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David W Clare Jan 2015
I love Francois Marie Aoret Voltaire's
wit and stunning impertinence...

"Whatever is too stupid to be said gets sung!"

Voltaire 1694-1778

(I hadn't noticed...)
We had no idea the kind of plan they'd constructed
It seemed like any other night until the gunshots erupted
We had no idea that they would come by the sea
It's like they knew exactly where our weakness would be

We awoke in the quarters that they let us share
In less than a minute, we were dressed and prepared
We passed Captain Troy, Composed Mike and Voltaires
We chased down our checkpoint as they headed for theirs

We got past the doors and down the east gate
We passed a few bodies, now resting in fate
Out in the horizon were blazing, sinking ships
Reminiscent of the feeling that this could be it

It was the final battle of this three year feud
A ****** war zone - confined in youth
Endless explosions rained over me and you
The last thing illuminated would be the truth

We finally met our squad at the watchtowers base
When I noticed the calming assurance on your face
We all loaded our guns to await your command
When a shooting star fell just as you raised your hand

The bomb went off and left me shaking my head
But that's better than those injured, unconscious, and dead
You yelled and reminded me to do what it took to survive
To not pity the others, not while we were still alive

Just as you told all the women and men to fall back
Our group was ambushed, caught in the sneak attack
They grabbed you first and you said, 'I love you, now run!
This war isn't over, they haven't yet won!'

So I rushes inside, barred the doors behind me
Where the crippling pain brought me to one knee
They came and they pillaged, they took you in the night
But I wiped the tears from my eyes, and got ready to fight

There were a few other soldiers, one friend I knew well
I sight for sore eyes, he could compose himself
We held the main hall, it was our prison cell
with the enemy at our door, we prepared for hell

Mike was at the window, "oh god, we've been betrayed"
When the doors swung open and life was dismayed
A few shots were fired, there was no time to reload
But we don't turn tail and run, we took the warriors road

The infantry men trapped Mike who began to weep
As the bayonet blade sunk its edges in deep
He screamed out to me "Things are not as they seem"
The rest of us kick,
we bite,
we scratch,
and we screamed

Oh dear lord, how loudly we screamed





The final bastion broken, our defenses crumbled
With a sword to our throats we kneel to be humbled
I look up to meet my executioner, and her cold view
A mans last words killed the surprise, I knew it was you


The blade cuts clean
Just as your lies do
Mateuš Conrad May 2020
with no real reference to u2: i still haven't found
what i'm looking for -
which is music in a nutshell...

            hell... with all those guitar virtuosos...
to name a few... joe satriani...
                           john petrucci or steve vai...
but it wasn't what i was looking for...

   working backwards... something on the lines
of tom verlain...
      something: more laid back - guitar music:
sometimes lyrics are... bothersome -
              
           well... and the virtuoso music is simply:
a mood killer...
then the youtube algorithm starts
to glitch and fond memories of the jukebox
pop up like phosporescent moles...

            tommy guerrero...
                              no mans land...
                     a real shame to be writing anything
while this is playing in the background...
i'd settle for a wasp's nest of a head -
busy body me with both hands tied -
sipping a ms. amber in a corset and stockings
(bourbon) with some pepsi through
a straw...

                      i did think i was looking for
this something with egberto gismonti's solo...
apparently not...

   and for all its worth: the cut-off point...
i.e. what was once a calm revelation
of a lake...
becomes a frothing waterfall:

sometimes words are like bones anc concrete...
but me, being lazy...
                 teasing dyslexia or...
whatever...
                       you can say all you want
about... kevin spacey...
i'm not going to play the devil's advocate...
but...
                drift off... drifting off...
the required amount of prescriptive sleep...
no dreams...
i so too thought: i thought so too...
we wouldn't be buying sleep and dreams
over the counter...
big pharma excavations....

lester burnham...
and of course... kaiser sow'z'eh...
          sure... otherwise a kim novak /
     james stewart...

                      proper immigration:
send us your women... your ukranian... women...
and the brain-drain:
the best folk...
blah blah blah... blah blah...
what a load of...
glued to the concept of island:
easy to spot a border...
i guess...
                   it's always the carte blanches:
of a cate blanchetts and neurosurgeons
that make it...

no wonder... rewards in ***...
hmm... how about a genocide worth of *****
into a tissue... flushed...
gets the blood boiling...
Paris pre and during and "sort of"
after lockdown...
spike in female depression... no no...
this that and the other...

    so much more with... ****** and ***** banks...
i feel truly sorry for... women...
that will have to give birth to...
worker ants... construction workers...
not those pretty battersea shelter for
"stray" cats and dogs "nurses"...
i will  feel really sorry for the women
who will have to "forget"...
what's that term... hyper-... no...
  gyro- no... hyperbolic... no no nein!

