"sirs" poems
How this **** fable instructs
And mocks! Here's the parody of that moral mousetrap
Set in the proverbs stitched on samplers
Approving chased girls who get them to a tree
And put on bark's nun-black
Habit which deflects
All amorous arrows. For to sheathe the ****** shape
In a scabbard of wood baffles pursuers,
Whether goat-thighed or god-haloed. Ever since that first Daphne
Switched her incomparable back
For a bay-tree hide, respect's
Twined to her hard limbs like ivy: the puritan lip
Cries: 'Celebrate Syrinx whose demurs
Won her the frog-colored skin, pale pith and watery
Bed of a reed. Look:
Pine-needle armor protects
Pitys from Pan's assault! And though age drop
Their leafy crowns, their fame soars,
Eclipsing Eva, Cleo and Helen of Troy:
For which of those would speak
For a fashion that constricts
White bodies in a wooden girdle, root to top
Unfaced, unformed, the nipple-flowers
Shrouded to suckle darkness? Only they
Who keep cool and holy make
A sanctum to attract
Green virgins, consecrating limb and lip
To chastity's service: like prophets, like preachers,
They descant on the serene and seraphic beauty
Of virgins for virginity's sake.'
Be certain some such pact's
Been struck to keep all glory in the grip
Of ugly spinsters and barren sirs
As you etch on the inner window of your eye
This ****** on her rack:
She, ripe and unplucked, 's
Lain splayed too long in the tortuous boughs: overripe
Now, dour-faced, her fingers
Stiff as twigs, her body woodenly
Askew, she'll ache and wake
Though doomsday bud. Neglect's
Given her lips that lemon-tasting droop:
Untongued, all beauty's bright juice sours.
Tree-twist will ape this gross anatomy
Till irony's bough break.
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O come buy doughnuts
doughnuts
doughnuts
doughnuts for sale
sweet ones, ladies
and yummy ones, gents;
precious doughnuts
you’ve never seen in your lands
I made them with my own hands
each sugary and yum to the core
round and hollow in the middle
each doughnut like Einstein’s universe
O come buy doughnuts
doughnuts
doughnuts
doughnuts for sale
colorful doughnuts
I have for you gathered here
I climbed the skies
to steal a color off each rainbow
that appears and disappears –
so have a blue doughnut,
a red or pink or green or purple
any color you will
or a psychedelic one if that please you more
O look at this love doughnut trick:
it fits your fingers like a huge wedding ring
and your beloved bites through
and then gets to your finger
and has to lick off every drop of sugar
and then kisses you on your hands
and after that
O, modesty forbids me to say anything beyond –
it’s all up to you…
Or would you prefer a doughnut bangle?
O come buy doughnuts
doughnuts
doughnuts
doughnuts for sale
O beautiful ladies
and gentle Sirs
please
make all my doughnuts
disappear within the hour
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 11:57 PM UTC
For the sake of some things
That be now no more
I will strew rushes
On my chamber-floor,
I will plant bergamot
At my kitchen-door.
For the sake of dim things
That were once so plain
I will set a barrel
Out to catch the rain,
I will hang an iron ***
On an iron crane.
Many things be dead and gone
That were brave and gay;
For the sake of these things
I will learn to say,
“An it please you, gentle sirs,”
“Alack!” and “Well-a-day!”
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*Come, we have a story, said the Old Man. Come, sit and I shall tell you all a little tale of a donkey, a boy and his father…and of strangers too…and many a busybody…
And the children sat round the campfire and the Old Man began his tale…*
One day
(and this is many, many
uncountable days ago)
Father called Son
and he said:
‘Son
you are grown now
into a fine young lad
and you must learn
how to buy and sell
and make a profit
‘So, come let us go
you and I
to the market to see
what silver coins we can get
for this old donkey
in our shed’
2
And so Son and Dad
set out for the town market
across the sandy and rocky miles
and some way off
Dad grew tired and he said:
‘Ah, Son
this walk tires me and so
I shall ride the donkey
while you walk by the side;
so, come let us go
you and I
to the market to see
what silver coins we can get
for this old donkey
that I shall ride’
3
** **
What do we have here?’
came a voice
as the Dad sat riding the donkey
while the Son walked by the side
‘A cruel father you are,’
said the Family Standards Officer
‘Get down, you grown man
and let the child ride!’
