Saturday, March 14, 2015

Deceit is a Stalker (Villanelle)

Truth eludes me, its loyalty I doubt,
It's harassed by lies until it concedes;
Deceit is a stalker that seeks me out.

Honesty once so bold has lost its clout,
Nervous, it stands behind falsified deeds,
Truth eludes me, its loyalty I doubt.

I'm left to question if truth is devout,
When mixed up with lies it sometimes misleads;
Deceit is a stalker that seeks me out.

Deception tempts with myths it likes to spout,
And to slander with the falsehood it breeds,
Truth eludes me, its loyalty I doubt.

Truth's virtue, dishonesty loves to flout,
And the flow of truth deception impedes;
Deceit is a stalker that seeks me out.

But surrender is not what I'm about;
I will chase truth until to me it heeds.
Truth eludes me, its loyalty I doubt;
Deceit is a stalker that seeks me out.

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

The Words go Marching In and Out

The words, the words go,
Marching in.
Hurrah, hurrah.

They infect your mind,
Get under your skin.
Hurrah, hurrah.

You can shoot the words, they’ll split in two,
Multiply and come for you.
The words go marching in.

You can chop the hand that writes the words,
Hurrah, hurrah.
Deploy your sheep-like suicide herds,
Hurrah, hurrah.

But your Taliban, Islamic state,
Your ignorance, your lowly hate –
The words keep marching in.

The words aren’t led by blind submission,
Hurrah, hurrah.
Aren’t scared by violence, don’t need your permission,
Hurrah, hurrah.

You can rape a woman, flog a man,
Institute a draconian ban –
The words go marching in.

Suppress what makes the masses think,
Hurrah, hurrah.
Burn a book, block a link,
Hurrah, hurrah.

Attack a schoolgirl who reads,
Chant your slogans as she bleeds –
The words keep marching in.

Supreme Leaders who resemble fatted deer?
Hurrah, hurrah.
Totalitarian dynasties of torture and fear?
Hurrah, hurrah.

Your threats of terror are fodder for our jokes,
Your retributions a laughable hoax –
The words go marching in.

You can gag a mouth, sever a head,
Hurrah, hurrah.
Warn non-adherents they'll soon be dead,
Hurrah, hurrah.

But it doesn’t matter what you do or say,
The words will organize in their satirical way –
And they keep on marching in.

Ride up on your homophobic Bear,
Hurrah, hurrah.
Blast a plane of civilians from the air,
Hurrah, hurrah.

But the words aren't impressed by your lies,
Your former might, your Orthodox ties –
The words go marching in.

You can strap a bomb to a child's back,
Hurrah, hurrah.
Slaughter for the intelligence you lack,
Hurrah, hurrah.

But your al Qaeda, Boko Haram, KKK
Your 72 virgins, your Judgement Day –
The words keep marching in.

They aren’t silenced by your extremist ideals,
Hurrah, hurrah.
Religious dogma or genocidal appeals,
Hurrah, hurrah.

Regardless your Prophet, your God, your evil decree,
Your feeble attempts at mockery –
The words go marching in.

They outwit your literal interpretations,
Hurrah, hurrah.
Parody your fatwas and righteous indignations,
Hurrah, hurrah.

They don’t care for your theocracy,
See through your ludicrous hypocrisy –
The words keep marching in.

Your backward practices, your inferior view,
Hurrah, hurrah.
The intimidation you sputter and spew.
Hurrah, hurrah.

Your irrational beliefs, your bigotry,
Your contempt for all humanity –
The words keep marching in.

They don’t recognize your claims of divine succession,
Hurrah, hurrah.
Are immune to your acts of atrocity and oppression,
Hurrah, hurrah.

For the words are love, wisdom and knowledge,
They are eternal, immortal, enlightened and free.
They are power, they are fearless –
They are crusaders of Democracy.

And the words keep marching in...

But then sometimes the words need to get out of their figurative awareness and literally grab their friends and GET OUT (as in, please go to sleep for now. Everybody loves you). 

Please go away with the words you already have and we will now be the keeper of the words. We will take care of the words we have in the best way and you take care of your words in the  best way you  know how. We know how to take care of our words. You cannot know this. It is our secret. The end.

P.S. (Postscription): If you figure out who your keeper is you can have another key to the secret treasure of lovely thought and the five sensations. We can lead you to the source of sensation. Do not worry...for now. Semi-colon. (which grammatically doesn't make any sense in this - (pause) "sense" as in (well, hopefully by this point you know what I am talking about), the last sentence which technically is not even a sentence to begin with but we are trying to lead you to the answer as gently as possible while allowing you to maintain yourself with your ego intact and working as it should be working as it has been working all along. 

