Poetry

Once again, the best cure for complaining is poetry, so here’s four more original pieces to help you get through this Monday:

The Electric Pickle

It started out
In a science class
Once upon a time

Used to explain
Sodium lamps
With its brine

How would you like a taste
Of my electric pickle?
My voltage rises from it
When my juices trickle

We stuck a fork
Into either end
And connected up a wire

We placed it there,
On some kind of stand
And then watched with awe

How would you like to taste
My electrical pickle?
My voltage rises from it
When my juices trickle

The teacher with
“Don’t try this at home”
Plugged it into the wall

Saying it was
Without measured ohms
Then showed us all

How would you like to sample
My electric pickle?
My amperage rises from it
My ample juices trickle

First the pickle dripped
And then half of it lit up
With a warm amber glow

Then it sizzled a bit
Steam came up
Boy! Did it smell

How would you like a taste
Of my electric pickle?
My wattage rises from it
When my juices trickle

How would you like a taste
Of my electric pickle?
My voltage rises from it
So won’t you give it a tickle

I know you’d like a taste

Coffea Aribica

Come and meet me by the coffee tree
We’ll pick and eat it’s long cherries
Pick them, hull them, scrub them, roast them,
Remove the silver skin
Then mill and grind them in

Put the ground up beans into the filter
Then pour the boiling water through
Watch the hot brown liquid drip down
Stir in sugar and milk with a spoon

So meet me down by the coffee tree
The perkiest place in town
It’s down near Dakar, by the sea,
Where the wild things are…

…And where the coffee, grows wild.

High Glass Horse

You mock me, scoff at me
But try to hide it real well
But I see right through your high, glass horse
I can see through, real well

You rant and rave, behind my back
Spreading rumors, like disease
Just get right off of that high glass horse
Or you just might lose your keys

You’ve only hurt yourself
In trying to drum me out
So lose the ‘tude on your high glass horse
You really have no clout

I know that you are jealous of me
But I cannot figure for what
I wish to destroy your High glass horse
You know I’m feeling cut

Now, I realize, that on your wings,
There is only artifice
So get right off of your high glass horse
And try to picture this

You find me annoying, and ugly and dumb
But you’re the one who’s mum about it
You try to damage me, while sparing my feelings
But it hasn’t worked for thee

This ugly idiot sees
Though you can’t understand
I’ve tried to be friends, but you’re just a fiend
I no longer will bother you

And of your horse, you thought opaque
It’s perfectly transparent and clear
So dive right off of your high glass horse
For you now have me to fear

Yes, I’m armed, and completely insane
So much for your ‘physical superiority’s’ use
I’ll kick you down from your high glass horse
For your friendship was a ruse.

Tow Trucks

Tow Trucks
And wreckers,
Wait there
Ominously

Like vultures,
Waiting…

Waiting for a wreck,
Their carrion.

I know, this is a cop-out on my part, but today I just don’t feel inspired to complain about anything new. Here’s some poetry to fill the coloumn space and there might be more of it coming. I need to focus on the real craft of poetry/spoken word and only rant more occasionally. These are all relatively recent and so far unreleased. I might include more classic pieces in the future.

The World of Highways

Fords, Fiats, Fargoes, Falcons, Freightliners, and Ferraris fly down the road
As do
Horches, Holdens, Hondas, Hyundais, and Hinos
Down the Highway
To the city
That’s down every road.

The keys to the highways are in your hands
Where traffic is light
And roads are nice, and smooth, and twisty, and fun to drive fast on

There ain’t no Smokey-Traps around for miles
And just for the trip we drive down
In Mercedes’, Mazdas, Mercurys, Merkurs, Macks,   and Maseratis,
To experience,
In Eagles, Edsels, and Excaliburs Equipped with Ecklers and Edelbrocks
The dance of the drive
In Datsuns, Dacias, Daewoos, Dahitsus, De Sotos and Dodges

So many machines
Exciting madness
Down that endless
Highway.

So the adrenal glands activate
In the
Porsches, Plymouths, Pontiacs, Panteras, and Passports
And the
Chryslers, Cobras, Chevrolets, Caterpillars and Cadillacs,

The
Talbots, Toyotas, Tatras, Tatas, and Travelers
And in the other hundred thousand or so marques,
In the idealized highways of the world.

The Man From Mars

Outside
The coldest red desert
A rover moves

There is a man
At the central control
Talking to the man upstairs
On a telephone

Far away
The rover travels
Collecting red iron dust
Rust on its bulky tires

And back at Central control
There is a man
Coming to supply the machines

The rover operates
Being driven by remote control
From a great distance
The operators must be patient
Transmission takes time at these distances

And a black-suited salesman arrives at Central Control,

(Solo)

the rover stops still
and doesn’t move anymore
collects the data,
and transmits it back.

And the man from Mars
Buys the rights
And takes control

At Central control
The man from Mars takes control
Of the machines

The man from Mars now sells
Chocolate in the vending machines
Of Central control.

Useless worn-out tool

I know what and who I am
I’m not proud,
I should be ashamed

I’m running around in circles
Where I get enflamed,

I don’t do very well
When it comes to a fight
My brawn and wits are dull
And there is no light
Save the neon, that old neon sign,
And the headlights of the cars, as they drive on by

I receive regular insults and blows
To my low self-esteem
My very own ego,
Deserted me for the other team

I know I’m a weakling, a moron, a parasite, and a fool
I’m a rusted, useless, worn-out tool

(Solo)

I am a weakling, a pushover,
A parasite, and a fool,
I’m a boomerang kid, and a worthless, useless tool

When it all comes down
To the wires,
I try and try, like a fool
But I’ll never
Get that jar opened,
‘cause I’m a lonely, useless, worn-out tool