hypergamy! yeah... and some women will
clearly not... up and up and more up...
if only i were a milkman's son...
a tiny little enclave... a stage...
the sea... the cliffs: i the next...
fisherman... the next trucker...

women of the world unite!
but this article... rage...
women don't need men:
of the same class - of the same dada venture...
the same dandies the same:
throws out a perfectly good electrical appliance...
because... "forgot" to check the plug fuse...
same ****... different cover...
all stereotypes... slavs are good workers...
all the plumbers and electricians
circa 2004 - 2018 were polacks...

everyone's a ******* poet over in:
englishland...
and a journalist...
and a whitney houston diva!
        well... no mistake there...
since all the n.h.s. nurses are dancing tiktok...
and...
i once thought it was: slavery...
unless: but i was... wrong...
about that well explained aspect of:
not a slave... but... rather...
being... conscientious...

          well... if you say it like that...
the ex-patriates who had tea with mussolini...
they weren't immigrants or:
high price of culture...
nor that anywhere west of the river Oder
experienced the cultural enrichment
of: that one-time-hit of mongolia and
the golden **** horde...
or that... some pakistanis still have a name:
muhammad... and a surname: khan...

it could be worse... it could be... much worse...
i could be... circumcised...

hell... have children: teach them how to ride
a bicycle: have them listen to mylo's
sunworshipper -
or stick around aging people...
walk up and down creaking wooden stairs...
and hear them snore...
while the bed lamp is still on...

with children and the fear of the dark...
with aging people and the fear
of death... and that's the middle ground
of focus...

royskopp - so easy - elevator music...
horror movie soundtrack:
nostalgia for the 1950s / 1960s
of the 20th century...
now... i can almost understand...
nostalgia for... circa:
the three muskateers...
         vikings...
                            but this sort of
nostalgia: "early on"... em...
the graveyard is the new musuem
with the added splash of al fresco artistry:
the wind, the shine, the peckish sparrows...
the rain...
the hot the cold...

'french single women were supposed
to be miserable on their own...
      thrilled from the pressure to hook
up' - adam sage...
          sage my st. augustine's sololoqui
burnt and smothered in sand-paper...
***...
            
   the world of *** toys and ***** banks...
and... casual joe says:
tables and chairs... brick walls...
buildings... magically popping up...
thin again! thinning air...

oh... i'm not *******... the french ladies
the english ladies don't really care much
for: women of the world unite...
press the war button...
otherwise an invasion is riddled
without bullets of rifles...
written on a postcard: wish?!
i'm coming over...

                     who's paying for the viewcount
of / and credibility?
heidegger and blue boy: remember me:
i'm asking... me standing before
the mirror - in half of adam's attire...
whithered: en vogue...

                  musik for the jilted generation...
heated debated looking for alternatives...

*** toys and ***** banks...
       white knights and... placebo hearts...
how i sometimes wish...
this was an abortion of a beethoven
and this was the medium of the grave...

i would much have better not been sold:
the child, the boy...
whatever that was circa up to the age of 21...
dress me up... in stilletos...
and horse reins and claps...
and tell me: plough this 'ere field...
better that... than the myth of the child of man...
that man is ever a child...
beside the lie in waiting...
tugged and pulled along...
    constipated / claustrophobic language:
that much i can understand...

i wish for having pristine:
leather like skin...
but since my skin: isn't doing my bidding:
that i am doing its (bidding)...
fur... living fur... cats for cuddles...
there's one sleeping in my bed...
right now: and i know that if i pick her
up... one of those bath floating ducks
playthings of a box of music of meows...

sensations: regarded as bone thinning...
and via tooth-loss inspired:
fwench kissing...

- junk-box of suprises - as random as a kandinsky
canvas or a burrough's paragraph...
better this kid achieved maturity
within the confines of an abortion...
than... this... one sure short: missing ******:
insert - ***** and ditto...
the constipated and less so:
islamic harem of the martyrs...
when three holes are given the liberal
shakedown...

to be shamed by *******:
when one isn't conscripted into
               circumcision: that flake
of living skin: the new niqab...
is like: the old, the new, the old...
moral compass of mommy kiss your cherubs
goodnight... **** daddy's **** prior...

wunderbar!
                    learn from spewing stewart...
learn a ditto: at least...
learn:
|
|
|
|  this is how you get a marker and decide
on how a paragraph begins...
cooking a slice of tender beef: aside...
into the beauty of a mid-western...
half baked cookies...
cookie dough jam: the ice-cream...
the crucifixions of no new tomorrow -
the same old... replica of constipation...
and... orthodox jews learning the violin...
like it's a slaughterhosue for horses -
and by miracle of the ching-chang-wall'ah...
prunes! prunes of the squirm!
lemon meets Paris...
meets... lemon meets...
a wine connoisseur... mr. lemon has
a busy schedule... all of asia... "practically"...
mr. lemon arrives in beijing...
                  suddenly the concept of batman
spawns... a centipede torso of...
availability of movement...

cul de sac protests! of course...
bag a cockerely and interrogate him in...
finnish!
it's as if... "they" almost forgot... to...
circumcise and castrate...
and have a 1UP on us... for that...,
much desired... quack!
choir of castrated oink voltaires:
no... those we call...

