SUB-URBAN APOCALYPSE

A pale moon rises
in the afternoon
While society waits to be told what to do
A suffocating stillness
abounds throughout
While society waits to be told what to do
A strange cold wind blows
through empty streets
While society waits to be told what to do
A superstitious
duct-taped barrier seals us in
While society waits to be told what to do
A nother long slow night
with no TV awaits
While society waits to be told what to do
A nother tunnel connecting to
another neighbor almost complete
While society waits to be told what to do
A nother neighbor's gristle
annoys the teeth
While society waits to be told what to do

I Hope for You at Least at Last Satori

I cry for the lost souls left behind
waiting for the day you're healed enough
to come back from the dead
knowing that day is infinitely out of reach

More than for me
I hope for your family
for the unit you made
and for the spirit of Gage

I miss my brother my teacher
my Jaffy
Agnostic Buddhist
To my bumbling drunken buffoonery

You're still standing in that shimmer of early morning
that grassy area in Houston's January Spring
that artificial natural surface outside the jail house
where we spent the night
your arms outstretched hugging reality
as if it had a flight to catch

“I'm so glad I got to experience jail with you
a seasoned veteran” you said
“That wasn't jail
it was more like a time out” I said

My muse
my excuse for artistic expression
genius, artist, writer, musician
bipolar, obsessive, compulsive, borderline schizophrenic,
genius denier
selfish disease whore
had to take them all

dismissing anything artistic
as merely a symptom
so disassociate from it
deny it
bury it
and kill it

I cry for the cold wind and rain
connecting tears with disclosed madness
confessions of untold sins
the consecration of a friendship

Madness is the psyche's lack of capacity
when the inlet valve is left wide open

The dying time was inevitable
but you rushed along ignoring it
enjoying every moment of him
then finding solace in me

Grab your guitar
let's start a fire
burn down the school of thought
cherry picking realities to showcase
fight the power don't sell out
but we bought in

You've become dangerous to yourself
a burden to those you love
they say these salesmen are doctors
they say it's wrong to self medicate
you need a doctorate in this country to legally distribute drugs

What world are you from
my head swims heavy like a ball
blurry vision recalls nothing
claw marks in concrete walls are not comforting
but neither is the absence of a friend

Sometimes I miss that warm wet heavy air
all that filthy concrete and steel
we called home
Houston seems forever ago

Shamanic wisdom is why you said people flocked to us
how does that translate when there's nothing left
we teach and we taught
for what

I cry again
for the ship coming at us from out of the fog
flashes of light sparking up from our boots
out of the beachy sand
waves crashing at us
from out of our common acid trip

I
lost in your vision of Colorado and a snow captured cabin
you
lost in my confessions of depressions
crazy was a word unused for fear of the truth
when two people need each other too much
resentful personal pride finally fights to find individuality

What planet are you from
not the one where we talk about how fast the nascars are this year
or the one where if that football coach knew anything he'd be making my salary and I'd be making his
we're from the planet where nonsensical reasoning is not the preference of logical people
we're from the planet that asks why the answer to world hatred of America
was more violence and oppression

Are you brothers
I had an ally once
neither of us were ever in a room where we didn't feel outnumbered
but together we proved
not even a closed corporate chamber could argue our logic

There's no more pretending for you
your shell's been shattered
now the hollow music inside
is out
but the shell's not vanished
it's in pieces on the floor
even if the king's men had some glue
they couldn't fill that hollowness again

He was a saint you now
wide eyed and sentenced to a chair
gentle soul wronged by God
an unflinching force of good
I miss your son too
and I'm still waiting for the day you're healed enough
to come back from the dead

Heredity

Darkness dwells deep

Constant conflicting
Quiet curse
Caring conscience's
Cold consequence

Survivng sorrow
Surrendering silently
Sinister scenarios

Flaws found
Frayed fabric
Future freedom
Fleeting feelings

Brutaly battling
Before begrudgingly
Baring beautiful betrayal

Darkness dwells deep

By: Pancho Madness

we laugh

between

breathes

heads thrown back

mouths open to the sky

our laughter rises

singing the song of solomon

"I am the Rose of Sharon, and the lily of the valleys"

it settles quietly

on the leaves

ready to unpack

to mingle with the warm summer currents

and get lost

in the brilliance

of the sun

The disaster in the Gulf reminded me of this poem by T.S. Eliot:

The Hollow Men
By: T.S. Eliot

Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

A penny for the Old Guy

I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

Summer

Soul's match met
Swinging swaying summer
Your music makes mine
Longing to linger like
Moisture in the air
Sticky humidity
Till your breeze slices
Refreshing exhileration
Splashing lightness into existence
Dreamy streams melancholy
Unconcious of reality
Lost in the swell of you
Giving no heed to caution
Only the rapture of your scent
Deserves attention to detail
Delerious dancing
Under shade of tree
Only now is real
This eternity of
Summer love
By: Pancho Madness

