Monday, September 24, 2007

Chrystos II

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

1 comment:

  1. Haysuess IV, Peace

    My 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
    Lie down and roast in
    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
    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