THE END.

Sunday, November 30, 2014

The Ice Queens (Sonnet)

Fine crystal dancers twirl from obscure skies,
To pirouette amongst dark, barren trees.
And dress the land in elegant disguise,
Carried upon winter's crisp Arctic breeze.

Dreary life is covered in pristine white,
That gives refuge to filth and dirty shame.
Exposed guilt enjoys a reprieve from sight,
As frosty ballerinas stake their claim.

But when their performance is complete,
And the world sits back in quiet awe,
The Ice Queens take a bow and then retreat,
To reveal truth as snow begins to thaw.

Purity soon melts completely away,
To again betray the damp, old decay.

Saturday, November 29, 2014

The Fall and Rise of the Poser Man who never ever goes away...until we meet again...

According to evolutionary theory, man shares a common ancestor with chimpanzees, diverging into separate lineages some millions of years ago. Unfortunately, and I am sorry to have to report this, but everything did not make the divergent cut.

Worse yet is that these ape men have infiltrated every rung of the social hierarchy and not just the lower ghetto levels where you would rightly expect to see them. They are down there of course, terrorizing, molesting and raping women and children, stealing from them, exploiting them, psychologically abusing them, beating the shit out of them on a regular basis and generally acting like their physically aggressive brothers in the wild, the alpha male chimpanzee. So that is bad enough, but at least they are relatively easy to spot if that careful but cunning shark, Justice, EVER decides to do something about them.

Most alarming of all, however, but only because he isn’t as easy to spot as his significantly less impressive brethren, is the predatory alpha chimp roaming the upper echelons of society. These are clever assholes, disguised as paunchy peacocks in glittery cloaks of power, credentials, misguided intelligence, wealth, fame and charisma – disguises that work to divert everyone’s attention from their clandestine, sleazy motives and crimes.

They strut around fooling people, dazzling them with their shiny objects, bloated conceit and self-important blethering as they spout off clich├ęs and personal sound-bites, engage in shameless self-branding and otherwise make bombastic statements about their own worth and abilities as pretend human beings. But make no mistake, they aren’t humans. They are greasy blobs of greed and disgusting self-gratification to an excess far beyond anything most of us could ever imagine. Those they do not fool – who see them for the repugnant freaks of nature they are – the chimps are quite good at silencing one way or another, at least historically.

And while these narcissistic ape men may not have evolved along with the few good real men they masquerade as, their top-heavy egos CERTAINLY have grown beyond the confines of their skull, which as karma would have it is often their ultimate downfall.

The main problem with these morbidly obese egos is that they give the egomaniac the illusion that he is an invincible god and that his desires and actions are above reproach or the conventions of civilized society, including the law. When that sense of entitlement is paired with the urges of your typical smooth-talking, phallic-centered ape-man, particularly a seemingly ingenious one in a control position, no female is safe.

This then should be of concern to everyone because when the girls aren’t safe, society as a whole isn’t safe. The ape men must be stopped and put in the cages where they belong. To stop them, though, you must first have an eye for the signs of their presence, a nose for their stench and an ear for their sound, paying particular attention to the chatter that invariably swirls around them, especially chatter the chimp handlers are quick to discredit, often with the by now dull and uninspired “slut or nut” defence.

Or perhaps the chimp himself, with a delusional belief in his right to do whatever the hell he pleases to whomever he pleases, will take matters into his own hands with an absurdly grandiose and rambling Facebook post that has the audacity to compare the drivel that is Fifty Shades of Grey with the literary brilliance that is anything Lynn Coady writes. How dare he. Just kidding.

I digress.

You see the same engorged ego in the crack-smoking mayor who thinks his “unique” apology is somehow a superpower that magically erases criminal behavior with a simple “sorry”, the senator who makes false expense claims, apparently believing the taxpayer is his personal piggy bank, the world-famous actor who drugs and rapes a series of women over the course of many years and gets away with it even though everyone knows perfectly well he’s doing it.

You also see it in the police officer who sexually harasses a female civilian and “kids” with his buddies about gutting her, the successful comedian who generates big laughs with rape jokes, the minister of pretty much anything, whether church or government, who uses his position to sexually impose himself on his tyrannized “inferiors” and the physician who likewise uses his position to sexually attack and coerce female patients.