MARKETED OPPRESSION VS. RELEVANCE SOUGHT

YOU'VE BEEN SOLD

WHAT YOU'VE BEEN TOLD

YOU BOUGHT THAT SHIT

YOU'VE BEEN MEASURED TO FIT

YOU BELIEVE IT'S YOUR PERCEPTION

ALL THAT'S LEFT IS COOPERATION

YOU MUST CHANGE WHAT YOU SEE

YOUR VALUES ARE NOT WHAT THEY SHOULD BE

IN ORDER TO REALIZE WHAT IT IS TO LIVE

YOU MUST FIRST CHANGE YOUR PERSPECTIVE

SEEK RELEVANCE

GO OVERBOARD IN HASTE

FOR ALL YOUR UNDERSTANDING

CHANGE TAKES THE TIME YOU WASTE

START A REVOLUTION

RISING UP INSIDE THE GATE

SUPRISE THE INSTITUTION

EXPECTING YOU TO WAIT

By: Pancho Madness

The Lost One

Your face is sticky and wet with tears
Use your last 10 dollars to buy a few more beers
They never ask about your state of being
Now you’re realizing life has no meaning
The questions are jumbled in your head
Instead of finding some lucid thought you may as well stay in bed
Sleep through the day the sun shines bright
Slip out the door in the middle of night
The world is asleep you don’t need them anymore
Maybe they’ll be sorry the day your dead body hits the floor

The Gift

I came by and saw her sitting

She has seen many more decades than I

She told me of her first love

She wanted to be a mother since she was three

Her son died a hero

Her husband died a drunk

She used to go to the theatre

Her sister was her best friend

He loved her too

Why can't their science cure the world's hunger?

She finds strangeness now everywhere

She says she remembers me from her youth

Her rheumy eyes see only what was

There is no future for her but to sit

and to remember

I sing her a song

Then I fly away

For My Love

She came to me when I needed her most

and made an ocean out of desert

She stood by me day and night

growing green throughout bare branches

She stayed with me when my other friends

Swill and Brew left me intolerable

She mended and bandaged my wild youth

when fight and anger kept me hostile

She led the way, light in hand

out of my gray minded moor

She stayed by my bed with assuring eyes

when my body had said "no more"

She continues to lead with care and warmth

giving safe passage through any hardship

She's my love, and neither trial nor time

can break our bond or bliss

For my love

Delinquent

How long is left
how much more
can I endure?

Lost in this rain filled city night,
I wander past
the lights of the bars
with the signs and the whores.

No longer can I stomach
the hypocrites and idiots
the clowns all drawn out
into the night for fun.

I search for a forever death
only finding this violent nemesis.
Dawn?

Where did that wide eyed boy die?
There could never be enough blood shed
to regain that long gone day
of childish abandon.

Forget me, mom, for the pain
I've inflicted.
Your son has been fully devoured
by this demonic walking carcass.

Oh daddy, your love was so
conveniently absent
nurturing such a small monster,
growing self loathing
like a strangling second tongue.

Count my curses
for they are the only source
I have to measure self worth.
Cowardice is the determination,
minus the will.

A marked soul,
and lack of restraint
leads to disgraceful deeds.

With a spiteful laugh
I spit at the world
through the eyes of this
drunken street punk.

There were actions leading
up to this moment.
Only actions can end it!

A handful of hair lifts my narrowed gaze
I grin up at my victim.
I've done everything
to deserve this wrath.
An uncharacteristic nobility
could finally release me
from my sentence of depraved deviancy.

Another battering of knuckles
smashes through raindrops
to find my lips.
Open mouthed bloody kisses
greet this next round of abuse.

A white shining light slices
through every open realm of reality.
I recline back onto my curby pillow
wishing for sleep,
fighting back the rage
just long enough to incite it.

I decidedly roll over onto
my four dog legs to breath.
A foolish boot is caught against my ribs
I rise,
with it,
into the air
and start my maniacal stomping.

The rain ensures
my mother and father's blood flows
along with this stranger's
into the sewers of this polluted city.

Nothing can ever be as it was,
the realization of salvation,
undeserving of my attention.

I gather my wits,
and stroll to the opposite
side of the street
to resume my interrupted search.

By: Pancho Madness

A long drive to

Old homes in the Avenues

Chain link fence surrounds a small yard

Step up on the porch to see the brass knocker

L a u r e n c e  K a r l  L a r s e n

Old photographs

Two leather loungers, his was on the left

He sat in that

Curio cabinet

Bottom drawer filled with high heel shoes, just our size

She let us wear them

Kitchen table, drinking black coffee

Did you know if you don’t eat the crust your eyelashes won’t be curly?