And the Father was ashamed
and so he let the Son ride the donkey
and he walked beside
And the Family Standards Officer
was extremely pleased
and he filled up his forms
and he bade the Father and Son safe journey:
‘Ah, this is another
success story
of the Family Welfare Dept
where conscience has won the day
and the Son rides the donkey
and the Father walks beside’
4
And the Father and Son are gone but a mile, a mile - when another interruption came their way, heading straight their way….
‘What do we have here?’
came a scream
and the Mandarin of the
State Morals Education
stopped the trio
and the Mandarin glared disapprovingly
at the boy riding the donkey and he said:
‘Where is your filial piety?
Know you not the son must do his duty
by the father?
Get off the donkey -
you young donkey!
and allow your father to ride
while you walk with reverence
and duty beside!’
And so now we have the
Father on the donkey
and the Son walking beside
all three slowly on and on
Father and son
to the market to see
what silver coins
they might get
for this old donkey
that they have taken turns to ride
5
Then comes an old woman
and she mutters to herself as she passes by:
‘Ah, what’s come of life
that a father should ride and
allow the young to walk.’
And so the Father bids his Son
be a pillion rider with him on the donkey
and so they ride
merrily, merrily
on to the market
to see
what silver coins they can get
for this old donkey
that they both ride
5
But no sooner have they covered
but a mile, just a mile
with the respectable Father
and the filial Son
(both on the hapless donkey)
when a voice thunders out from the bush
and the Animal Rights Activist stands out
and he screams:
‘Oh, you cruel people
that you should ride a helpless donkey !
Shame on you!
Much better that you both
carried the creature!’
And of course
the Son and Father
so reasonable and
always with an open mind
they jump off the donkey
and they carry
the donkey all the way
all the way
just four more miles
just four more miles
and they soon come into the market
carrying the donkey
and shouting:
‘Donkey for sale!
Donkey for sale!’
6
And the buyers
at the markets
they see
this Father and Son
carrying the donkey
and screaming:
‘Donkey f or sale!
Donkey for sale!’
And the buyers they say:
‘But it appears, Sirs,
there are
three donkeys for sale
three donkeys for sale!
In declaring
“Donkey for Sale!”
when there are clearly three
are you offering three
for the price of one?’
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 7:04 PM UTC
The young Musicians are at rehearsal...the ladies and the lords will soon gather in the music chamber...and Caravaggio's musicians will play them some music and sing them various songs...but first, they must rehearse...
The Musicians at Rehearsal
Let us continue…
Let me tune a little of this lute
while you peruse the notes
and you clear your throat
And what’s our Cupid doing?
Crushing grapes again between his teeth
Let us rehearse well
to render a song of softness
and ease and grace
A song of love
with sweet music
that will charm our guests
And we shall present it
in the private chamber
of honored lords and ladies -
and we shall sing like angels
and one of us will be as Cupid
dancing and flying as fancy takes him
Let us hurry now
though let us not forget polish
and pace and perfection…
come, let us again rehearse together
...and soon the ladies and the lords will arrive...and the musicians will perform and sing their songs of love, passion and sadness...
...and the ladies and the lords are seated in the music chamber...and Caravaggio's musicians play and they sing a song of love and passion...
Song of Love
O luscious Ladies
and brave Sirs
the clouds join
with one another
and the streams sing;
the birds sit amorous
on the branches
and the trees sway
while the flowers spread their scent
in the air
and the bees dance in a daze
ah, Ladies are made for men
and men for women
and each so shaped for perfect fits -
embrace then the lover beside you
O Sirs pick the red berries
on the lips of the luscious ladies;
and O lovely Ladies,
yield to the embrace
of the gallant beside you
and feel flowers bloom within -
for men are made for women
and women for men
and each so shaped for perfect fits
O embrace and kiss
dear luscious Ladies
and most accomplished Sirs
for Cupid seeks that you make love
and produce heavenly cherubim
who in turn, nights and days,
will make love like you do
now in this chamber of pleasures
...and so ends the first song...and the musicians prepare to sing one more for the charming ladies and the elegant lords...a song of sadness to end the night...