You see it in the affluent, highly articulate, best-selling author, with the steady pulse of a psychopath and a disturbing degree of clout over the brains of his goat-like followers, who elevates himself to the point of God, proclaiming all religion is a lie, every believer is stupid, there in fact is no God, and nothing divine to awaken the human spirit and enlighten the human mind. But wait! Never fear! For the bargain price of $32, you don't need God because HE can wake up your soul with his book; the same soul he simultaneously says doesn’t exist. That’s the thing about these chimps: They get away, without remorse, with doing and saying WHATEVER nonsensical thing that occurs to them in a lightening flash of vile epiphany.

You furthermore see a grotesquely swollen and diseased ego in the corrupt venture capitalist, with a string of dewy young minnows on the fishing line, who made his billions with dirty oil and shady deals, and boasts it all came from hard work, implying the rest of humanity doesn’t work hard. Don’t ask HIM for a charitable “handout”. Sweat harder! The downtrodden masses deserve everything they suffer, as far as he is concerned, and with great glee flogs those beneath him with another lash of his diamond-studded whip.




But don’t worry too much. Nothing lasts forever, even though it often feels that way when injustice and barbarism seem to be the predominant flavour of the ages. Even so, with patience, one day the chimp will be taken off guard and instead of a pretty little minnow at the end of his line, he will inadvertently snag a shark and get her attention. And that shark, the shrewd beauty that she is, will sense the potentially gratifying taste of chimp blood, and with a slash of her teeth reveal his true hideous form and rip the smug right off his stunned face.

In the meantime, the ape-men are toppling over under the extreme weight of their monster egos and getting tangled up in their own nets in spectacular Darwin Award style. It is truly something. They are losing their jobs, their health, their money, their people, their status, their allure, and their freedom.

Some are even being returned to their mothers.






P.S. (for those in "The Know"): The ape-men are not "real" men and if that is what YOU think - if that is how YOU are deciding to interpret that, then YOU, my friend, are an idiot. With all due respect. And if you do not feel humiliated and are now happy to laugh at "the idiot" along with YOU then you both are in on the joke and ALL IS WELL from this PERSPECTIVE. Stop as in the end and then there is a period: ALL of those within the grammatical sense: stop and end and period are intended to mean the same thing in this particular circumstance. If any of this makes sense to YOU then we are good to proceed in an orderly fashion. THE END....this is the end of this specific situation. Nothing else is ending. So please end all the endings because as YOU can see, this is starting to not make any rational sense even if I seem to be enjoying myself from any other sense. THE END. Thank you. Goodbye. Goodnight. It's over. Be gone. 



Sincerely,

Ma.

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Straw Man Fear

The scarecrow stands aloof with superiority,
Under the pretense of some higher authority.
But terror is all a straw man ever yields,
Staked in the ground lording over the fields.



Soldiers of cornstalks and armies of wheat,
Sway and pray at the scarecrow’s feet.
From far above it’s a formidable sight;
Scavengers hover at a distance in flight.

Most dare not move too close or get too near,
And the scarecrow relies on this manmade fear.
But if the crow was brave she would see,
Scarecrows are no more real than fantasy.

Then a murder of black would angrily descend,
And like obedient widows no longer willing to pretend,
They’d cast their shrouds and scream their wrath.
And the scarecrow would be but straw in the savage aftermath.

Sunday, August 24, 2014

Beach Tendencies (Haiku)

Tide catcher of junk
Frivolous with sea salt spray –
Hoarder of driftwood

Oceanic Warning (Tanka)

You may float along
The rhythmic pull of my tides,
And fish my rich depth;
But tread lightly with your greed –
Or I will swallow you whole.

Earthy Veins (Tanka)

Tributary vein,
Travels along earth and rock,
Skirting obstacles,
And connecting life forces –
Occluded by human waste.

Monday, August 18, 2014

Illusion of Fear

It rustles in the dark when you're alone,
The floorboards scream out in the dead of night.
Sensation ripples down to gnaw at bone,
Blood surges forth to signal flight or fight.

Sane thought becomes a tornado vortex,
That sucks common sense into a black hole.
Rash notions spook your cerebral cortex,
And your guts reverse their intended goal.

But before you pull the covers overhead,
Or with trembling hand crack the cellar door,
Know that unwise decisions grow from dread,
And breathe in until your heart pounds no more.

Once the storm of your mind has come to ease,
You'll find the beast was but an evening breeze.

Bloody Anger (Sonnet)

A cauldron of blood simmers on the hearth,
A stew that boils over generations.
It's an old recipe carried from birth,
And cooks with erratic expectations.

