Blog Title Photo

Blog Title Photo

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Take Health

Mark, take new health,
From which lagoon is the rainbow serpent from?

I could always enjoy sublime pleasure,
Tossed together, the monstrous scandal.

Vain red-faced hypocrite, show any skeleton to me.
Go. Discover music, like stormy breath.

Be obsessed, make metal quick,
Droll-natured neighbor.

Leave blunt creativity there,
If surreal courage glitters incarnate.

Drive better when instruments have a new voice.
Such past diagnoses see whether lions celebrate art.

Her man dances wild original vibrations,
Insolent rabble can't dare appear afraid.

Sad words give help.
Your puny cat kills a spider.

He will investigate a mechanical jungle,
Follow through, one hearted day.

Smile, drink your vintage tea,
And observe, vain equality.

Your sure fingered music happens,
Old forbidden brain food.

Twin fights with phobia, but to satisfy thought,
Rupture your loathsome lust.

In storms, a summer memory,
Gives her high talk, under some wall.

Parasite, show how society beat wrath.
Afraid of desire, abandon your velvet pictures together.

Go and make a supernatural death represent nature.
Fresh perfume she'd make on-site.

March 1, 2012 w/ Kerri Taylor, 5960, 60-261

The Muse Poems:

   1  2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9
10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18
19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27
28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36
37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45
46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54
55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63
64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72
73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Raise the Horn

  I raise a horn,
  And blow this note without alarm.
  Call the Goddess with the raven hair,
  Ask her presence to my lair.
  I'll tell her stories, 'till the moon goes down,
  And give her dreams until the crack of dawn.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Be Like Water

Freedom from time that's being released.
Outside it, like water, to go where I please.

The Mole

A lonely Mole came from a hole,
To catch a lunch of tender sole.
"O Sole Mio, so sang the Mole,
"I've Lost my Sole", he sang also.
The mole drank a drop of salty sloe,
And slowly downed his meal of sole.

"In Hell's Hotel, there lies a gal.
 A little one for whom I fell.
 On her pillow, on her bed,
 I'm mad, tethered, weighted pledged,
 Mind me not as I seek out a ledge.
 I'll jump off, and float to sea.
 One more Mole, to eternity."

Original version of "The Mole's Last Supper"
Illustration by E.H. Shepard.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Butterflies and Oaks

 Political lies, crush butterflies,
 Internet jokes, uproot giant oaks.
 Upon this head a skull is shown,
 The one who comes when oaks are gone.
 For on the wings of the moth you see,
 There waits, inscribed a prophecy.


Eraj Asadi

  Papilio polyxenes, this one's female, 
  Lepidopterist known as a Black Swallowtail. 
  Wings are marked for landing flights,
  An alien fleet, beneath Northern lights.

The Planet's Getting Hot

Raj or Empire, it matters not which,
Ones claws, breathes fire, the other's a witch!

Sorting socks is easy, but folding bras makes me queasy.
A panty in hand will make me stand, but bluejeans keep me needy!

On a grey ocean, struck by the notion, I looked for the almighty one.
Way overhead, dark clouds of lead, made space for the flighty sun.

Get set to do my yoga, invoking symmetry.
And get read to by my ogre, in lines of poetry.

As a father-earner, I've more than done my duty,
Now a Nevada-burner, a whore for fun and booty!

If it meows or gives milk it might be a cat,
But if it's a cow or makes silk, it might be a rat.

None of these creatures are found in a park,
One of their features is they glow in the dark!

Lee and Katia so yearn to compete,
like two grizzly bears at the edge of a creek.

Lee the old male, is slow moving but mean,
Katia the lassie is faster, and lean.

What's shows on stage are often tears,
Thus flows the wage, of softened fears.

Irene brought doom, duress and bleeding,
Her cost entombs success that's fleeting.

When Mother Nature disappoints, break out liquor, light up joints!
But if Irene is truly fierce, grab a Suzy, whoever's nearest!

Noble warriors with beards of grey,
Sober memories of that day.

Enough from our mongrels in Congress.
No stealth-leadership from self-feedership.

I beseech you, are these leechees?
or Leeches with Beach leaves?
Eyeballs for my highball?

'Anders Breivik' believes 'Braveries Kind',
Murderous anagrams dreaming 'Riverbanks Die'?

