More than words, more than silence

Academe will do its best to bait us,
teach us to revere “the upper classes”
turn us into braying, pompous asses –
as if sweet poetry, might separate us!
Read until your eyes are red and burning!
Discover what the centuries have wrought,
what supposed learnèd men have taught.
Learn until you’ve sated all that yearning.
Then those tomes and volumes leave behind
seek out a cool and leafy wood nearby
listen to the birds and scan the sky.
File your thoughts away and free your mind.
Ignorance holds no chance to redeem us
but words alone can’t span the gulf between us.

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[Give it up]

Give it up –
it’s a bad business
at best anyway
they don’t want to know
see, care –
they’d rather stare
at the glossies
see themselves
in every effin’ mirror
available –
store windows
rain-shined buses –
examine their
eyebrows and hairlines
write reams
about their
predictably ornate
recurring dreams
stock character
families
paper-thin oddites
[unique as snowflakes, yes,
and just as soluble]
all are willfully blind to the fact
that the plot is thickening –
it’s sickening to think
that even if you surgically
removed their glasses
[the funny ones
that turn 3D into 2D]
made them confront
their sullen uniformity
the hollow – vacuous –
shit they vomit –
even if they could see
earth from a satelite
the impending night –
would any dare to make it
better, set it right ?
Would they have the guts?
Give it up – you’re
probably nuts
to think that they
might consent
to do without
the Vegas floorshow –
introversion in pulsar play
with voyeurism.

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Set childhood free II*

There are no jewish children –
nor moslem children
for that matter –
only children
some of whom
were born by chance
in a place that for millenia –
was known as Palestine.

The Jerusalem Post
was the Palestine Post
Toscanini was the first conductor
of the Palestine Symphony Orchestra.

But more than nomenclatures
it is sad beyond measure
that children are saddled with
the obsessions of their forebears
before they can even fathom
the nature of the debate.
Like the Pied Piper – fear
will lead them ever further into
The Barren Land of Hate.

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there are no atheist, hindu or christian children either. Only children force-fed fear from infancy.

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* the asterisk remains until I can find No. 1

In Desperation. . .

I feel them so many ways
weighing down on my shoulders
or hung around my neck
like that bird in the shipwreck poem.

I would open my veins
if that would solve anything
let freedom ring in their ears
’til it quell human fears

I swear I feel them – you
my countrymen the most
and most often – feel you clutching
outmoded creeds in denial
of the finality of the coffin.

So much of the present do you shun –
labels of parties that haven’t existed
since someone fired a gun in Dealey Plaza.

I am too ancient, too weak to do more
than just speak so I will leave you with
this parable from another shipwreck:
A huge unsinkable plank floating
right there in view of one of the crew,
but he clung fast as he’d been told
to his life jacket – which wouldn’t open,
an old and useless thing, howevermuch prized.
Needlessly, he sank to the bottom and died.

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Gnosis

There is a seed of truth
in every story,
a spark of creation
even in dead rock
which cannot be parsed
or printed, transcribed
on even the finest vellum,
any more than you can
know a woman –
be she a woman of letters –
without knowing the
sunlight in her skin
the forests of her hair
and what it feels like
to inhabit her.

If you do not know divinity
this way, what you know
is only smoke from a gun
and not the shot to the heart.

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Emma Weeps

Give me…
your huddled masses
yearning to breathe free
and I will teach them
the true meaning of wage slavery

Send these
the homeless tempest-tossed
and when the chasm between
intrinsic value and monetary cost
has finally been crossed
I will encourage them to breed
to meet the corporate war lords’ need

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Birkeland Blues

Don’t call it fate if soon or late
you’d swear some lover’s by your side
but then you wake up hard and find you’re still alone…
it’s just the galaxy’s deep breathing –
all those Birkeland currents seething
moon ivory’s majors, minor thirds
plus half and quarter tones – baby
sleep will get you nowhere
fast, so sit down on a chair –
or take a stool, if you can’t find one,
from the kitchen. You don’t have to
smoke or drink, you don’t even
have to think, but i’d appreciate it
if you’d just quit bitchin’…
’cause we’re in this thing together –
though it’s sometimes hard to see –
and the meaning of U/S is
you and me…and if we sink
or if we swim we’re just like her,
we’re just like him and country
roads ain’t taking anybody home.

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A Monday sort of thing

I have no quibble with carillon bells
with sumptuous vaulted cathedrals
or venerable stained-glass windows
or ceremonies of bread and wine
[provided the organ
has been recently tuned]

But I am stumped that you can think
that whatever food and drink
you choose is more divine
than lemon sherbert – or lime!
Or how [architecturally speaking]
hand-carved stones can hold a candle
to, say, the white cliffs of Dover…
or the Grand Canyon.
or…

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Socio-semantics redux

conspiracy theorist is as damning an epithet today
as heretic was in the days of Holy Inquisitions

those who dare challenge reigning orthodoxies
menace the oligarchs and academic pontifs
upholders of the sacred status quo
beneficiaries of the prevailing lie

before you slander a speaker
in this obscenely mindless manner –
for heaven’s sake, ask yourself why
you are so willing to burn at the stake
a man’s hard-won right to think

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socio-semantics

Conspiracy Theories
and Fuck You
have inverse histories

The latter started out
violently vulgar but has grown
almost as anodyne as a sneeze

while the former, a mere expression
of conjecture is, today, crippling
as a sexually transmitted disease

………………

Anyone who uses the term “conspiracy theories”
where the single word “theories” would suffice
is demonstrating that he would sacrifice
critical thinking in favour of the status quo.
The corollary is that anyone who would slur the thinker
likely has much to lose should the thinkers rock the boat.
The last person to have this mark struck against him
in my eyes, is Garrison Keillor.

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