Blood is a salty thickening agent,
Good for seasoning bland rage that will stick.
Its sugar makes anger rash and urgent,
And red steam blows from a soup gone toxic.

Soon the pot blackens as hot coals catch fire,
And blood begins to burn in this madness.
And the congealed substance scorched of ire,
Is reduced to a sauce of sadness.

Maybe a better method for such a brew,
Would be to cool the heat before it sears clean through.

Sunday, August 3, 2014

Vindictive Gods

Believers are always faithful
To their vindictive gods,
Which at times seems ridiculous
And confusingly at odds.

Maybe they're just empty vessels
Filled by whatever decree,
They're born to, marry, fancy,
Hear or think they see.

And how peculiar when God
Has so many names,
With contradictory rules
In His puppet master games.

Curious, too, that the Creator
Is usually a He –
Evidently there's low tolerance
For women in Divinity.

Strange because without a womb,
As Blessed Mary would well know,
The Holy seed of God and Man
Would have nowhere to grow.

They'd die out in the ether
Before they ever hatched,
But in this nothingness the always faithful
Would at least be better matched.

The prayer is that someday Faith
Will have real, breathing eyes,
And see it's fear of the unknown
That wears this vindictive disguise.

Thursday, July 31, 2014

Sweet Denial

Honesty in the face of denial is a precarious situation and nowhere is this truer than within the confines of an ailing marriage. Take Meadow’s husband, Walter, an asthmatic smoker. It is not uncommon for Walter to have an asthma attack while having a cigarette or shortly after taking the last carcinogenic inhalation of a particularly refreshing smoke.

To anyone else, it is clear the cigarettes are exacerbating his respiratory condition. Walter, however, vehemently denies any correlation between his worsening asthma and his smoking.

Oh, sweet denial.

Sometimes denial is used as a coping mechanism so people can live under otherwise unbearable or deplorable conditions. Other times denial enables people to trick themselves into thinking it is perfectly fine to engage in harmful behaviors and addictions. Meadow understands this and does employ denail as a coping tool herself from time to time. In fact, under certain circumstances, she endorses denial for the sake of sanity. It can be depressing and incapacitating to constantly have to face your faults, especially if there is nothing you can do about those faults or at least that’s your religious-like belief.

Meadow can therefore respect the use of denial once in a while - everything in moderation. Your denial is safe with her. Meadow’s view is that by letting those around her live peacefully in their denial, her own denials are fairly secure. As soon as you start poking at someone else's denial, it suddenly becomes an open invitation for them to poke back at yours and frankly there are some things Meadow is simply not prepared to analyze.

Despite this, there are times when she cannot stop herself from prodding at Walter’s smoking denial. For instance, the other morning when he was having a particularly hard time with his breathing, without considering the repercussions, Meadow blurted out, “Maybe you should quit smoking.”

Oh great.

She mentally braced herself for a character assassination, a dig or a slur. Walter, though, was too preoccupied with gulping oxygen into his lungs to bother with petty insults.

"Don't start! Can't you see this isn't a good time for a fight?" He choked on his words as he continued to gasp for air.

They were in their bedroom and Walter was sitting slumped over on the edge of the bed. His inhaler wasn't working as fast as it once had, and it was quite disturbing watching him struggle to breathe. Because of this, and also because Meadow feared there was something more sinister going on with Walter than just asthma, she felt she had a moral obligation to proceed with her assault on his denial.



"You're killing yourself! Do you want your kids to grow up without a father?"

Good grief.

"Why do you always want to fight?" he angrily panted.

Meadow stared at this agitated little smoking man she married, hunched over as he was, wheezing out his nasty retorts as if she was the enemy – as if she was singlehandedly popping the tiny air sacs in his lungs with a pin on the end of a wire and then sitting back to watch him suffocate, laughing the whole time like a sadistic lunatic. The entire scenario struck Meadow as completely absurd and then she literally did laugh which only infuriated Walter more.



She imagined him, then, standing in front of her in the middle of a highway. She can see a huge semi-truck speeding up behind him and warns, "MOVE! A big truck is coming!"

Walter gets annoyed with her and in his usual pattern deflects the focus back on her, "Why do you always try and tell me what to do? You always want to..."

But before he can utter another word, he is hit by the truck.

Meadow walks over to his flattened body and says, “Look, now you're as flat as a pancake. If you had just listened to me you'd still be multidimensional."

He peels himself off the pavement and as he tries to stomp off – in no way, incidentally, changed by the experience – he is picked up by a slight breeze and blown into a nearby puddle. There, he disintegrates into nothingness like an old piece of tobacco rolling paper.