Lace curtains in a tiny room

Checked shirts

Black horn rimmed glasses

A camper

He loved to fish and hunt

Always hugs, I sat on his knee

This is how I see it in my mind's eye

This is what I remember

This is all I have left of a grandfather I loved,

but was too young to truly know

Oh, and one more thing

He loved me

I wish you could have known him

He would have loved you too

Meetup

I've got a couple I'm working on hopefully I'll get em in before the months out, but I wanted to propose a meetup. We can get together and read some original new stuff to each other, and also maybe discuss Karma Girl's proposal of publishing something. Let me know if anyone's game!

The New World Order

Disease infests as rivers run dry

soon they'll all be bleeding

coal and oil blacken the sky

but yet they keep on breeding

Nature deflowered in urban sprawl

They're strip malls will burn first

A slew of hate, the global drawl

nothing can quench their thirst

Animals slaughtered to gain a buck

They'll get what they deserve

Survival destined to chance and luck

Sure god will protect and serve!

Enough with consequences

Time for action!

Boot and drum rock the streets

as screams flood the ear

endless night peaks in beats

the new world order is here

Today's salut, a flame in a bottle

red flags soon choke out the sun

human decay smashes the throttle

reduced by the smoking gun

Population control, the Leader's word

every child is left behind

Wall Street and Main, grotesquely absurd

Equality sates mankind!

Future saved or humanity lost

Is this fiction or fate?

On the Way Back

Road Trip

Halfway between here and Chicago where the
tree branches blend seamlessly
with night
and I can’t tell if my
eyes are open or closed.
A gas station is open.
The fluorescent lights slice black
sky with ragged edges, blocking
the stars and illuminating what should have
been left in shadows.

It’s harsh but I’m hungry.

Sickly light washes over aisles
of expired chips and useless trinkets; only one
bottle of Coke left.
I’m at the counter and she smiles.
Just yellow teeth and red
lipstick, mouth parts slyly. “Do you feel lucky?”
Outside all I can see is
the flicker of someone’s cigarette and the curling
smoke that climbs
above these lights

1 in tha mornin

Light that bends
Quakes within
Further falling
Destinies calling
Sytematic breakdown
Meaning we make now
Polished fake clown
Never again
Compromising friend
Suffer within
Self indulgent sin
Fortress held tight
Mighty man's might
Foiled refuge
Your own shit to get through
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Happiness doesn't last forever

What happens next?
The fake smile’s exposed
What happens next?
Now the world knows your mind is taking painful blows
What happens next?
When the one thing that could heal any wound is dormant
What happens next?
The only medicine for your illness has lost its potency
What happens next?
Your train hasn’t been wrecked but obliterated
I’ll tell you what happens next
You get fucked over, that’s what happens next

apple blue skies

shade

lilac coated leaves

as they cradle

eggs
speckled with love

flutterby wings

whisper

as they beat the air

Spring is here

Spring is here

and the earth

draws

a

collective

b r e a t h

Still waiting for my next poem to arrive.

An April Photograph

Light and dark share the ambiance

crisp and cool raise the bumps

clean and fresh create fragrances

open and blossom color the spectrum

Brick and bar keep their guard

siren and somber sound in waves

labor and toil slump the postures

weed and decay fissure structure

Spring in St. Louis

revolution in reaction

We Real Cool

 

So, today I didn't have a poem in me, but I am certain there will be one tomorrow.  In lieu of my own poem, I thought I would post a poem I really enjoy.  The poem is by Gwendolyn Brooks.  It is just all that.

WE REAL COOL
THE POOL PLAYERS.
SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL.

We real cool. We

Left school. We

Lurk late. We

Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

Here is a recording of Brooks introducing the poem and then her read of it (click play once the page opens).
The Pool Players.  Seven at the Golden Shovel.

Death They Didn't Deserve

Come and join the camp
Don’t stumble over money, everything is free
Free of individuality
Free haircuts
Free striped pajamas
Free gold stars
A number defines who you are
Suffer through wind, ice, and snow
If you die no one will know
Horror unable to be depicted
Veins dripping their thick liquid
Silent drops of crimson wet the mud below
It won’t be long
Soon they’ll all be gone
Thanks to the devil with the moustache

The number before me

The number before me
Monday
I rub my eyes, then again
Fuck!
My day is ruined
Self esteem crashing around me, suffocated by the number
Nothing feels right or fits right
The number is stuck in my own minds purgatory
Try to forget
All things off limits
Everything looks much more enticing than before
Tea
Tea
More tea
Head is spinning remembering what has brought this number into my life

Tuesday :)
It must have been the damn bloody marys

working

Jimmy does the shipping.

Darla does the digging.

Robbie does the loading.

Tricia does the checking.

All these "ings" are keeping us apart.