...the beautiful ladies and the lords want more from Caravaggio's musicians... the musicians are always glad to oblige..they sing their song of sadness, of loss and love...
O this ecstasy we call love
O this ecstasy we call love -
what is it?
why do we crave it
when there is such pain
that weighs on the body and heart?
O this joy we call love -
what is it?
why do we fall
when there is so much deceit
and betrayal?
why do we love
when there are lies
and hidden motives?
O this curse called love -
it has dried my heart out
and my being is smeared
as cloth with oil and grime;
my best times have been taken away
and there is left only
contempt and scorn
and derision…
O this darkness we call love -
what is it?
why do we still move to it
even as it teases us
and leaves us broken
and forlorn?
...and it is time to go...and the ladies and lords bow and they depart...some depart hand in hand...silent...some depart alone, sad and contemplative...
Aug 2, 2011
Aug 2, 2011 at 9:16 PM UTC
Esteemed Sirs, all Honorable Ladies -
the artist asked me to pose
and he chose all the clothes
and the hat
and he made me stand there behind a frame
And he was serious
but he asked me to smile
and then asked me to have a smaller smile
not too broad, just a smile between not smiling and smiling
and he said these things with such seriousness
And he said not to stand like an animal in a cage
but to come forward in the frame
and to put my hands ever so casually on the frame
And he said, keep glowing and he said this with all seriousness
and when he did smile
it was like between not smiling and smiling
as if he were posing for me
And he was drawing and drawing
and then he had a break
and I had something to eat and drink in the kitchen
and then I was back behind the frame
and he took several days
And I thought what a serious man this was, this artist
And when he had finished, he asked me to look
and I thought it was a lovely picture of me
And then I realized how playful this artist was, how clever -
putting me in a frame, as if we lived our lives in a frame
And then he had the canvas put in frame
so there’s frame within frame –
and I laughed then to see how
much humor the artist had, though he had worked with
such earnestness, such grave countenance –
I’ve been framed! Ha, ha…now I wonder often,
if we do not actually live our lives within a frame,
each one of us confined in frames…
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 3:54 AM UTC
I bring you flowers
dear Sirs and Ladies;
flowers of softness
for most gentle souls
and flowers in full bloom
for most radiant beings
here I bring flowers
that I plucked just now
and that, exquisite ones,
dignified Sirs and gentle Ladies –
most delicate flowers I have
that are red and blue and green
and of many hues and all colors
that the hills and the air and the clouds
have coaxed and brought to our earth
I have flowers
and that most beautiful
that I have brought from
the fields and valleys
with the scents of the angels
and aroma that come
from the rolling hills
O most
dignified Sirs and gentle Ladies –
I have brought you these flowers
that grow in abundance in our hills
O will you not pick what
delights your hearts
from my ample baskets
and happily fill my purse in return?
I bring you flowers
dear Sirs and Ladies;
flowers of softness
for most gentle souls
and flowers in full bloom
for most radiant beings
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 10:45 AM UTC
There once was a TV network
That made me want to exult
But now I am sad and despondent
And it’s mostly Steven Moffat’s fault
I enthusiastically started Doctor Who
Who’s chronology is twisted and bizarre
It seemed like such fun to travel through time and space with a man
Who used a blue box as his car
But soon the companions’ aspirations
To travel to planets and stars
Were crushed by the Void, lost love, and gargoyles
And the Doctor is lonely and scarred.
Not yet wise, I began watching Sherlock
His deduction left me amazed and bamboozled
He and John drank some tea, and solved crimes with glee
Although each case took quite some perusal.
They lived happily with their cool flat decorum
Mrs. Hudson made biscuits below
Then along came the menacing, mean Moriarty
There was nothing that he didn’t know.
