Archive for March, 1987

Peace

Posted: March 23, 1987 in Poetry
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The mystical smoke entwined itself
Around the gnarled boles
Forming the legs of the vast giants
Which towered above the leafy floor
Of the timeless forest.
Eminating from three gold braziers
Intricately and craftily carved,
The mist and odor of incense
Wafted through the boughs
Of the ageless forest.
A leaf free triangle
Marked at each point by a bowl,
Set in the midst
Of a seemingly vast
And endless forest
A plaque is centered
Within this magical glyph
Untouched by nature or time,
Or mankind’s speculative laws,
Within the ancient forest.
Upon the plaque
Is written one simple word
Understandable by all
Bounded by nothing
Within the antique forest.
Peace.

Nitrous Oxide

Posted: March 23, 1987 in Poetry
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Nitrous Oxide, Nitrous Oxide
N2O, N2O
Great hallucinogenic, great hallucinogenic
Fry brain cells
Fry brain cells

[sung to the tune of “Frere Jacques”]

The Wind Goes Round

Posted: March 20, 1987 in Poetry
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The wind goes round and round the earth
Never slowing, never stopping
Seeing millions of people and millions of places
And rushing by, always in a hurry.
Always exhilarated and fresh, rejuvenated;
A harbinger of weather to come
Or a refreshing feeling, stirring the heat
Rounding the sphere we call home.
Moving, shifting, changing, revolving
Don’t you wish you could hitchhike?

Wallet

Posted: March 20, 1987 in Poetry
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A wallet lay upon the ground
Should I return it to the Lost and Found?
Open it up, is there ID?
Visa and Mastercard! Oh lucky me!
One hundred in bills, non sequential.
A driver’s license – quite essential.
A bunch of pictures and gas receipts
A pair of tickets for ballet seats.
But alas, I am still in a bind
For this wallet I found still isn’t mine.
I know how stupid this may sound,
But I returned that wallet to the Lost and Found.

Demon

Posted: March 17, 1987 in Poetry
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From a fiery plateau in the midst of hell
Where all the fabled monsters dwell
Came a sound which split the night
A noise issued to God in spite
On the mountaintop within the inferno
Dance a supreme demon by the name of Mephisto
Or Satan or Demogorgon or the Father of Lies
By whatever name, he is one to despise.
Atop the mountain he gleefully pranced
And it was a mocking dance that he danced.
Below him on the burning plain
Writhed tortured souls without identity or name
Up, up, up towards the heavens they swirled
Lashed onward by the demon way above our world.
Towards the Lord’s throne, up within the clouds
While the universe shook with dreadful sounds.
But the Lord was forgiving and blessed each soul
And tore from them, sin, which kept them so cold.
The more Satan called, the more were rescued
And Mephisto’s stupidity cannot more be eschewed.
For the Lord is supreme, he made me and you
And not to be forgotten, he made Satan, too.

Sleep
Dreams
White picket fences
Knights of the Round Table
Picturesque cottages
By a blooming pasture
With a lake some distance away
Away over a patchwork quilt
Of grass and poppies
And lilies and daffodils
And snapdragons and
Dandylions and petunias
And myriads of colored flowers
Like a living rainbow.
A silver-maned unicorn
Prances through the colorful sea
With an Elf princess on her back
Wading towards an unknown goal.
Shall she stoop to kiss a frog?
At the edge of the sparkling lake,
Unicorn as guardian, companion, friend
An entire land
Filled with knights and maidens
And emerald cities and Cheshire cats
And evil witches and giant beanstalks
Nottingham castles, Tom Sawyer’s clubhouse,
Sleeping beauties and handsome princes
A land whose boundaries are imagination
And not worldly restrictions and rules
Every land is different
Unique to that person
And this is what
Dreams
Are made of

Window

Posted: March 16, 1987 in Poetry
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How does it feel to be so transparent
An object made to be looked through
Unseen and
Unnoticed.
The only physical evidence that it is there is
The small pieces of
Fly and dirt and scum
And water spots
That wouldn’t have happened if it
Had Cascade sheeting action
But no one cares.

Sometimes it gets cleaned!
But only to make it more transparent
And ignoreable
And featureless
And it takes away its personality,
What little it had.

Does a window silently scream when it’s broken>
Maybe that’s what the crash is for.
How would it feel to have a hole through one’s middle?

But there are always those few, special, lucky windows;
They look out over a peaceful countryside
Or sparkling, sunny waters
Or cloudlessly blue skies.
Not streets full of pollution, misery, greed
Poverty, homelessness, helpless,
Prejudice, suffering, chaotic, infernal,
Religious, lunatic, morbidness, rape,
And other acts of intolerable crime.
They are very thin partitions…