If right-wing politics indeed was meant,
what a horrifying sickness, killing innocents.

What's a mightier risk than a terrorist bomb,
is the threat to society from triple A bonds.

Let's chalk up what's going on!
BSkyB talked with Cameron?
It's absurd! Did he use his desk?
To help the Murdochs, buy the rest?

Time for our medicine, we should all swallow burdock, It may even work, if we throw up on Murdoch!

What in deed does Murdoch fear? He turned eighty, could play King Lear. James the son, his ego's host, Makes a run, with his father's ghost.

Follow the money, where ever it roams, You'll see good publicity comes from a plateful of foam.

This planet's getting so damm hot,
if someone fanned it would help a lot.

What a gorgeous gift the Sun. It seduces women, gets their clothes undone!

The Met chief falls on his sword, Do we take the PM at his word? If not business, what was talked, with back door meets and Chequers' walks?

Every fight, every scandal has a teflon Don, Let's all light a candle for PM Cameron.

Millions in severance, for not fingering her bosses, got Brooks booked by the Met, to control their own losses.

Should the PM pay the price, being infected by these lice?
If NewsCorp's disbanded, or ultimately sold, maybe a PM will one day get old!

Dig under Fleet Street, dig up the Yard!
There's a stink from Ten Downing, where they need to get tarred.

The mockery by smut that degrades what it touches,
Makes democracy a slut to whatever she hushes.

It's time to wake up to a gale of corruption,
The Newscorp scandal is a full scale eruption!

What prime assets does Newscorp own? S
cotland Yard helped hack Brit phones,
PM Cameron, Blair and Bush.
Victim solicitors, paid to hush.

Has sad sack Newscorp paid for its hacking caper?
By sacking execs and closing a paper?

Who hacked the phones of bombing victims? That's the worry of our legal system.
The FBI hurries to look, after the sacking of Rebekah Brooks.

Arad Acre Afula Tikva
Haifa Givem Baqa-Jat
Beta Tel Aviv of Karmiel
Reprieve Jerusalem and Gaza. Shalom.

When just money flows through streets,
Nothing grows, there's nothing to eat.

NASA's the pawn in a budget muddle,
The magic's gone, no more shuttle.
Astride her boosters white with light,
Atlantis took her final flight.

Victim phones by News Corp hacked,
Sitting clones of Murdock sacked.
Cops bribed, prime ministers funded,
'Till it stops, decidedly sinister.

Is Facebook by Google doomed? Two social networks in one room?

All those News Corp hacks abound.
What goes around, backs Cameron.

Liars of the World will close their paper, No buyers for their phone hacking caper!

The brute will refute whatever the gal says, but the information age will put DSK in a cage.

The dream runs with puns like bugles and guns,
It's barking will keep you awake.
As every dreamer knows, as do foxes and crows,
A dream can't be tied to a stake.

What allegations come from Fox
On this day our President mocked,
Not an error if you know that station,
Not due to hacking, or automation.

A sutra to inquire of the Queen of Hearts,
   Whose mudra inspires my writing Arts.

A mudra to the Queen of Sight
   She'll dance with Rudra, her King, all night.

What cries and claws, but doesn't hurt,
A lover with fuzz, who makes you work.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

The Count

  Do not count the actual auras:
  A, C, D, E, H, L, N, O, R, T, and U.
  Unnatural acts occurred,
  A tarot card, or a tantra cult,
  . . .  a conundrunn . . .

  Lord Alcidae,
  contacted a local nun, Laura . . .

  Coral adorned, Laura couldn't accord,
  a London Lord clad in a collared ducal coat.
  Nor could Laura court a soul of coal.

  Lord Alcidae roared aloud a contract,
  conducted Alca torda on a toad, cat and rat.

  Dracaena Draco, at an altar.
  Our Lord called "Laura!"
  Laura ran around, rotund, unclad.
  Tracheal ducts torn, cords cut,
  Heart raced.

  "Call a doctor."

  A currant cotula, caldron red,
  Laura, a curdling, crucial undoing,

Who is this poem about?
Answer:  Count Dracula, written only with the letters in 'The Count Dracula'.

Building Site

A diesel growled and prepared to pour,
A blob of mortar to the planet floor.
A lusty chinook at her gravel bed,
Depositing eggs of concrete instead.

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