Because of the fallacy that Sherlock’s a fake
He’s dead and John’s in the doldrums
The only thing done to commemorate him
Are John’s “I do believe in Sherlock Holmes”
Hoping for a show that was boisterous and happy
Instead of the peaceful, yet sad
I turned to the medieval Merlin
who was quite a cheery lad
He worked for the king’s son, Arthur
who eclectically chose his knights
There were sirs Lancelot, Gwaine, and Leon
The bravest people in sight.
Merlin used his job as camouflage,
His secret he did not divulge
for if they all knew he was a powerful wizard
In his execution King Uther would indulge.
Since Merlin’s destiny was to keep the prince safe
He faced many scary things
He would cower in fear, but when Arthur was near
He felt brave enough to sing
Merlin’s feelings for Arthur were obvious
But does Arthur feel the same way?
When Arthur deigns to exchange dialogue with him
It instantly brightens his day.
But Lancelot died doing Merlin’s job
And Arthur is in love with Gwen
Morgana, a wizard who was once Merlin’s friend
Is evil and wants Camelot dead.
So the Doctor is lonely and growing old
Sherlock left John all alone
And Merlin feels guilty and outcast
They’ve lost all the good they’ve ever known.
And I am left crying and angry.
How could the writers do this to me?
But still, they’re the best shows I’ve ever watched
And I’ll always love the BBC.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
First,
You teach me to think
With my own brains
Feel out my way
With my own feet
Treat me the same
As the boys
Second,
You put me in a school
Where they teach me to read
- oh, what a world!
They teach me to look
At international
Literature
- Marge Piercy,
Maya Angelou
And the like
Next,
You show me the crimson
Powder meant for foreheads
A deeper red for blood
Spilt on beds.
A life of compromise
And adjustment
Ripping out my ideas
And opinions
Telling me they're worthless
A baby, a house,
A life of adjustment
Is all this was meant for.
Tearing my beliefs
In an equal world
An equal society
Where society rises
To meet human morality
Is this what you taught me to read for?
Sorry sirs, ladies.
I tip my hat and bow.
Sorry to disappoint.
I was meant for an equal position
And I'll take it
- by force or mutual
compromise.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 9:16 AM UTC
....this poem is dedicated to our fellow-poet here at HP, Marisa White...
Corax versus Tisias
(1) CORAX PRESENTS HIS CASE
Sirs, you most esteemed judges in all of Syracuse
most revered in all of our Greek world
I, Corax - known fondly, no doubt, as The Crow -
charge this man Tisias my student in rhetoric
of a mean trick against me, his teacher; he is a cheat
He entreated me often to teach him the smooth Art of Persuasion
the Perfection I had shaped in Rhetoric
And I agreed, after due consideration, prompted by my sense of duty;
and it was agreed he would pay me only if he wins
his first case in our esteemed courts
But Sirs, mark you well his treachery -
for having learned of me my 5-Stage Movement in Persuasion
he then has refused to take any legal case in court
so he would never have to pay me my due
And so it is now I have forced him to court;
and so I trust, most Honourable Judges, in your wisdom
If I win the case, I should naturally receive all payment;
if I should lose the case, Tisias wins, and so - logically -
he should pay me…Ah, I submit myself to your wisdom
(2) TISIAS PRESENTS HIS CASE
Sirs, it is most true I was taught by Corax
but I have not kept away from court deliberately
but of fear - for I have no confidence in the rhetoric
he has taught me
For all he taught me was reliance on flattery
which I know, Sirs, never moves you
And so Sirs, if I should lose, it is I who should be paid
by the terms of the agreement;
and if I should win, in spite of his poor instruction,
then it is I again who should be paid for I win then
by my own naturalness
and by your aversion to flattery
(3) THE ESTEEMED JUDGES MAKE THEIR DECISION KNOWN
“Kakou korakas kakon oon”
which translated in the vernacular, you commoners, is:
“Bad Crow, Bad Egg”
Case dismissed!
Throw the Crow and its Egg out of this Revered Court!
