Since some friends let me know they appreciated Chrystos' work, I just post another poem for the readers and writers among us:
Going into the Prison
The guard growls, what’s this?!
poetry, I answer, just poetry
He waves me through
with a yawn
that delights me
so I snuggle my words in
to the women
who bite them chewing starving
I’m honored to serve them
bring color music feelings
into that soul death
Smiling as I weep
for poetry who has such a bad reputation
She’s boring, unnecessary, uncomprehensible
obscure, effete
The sneaky weapon
for this sneaky old war-horse
to make a rich repast of revolution
Clowns from Amsterdam
11 years ago
Haysuess IV, Peace
ReplyDeleteMy Father made
the earth
and all it's
wiggly, squiggly, malformed, malinformed denizens
in just
six days
And spent
the milennias since
in deep regret.
He knew not
what he did
'till now, and now
is too late
Too late to remold
the blasphemers who take
His Name
in vain and claim
to serve and
represent Him
Into blobs of clay
Too late to make
the falsely prideful
who lie and claim to
know His will and even
to speak with and for
Him
Lie down and roast in
Hell
Which they deserve
Too late to make the
needle-eye squirmers
who stuff their bags
of shekels stolen from
the righteous and the poor
into holes
in the land and the sea
in the vain hope
it will keep them from
their deserved fate
It's too late
because my Father is dead
of a broken heart.
So while the
hypocites and the mendacious
and the grubbing
money-changers
no longer need fear His wrath,
They should be heedful of
the power of the people
they have deceived and oppressed
and enslaved,
For while my Father was
occasionally merciful,
Fate and the People
Will not be