                    Sardinian...
                                 and tenors...
and: purple ******* sacks of a culmination
of a beard / stubble...
all bishop: all kosher... the voice!
the crescendo: better: unlike rain on
copper roof plating... tulips in goth...
goth: some would call...
strawberries: looking plump...
as juicy... and edible...
             come the cushions of a december
plough...
                  
            i much agree for the concerns
of the: seasonal dietitians...
root veg through winter...
the rest will follow: choir imperatives...
            
             tap tap... drum-roll: more chaotic...
and all the right: lost precisions...
akin to the enigma of:
the ballett of soft teasing snow...
come night and the toll of moon...
                  
            striding to find accents of heaven...
with worded: brush strokes of
the easily irritated fathomability:
bulk prize - it's still... a ******* square...
leaning tower of Pisa or cubism...
Picasso or no... Picasso...

all are waiting, the encore,
the alphabet... the encyclopedic entries...
suggesting: no banter for a worth if a wriggling
seance worth of shrapnel...
or that... arachnophobia:
and the scuttling spiders...
or the ones you touch... coin-flip...
limps stressed: tense... folded...
preteding to... play dead is all they ever do...

tommy the satire gun: ownership contra
worship... like... something from
a ***** universe...
before the sober judge...
before the sobering jury...
the drinking... "aristocrat" of accusations...
i drink... i drink...
because that's when i tend to scubadive...
skydive... i tend to spew: stew...
tell the truth... that drinking and listening
to music is one of those hazard free
"side-projects"...

        i find my heart among the sparrows...
such is their love for life...
i find my tongue among the crows
and magpies:
such is their critique of life: per se...
i find my feet in that magic carpet ride
of the widow swan:
a fate near impossible... nay...
completely: not near: impossible!
petting a dog for its worth of thick
cranium...
   circles galore! circles and circles...
this is not me stroking a leash...
or.. being fidget genius
over a muzzle...

        thumbs up: the ****...
                   more sparkle?
more colour? more dehydrated shrimp
paste? shrimp *****
and mr. lemon serves up:
an experience of tourism from beijing,..
mongolian squint eye:
squiggly noon ugh... sun...

warsaw the parade of ghosts and echoes...
esp. the underground
when the trains roll in from Kiev
and further east...
karma-alcoholic & cinderella "ulterior"
opt outs...
            by best decipher for ads...
i.e. counter... oculus per oculus:
eye for an eye...  shylock and i agree...
a violin for a violin...
a horse's mane for a bow...

                             better than: the end...
             ditto...
                            lady justice gave both her
eyes up... to pressure
a box into abiding by rules
of the guillotine...
  like hell: will this supposed soul...
this branch of learning:
psychology and the logic of non-existence...
ever...
because of how asthma and irregular
breathing... mr. itsy-witsy
and mr. boogie rain-man..

                             **** up and **** with
the readily available...
i'll watch...        a best canape of voyeurism...
is akin to: faking a pose of
atlas... when... performing the banality
of the metaphor of sisyphus.
most feared most needed too velvet to define
sun rose world exploded sentience fell like shrapnel
best colors invisible which floor is your life now
no one stays forever be your own round trip memory
playacting sage fools the mirror
gleefully awaiting new chance of suffering
meteorite flames over sonogram star fields
arc of history bends toward dada
drawing cabaret voltaires from deepest wells
the attic is the desert where all stairs lead
clouds weeping bon appetite
binary keys locking layers of doors to the river
glad to have journeyed but never again
replacing the bell tower with gaia's echo
alternative hades ruling shadows and ashes
just down the street from the holy grail
euclidian tea leaves photosynthesizing archimedes
speaking ions across emerald deserts trapezoidal pop music
contagious future infecting tone poem multiverse samsara
surfing with psychosis across long lists of oceans
rolling out underwater carpets
juggling arrows on jugular veins of streets
no one in the forest hears one hand clapping
north star appears in eyes within eyes basement chin
gold buried rising water deep end dividing into silver portals
by Howard Gipstein
Copyright © 2024 by Howard Gipstein

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