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 4:40 AM UTC
rain down on me
let it pour
let my skin repel
every icy drop
of water that fell
Let it
blow gusts of wind
let it knock down branches
let my curly hair do dances
in the storm
Let it
burn me, the sun
till I’ve blisters
let them fill
and with my fists, sirs
I’ll pop everyone
as if it bubblegum
Let it
snow, a blooming blizzard
slapping my face
hard as a lizard
billowing gusts of powdery dust
let it climb past my door
I’ll bore a tunnel through it
crawling out the other side
where the ocean meets the sky
Dec 13, 2021
Dec 13, 2021 at 6:20 AM UTC
I happen upon this realization tonight, this one among many others:
I keep many lovely "Night Buds..."
in a collective nocturnal realm.
That is to say, good sirs and madams who care to lend their individual respective gentle ears for the sparing;
There are many women with whom I only seem to engage with in conversation or for companionship as night time falls over my conscious self.
I happened upon this truth earlier tonight in deep reflection, my friends and fellows.
And I wonder to myself, to what significance do these few coincidental female fates have on my person?
Am I more friendly at night, when the sun is gone and the moon is up? Is this the fate I have fallen to? Is this the life I've made?
Am I more alive than dead when my motionless body just crawls into bed and I lye there for hours or days at a time and feel happier alone in that bed than when I'm out around the house with my family; this because I've forgotten how to love, and their beautiful friendship makes me terribly saddened by the wish to reciprocate such friendship, but all for not...as I cannot love anymore.
I'm saddened by love, I've only the Night Buds to turn to and share my woes with collectively.
I wish I could be strong like some, and have no need to turn to Night Buds for consoling, for deflating my troubles, and for wishing good fortune.
I perhaps someday shall not have such need, but for now, I'll work on improving and keep my Night Buds all the same.
You see I really am quite found of my Night Buds: they make me feel like life is not all that bad, and that choosing to feel happy is the only way to really in fact be happy, regardless of living situation (though I still struggle to swallow that pill of logic).
Until my heart dance slows and I express this sentiment of self-realization aloud, I shan't sleep a peep.
Post- heart normalization and expression, I will perhaps have slipped off into a final slumber...thereafter having only this to say:
Night Bud!
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 2:06 AM UTC
Do my eyes fail me?
Is the light of the sun useless?
for though in daylight I have walked abroad
from the confined barrel I live in
away from the rats
away a while from the stray dogs
that congregate outside my hovel
that want a bit of my sack of carrots
and discarded meat
that I picked up from the market;
and though I walked often with firm steps and keen eyes
I did not see a man, a woman, a human worth their salt;
and so I walk now
(for perhaps my eyes do fail me
and the light of the sun and moon is perhaps an illusion)
and so I walk now with a lantern even in broad daylight
and still I do not see a man, a woman, a human worth their salt;
what I see are swirls of violence and greed and pettiness
and whorls of self-preoccupation and bigotry and ignorance
and narrowness
all encased in flesh and bones:
leave me Sirs and sweet-dressed and made-up Ladies
and Children corrupt in the World of Adult Fanfare;
leave me and let me go on my quest further afield
as far as the lantern will allow me
even in this bright day ruled by the sun
and ruined by you Sneering Living Beings;
leave me to wander as far to see if I cannot perhaps find a human
in some corner….a surprise as one might find
a gold coin in some dark corner….
And I so hope that today perhaps I shall find
the human this bright day
by the light of this lantern
and not like yesterday and all days before
search in vain till the lantern light dies
and crawl back to my hovel
not finding one free of these or at least sincere,
and so worthy of the name of human…
Oct 2, 2010
Oct 2, 2010 at 10:41 AM UTC
XI
A Book was writ of late call’d Tetrachordon;
And wov’n close, both matter, form and stile;
The Subject new: it walk’d the Town a while,
Numbring good intellects; now seldom por’d on.
Cries the stall-reader, bless us! what a word on
A title page is this! and some in file
Stand spelling fals, while one might walk to Mile-
End Green. Why is it harder Sirs then Gordon,
Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galasp?
Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek
That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp.
Thy age, like ours, O Soul of Sir John Cheek,
Hated not Learning wors then Toad or Asp;
When thou taught’st Cambridge, and King Edward Greek.
1.2k
With halted breath he saw her there
He didn’t mean to stop & stare
But such beauty, demure & sweet
Caused the heart to miss a beat
Pulse was racing, blood was heating
Wondered how to affect a meeting
Should it be a cheesy line
A bunch of flowers - a glass of wine
He approached her - his mind a quiver
Felt his body start to shiver
His stomach now, begins to flutter
Then he really starts to stutter
Excuse me miss, - he began like this
But soon his voice became a hiss
Carry on, - his brain did urge him
Then at once his courage failed him
Excuse me miss he uttered again
The moment had gone…..this was plain
So young sirs when you go wooing
You really have to practice cooing
Nothing comes to the faint of heart
You really have to act the part
If you wish, to sweep off her feet
A nice young lady demure & sweet.
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 7:24 AM UTC
*A Story of Scientology and the
Mental Health System Connection
GILDED CAGE*
Unlike the pampered, well heeled clients of my "faith", I didn't enter the Fort Harrison Hotel via the opulent main entrance. I made my appearance through the back. The garage entrance was less than hospitable. And, I noticed, there seemed to be people living in the cold, drafty motor housing! When I asked about this strange berthing, Noah was much less than forthcoming. "RPF", he mumbled. Well. What's an RPF when it's at home? Then I saw a few of the denizens of said "RPF". I knew very little about it. Only that it was punishment. For people were "out-ethics". WOW. The RPF "sleeping quarters" had bunks three high, and was protected only marginally from the winds that swept through that garage.
There was an RPF person who was coming through the breezeway as I entered. He stepped aside very deferentialy, and said, "Excuse me, Sirs!" to Noah and I. WOW. I'd never had THAT kind of treatment in my life! I guess I was someone important! This bubble was burst immediately. I met the I/C of the FRU.
She was not in a good mood, as I recall. But, then, who ever really was in this Organization? She DID TRY to be nice. Greeted me clammily, and put on a spurious smile. She recognized I needed sleep, at least. Upon walking through the building, the rooms got more and more posh. I was to get to my berthing through the hotel lobby, apparently. It was grand! But in a sort of an outdated way. I really don't remember much else. Except for the conditions in my sleeping quarters. Only marginally better than the RPF! bunks three high! Junk everywhere (some of the new recruits had yet to figure out that they should cull their possessions to a minimum). Guess who was designated the top bunk? You got it. And moi was not a happy camper! As I climbed the rickety ladder to the top bunk I remember thinking, "How much lower can a person go?"
I WAS, EVENTUALLY, TO FIND OUT.
Mar 23, 2017
Mar 23, 2017 at 3:56 PM UTC
I think, Sirs, and most inimitable Ladies
I think I prefer to look at a bull
The sketch of a bull, the head of a bull perhaps
even if but a study by an artist
rather than some fancy prophet in glorious paint
or in grand chapel or some miracle recounted
in paint and colors and with consummate skill
or even God descending – ah, all these do not take my fancy
they smack too much of the Elevated;
there’s too much
of the grandstanding in these
Grand Divine Themes -
but the face of a bull, ah give me a sketch
of the face of a bull
just the bull, all marks of nature in it
and just itself
no symbolism, no conceit, no artifice
no High sounding theology, no revelation
but just animal nature in its ******
being a bull
just animal, its eyes and mouth and horns
just all coming together to form one creature…
a portrait of a bull anytime for me -
Sirs and most inimitable Ladies -
none of the holy ones and the great prophets
and the Mighty and the Divine
and the Grand-Looking:
no bull for me, please;
just the plain head of a bull, as it is…
Jul 31, 2011
Jul 31, 2011 at 12:13 AM UTC
Two men were walking down the road
They met up with Lou Who
He said "I've not seen you men before"
"Now, tell me who are you?"
