo twin made sure i'd investigate the Irish...
Cambridge wouldn't do the qua foreign...
leisurely a Viceroy Raj... and Sri Lanka on the
oyster of intrigue, a pearl gem polished for a few
satiated.
yes, i know the affair, Led versus Spirit
and the song Taurus and Stairway...
but still Spirit's conceptual album:
the twelve songs of Dr. Sardonicus, a pillar of prog rock.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 8:42 PM UTC
the sixties were golden;
everything came together
just right; a generation of
geniuses that ushered in
the computer revolution; Kennedy was a hippie
what happened to the psychedelic
revolution; computers rely
on quantum physics &
quantum theory is the soul
of the psychedelic experience;
everything works a ccording
to the laws of the pill quantum mechanics
whether one is ****** or not;
DNA was discovered on acid,
space travel coincided w/ the
British Invasion; free love met
****** liberation & women's lib;
the civi l rights movement met Motown;
prog rock met garage rock;
arena rock met concept albums;
Bob Dylan met Woody Guthrie
May 30, 2018
May 30, 2018 at 12:05 PM UTC
kiełbasa - or, alt. kieł - basa - king Vasa of Sweden (Gustav the First), the base of, i.e. based on a canine (kieł); including a rolling pin and a mile of intestines to shove the mince in and later eat.
reading through the style magazine...
what else, a count von Bismarck,
Eton connections - poor schmuck
ought to eat a mouthful of cinnamon
peppered with nail clippings -
it's not jealousy as **** just a sickly Loki
stare at it all - perfect skin, perfect abs,
10 dates a week, whimsical musing
and other attention deficits - i'm just here
to ask about the code of procedures
on the national health service (n.h.s.),
*informer
you no say daddy me snow me-a gon' blame
i lick he *** *** down
'tective man they say, say daddy me snow
me stab someone down the lane
i lick he *** *** down*
days long before Eminem and not quiet
vanilla ice ice baby...
the hippocratic oath shattered on me,
i guess i played the madness game to free myself
from defamation, self-preservation of
the person accused - god, what a parasite i've become,
i never used to obsess, but i've turned into my enemy,
it takes more calories to eat a second of
a thought about that than it would take
drinking a sharpshooter whiskey mix -
so here i am, with my Hölderlin heart -
stone cold stone mad - passive-aggressive infatuated
with Radiohead's kid A - playback from
the heyday of the prog-rock zenith reminded, of;
mind you, i was never into playing solo tennis
against a brick wall with the standard:
violets in may
or should i say
i love the whole affair
of being the spare
in her game of panicky chess
yep, you guessed it, rhyming,
Tenacious D's one note song
summarises what i can't
be bothered to explain
or defend.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 9:03 AM UTC
A piece of paper,
Pale skin,
Hands....
full of sin,
Bad choices,
Regret and remorse,
Into depression they sink,
Ink,
An author's blood n' tears,
A tool to which they might write about their fears,
Stains,
Of which faded memories remain,
A tainted soul,
A poet is made of Words of bold,
to reflect feelings untold
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 3:53 PM UTC
I can’t feel if I’m passing through my own head
Or if it’s a movie projected by someone else
I talk so much trying to close the doors
It once was a large room with everything in it
Now it’s fingers of rivers flowing as the ice melts
I wouldn’t have thought it that way
But thinking is living and maybe it’s my fault
I cannot stop the complications of my garden
It takes time and patience, the answer is not easy
Too much sun burns and you can’t drink ocean salt
I watched someone blow smoke rings
I never could do things like that before
Instead I honor the ways of reaching for a bottle
And some old guitar blues prog playing in your head
The time past is a train that runs no more
I don’t mind waiting by the tracks
A barren tree silhouette shadowed by black and white
Being brushed off is a girl looking at her phone
I’m not entertained except by what’s hard to reach
You walked on by while I returned to the light
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 10:34 PM UTC
We danced around the room,
In nothing but our socks,
Receiting weird poetry,
Whilst listening to prog Rock.
Some people are missing out,
When they don't have a friendship as bizarre as ours,
Cause when we lie on the floor staring at the ceiling,
We the see the night sky and the stars.
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 6:30 PM UTC
ten days worked alone the texts go undressed
often too much
my lifeline drags a trail in the sand to the edge
of giving
the ambience breaks down many Fridays
waiting listening for
Yes on the radio so,
I sit among the Roundabout, Close to the Edge,
awaiting the Delirium, to catch me
by the gate
the one the song sang about
me the lone lover of prog left.
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 8:54 PM UTC
mort omni videre,
mort videre omni,
i don't know how to properly attack
attack a god...
but i do know what if i didn't
write while, i could consider
myself an alcoholic...
death all seeing /
death sees all...
just about as much as:
gods sees a lot of donkeys...
all i know is that,
if didn't write a single world
while drunk, i could be considered
the local joke, the drunk...
the ********* of the shittest possible
gambler,
but i actually do write something,
and that makes me what,
duke of edinburgh in waiting?
no, it just means that u actually
have something to offer...
it might not be the spectacular
sober horror stories of a steve,
sure i write a lot concerning
my personal life,
which, joyously enough contains
more cats these days than actual people,
the fact being, when i drink,
but nonetheless keep a pedantic approach
to spelling and punctuation,
the fact that i write, and that my drunk
opinions are sometimes worth more
than the sober opinions of others...
now, if i simply drank,
and didn't bother these idle hands into
some sort of work, sure,
even i'd consider myself a drunkard,
but these bacon rashes, these scratches
of attempt at a novel,
always end up proving me wrong,
so i have my sharpshooter *****
concoction, and i really am,
contemplating taking a ****
and yes, i am perched on a windowsill
like a crow on a crow, donning
a band t-shirt like it's the 19-80s...
fanboy all the way,
but when you get introduced into
a prog rock band as original and non-celeb
at king crimson -
well...
drinking really becomes that all
much more fun,
scaring the neighbours...
or converting them into cult members...
to be honest,
after you punch yourself in the face
to turn your knuckles in plums to wake
up in order to pay attention to
the drinking: you have just passed the -
i really don't give a **** gate.
Oct 1, 2017
Oct 1, 2017 at 6:31 PM UTC