We're half the Who
Said the two
Half a who? said Lou
Not half a who
Exclaimed the two
we're exactly half The Who
We are now two
And as the Who
We were a group of four
Lou explained A who is one
So now as two
you two are just one more
You two cannot be half a who
Listen closer Lou they said
Listen to us now my son
As these words spin your head
Long ago the Who was four
Keith died, making three
John died leaving only us
There's only him and me
We're half The Who
Not half a Who
Surely that is clear
Lou just stood there dazzled
As if he didn't hear
A who is one
Of which we're not
That is clear to you
We once were four
But, now we're not
We're half of what we were
Lou told them that he understood
These two were not who's
Two strangers walking in our land
Now, that is really news
But, gentlemen can you tell me
Exactly Who Are You?
Tell me sirs, where are you from?
And what exactly do you do?
We're all that's left
We're half the Who
We're singers in a band
We sing rock and roll music
We travel 'round the land
Let me see now said Lou Who
You're half the Who now....yes?
No, Lou that's another band
This really is a mess
Confused, Lou said "I'm lost now"
Other bands and half a Who
Just answer my first question
Exactly who are you?
Lou, we're gonna say this once
We won't say it anymore
We're half of what was once The Who
We're now two,
we once were four
It' really very simple
Two died, and that leaves us
We have an opera that's called "Tommy"
And a song called Magic Bus
Lou said "I'm just a simple who"
My mind is all a buzz
I'm thinking now of half a who
And what a rock band does
A band of rocks
Poor Lou now moans
That makes no sense to me
If people come to see these stones
Just what do people see?
The Stones, are someone else Lou
They sing just like we do
But, they're another rock band
And we're still half The Who
Half of one and not of all
you're part of what was four
I'll take my leave of you dear sirs
And hope to see you nevermore
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 3:35 PM UTC
There was nothing ahead
but the blazing red
brazen brake lights watching
for the likes of us,
with somewhere to be
besides the whipping chills
of concrete and ice
spliced into our state,
uniquely white.
Inside, the air
surged the song out
and over our bundled bodies
thermal anomalies
in the amalgamating night.
Music
wrapped and coiled,
covered the lazy silence
like insulation commitment
to keep us safe,
deployed in case of a conversational
head on collision,
curtailed with soft sounds,
in amber lamps
simple.
Your particulate words
freckles in the face of ill
conceived ideas of entitled
Sirs and Madams,
my van Gogh brush
damning them all to hell.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 1:46 PM UTC
and now, most dignified Gentlemen
and most cultured Ladies -
it is time to turn our attention
to loftier matters, to speak of the spirit
rather than of mundane concerns and
to be stuck in unimaginative and non-inspiring
habits;
and so we turn our attention to the spirits
to the spiritual
to such high matters
to things that lift us above time and our bodies
and such points in reality and frail flesh
that binds us and make little of us;
but the spirit, most sane Sirs,
elevates us;
the spirit, most elegant Ladies,
liberates us;
and so we begin
with bottle in hand, in deed
(look, every religion has its symbols);
and through several drops of this holy water
(several gulps will hasten the magic and miracle)
we are indeed hand in hand with
the Spirit of all spirits
for what matters it if you hold or invoke
gin, *** tequila, ***** or whisky
whatever it is that one lifts
one is lifted by
and that One one lifts is the Grand Spirit…
and you see transformations occur,
the mind is released from the mundane and the pedestrian
and the ordinary;
and one may see light, there is a sense of lightness
and those who may be touched by the Grand Spirit
may actually levitate
and one has visions and ecstasies
all through the spirit,
most Spiritual Sirs
most Lofty Ladies…
and mock not this religion of spirits
for have not masses of humanity all through History
done the same in the name of religion?
Does not humanity do all of the same with
the Great Spirit they call God and
do not they too have visions and ecstasies
and feel the spirit move them and
are always aiming High?
Their senses and wits dulled
but their spirits going on high?
Drunk on high
with words, words, words...
And are they not in their true religion
moved by God and have such grand visions?
and will you then -
O ye vipers!
Ye hypocrites! -
mock the spirit
when you will
sanction and approve and dance
in the midst of those who drink religion?
will you denigrate your brothers
and sisters
in the spirit?
Oh, you who are drunk and revel in the name of God
and holy books and repeated words
will you judge those drunk in the name of the spirit
and radiant revelations that come to them
when they are moved by the spirit?
Judge not, ye hypocrites!
Judge not, lest ye be judged!
And so we end this sermon in amicable spirit,
in unity, in spiritual oneness
between
those who drink of the high of religion
and those who drink of the spirit we have spoken of
Go ye forth hand in hand then
as siblings
for ye that worship in the name of religion
and ye that have ecstasy in your own holy bottled spirit
ye are but brothers and sisters
moved by the One Spirit…
Go ye forth together, go in ecstasy, go high…
Oct 8, 2010
Oct 8, 2010 at 1:12 AM UTC
⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
.Sir murmurs feverish death
spells,
Bewitched hysteria enchanted elven
ears,
Violin strings of stuttering velvet
echo,
vacuity beguile cracked
telescopes,
Sir’s feigned ruby lips
lament.
⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
.Draperies comb the purple
hare,
Riveted coats sneeze in the
pallor,
Stabilizing the drunken
absences,
Late violets exhale in
tedium.
⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
.Sir views tree sagging in dirt
coffins,
In fabricated
tranquility,
With pleasant booming
hums.
⇜⇝⇜⇝
⇜⇝⇜⇝
.Sirs deteriorating dense
chasms,
Encounter convenient
disorientation.
⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜
⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜
.Spotted desolate greenery a hafted ax of
demise.
⇜⇝⇜⇝
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 1:28 PM UTC
please kind sirs
i assure you i meant no harm
-can't you see the poor girl is telling the truth-
revered jury i apologise
i didn't realise my sin was so great
-really, gentlemen, it's a first offense-
i take all the blame
i was where i should not have been
-a girl's got to make a living-
weaving my webs of destruction
i accept the punishment
-please, have mercy-
execute me if you must
but wouldn't it be easier
-hear her plea-
to simply be rid of me
show me the door i'll gladly leave
-i beseech you on her behalf-
please, miss muffet
was quite mistaken
-hear, hear, the witness is tainted-
an attempt at friendship
has thrown me on the mercy of the court
-save the poor spider-
May 26, 2010
May 26, 2010 at 4:50 PM UTC
Have I done this?
Have I done that?
Wait.
I forgot to do something.
PANIC.
Every day,
You do the same,
Follow a list,
And give it a name.
We all do it,
Even me,
I try to rhyme,
As you can see.
But what if we all
Made a change?
Did something random?
Tried to rearrange?
What if I choose
Not to rhyme?
Would that be better?
Worth my time?
Let's give it a shot.
So randomness.
How shall I do it?
Find the answer?
And then the question?
Bananas are cool.
Goodbye sirs and madams.
Hi there!
Fly away!
Eat a snail!
Catch a fish!
What's your favourite fruit?
I'm on the ceiling!
I'm underground!
Have we started?
Nearly done.
Qwertyuiop.
Asdfghjkl.
Zxcvbnm.
The contents of my keyboard.
And that is all.
Hmm.
I think I'll keep my list.
Because that was exhausting.
And the order I missed.
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 12:11 PM UTC
Both are similar,
Both have content matter,
Both save hassles,
One in communicating,
The other from washing,
Both have to be checked often,
What is going to happen,
One to see what is up,
The other to check what is the pile up.
What are they, "Sirs."
They are Whats app and pampers.
Dec 19, 2017
Dec 19, 2017 at 3:25 PM UTC
Salt the slug, fault the plug
For not stopping the gap
Where fears fall through;
caused by sipping the sap
Which beers, tall, brew.
Swish the malt, wish tumult
Of hot dripping bees wax
would clog green ears.
Locks for puzzling keys wracks
and bogs clean gears.
**** machine, spill unseen
From eyes wishing to bleed
out drunk sound blurs.
Fear flies hissing their creed
to flunk round sirs.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 3:56 AM UTC