Poetry
• American Scream - Rex
Butters
• somebody keep the beat -
Shanna
• History Lesson - John
Haag
• GHOSTORY LESSON - John
O’Kane
• A Dream - Hillary
Kaye
• life and times of a Venetian
Courtesan - Erica Snowlake
• God to be
God - Swami X
American
Scream
I missed the peace
march
to see
Zac
off to
Iraq
to fight a
war
for a core of
elected
oil executive
cowards
a cartel that
smells
like death by
greed
deaf to the
pleading
of a million
children
slowly embargoed to
death
a hierarchy of
hyenas
cracked
crusaders
freedomphobes
led
by a lop eared cowboy
clown
deserter-in-chief
election
thief
third generation career
politician
elitist east coast college
cheerleader
pr reborn Texas
rancher
Hitler money
fortune
cocaine maim
brain
DUI dumb
guy
like a
chimp
with a chip on its
shoulder
a spoiled boy
playing
at playing
soldier
unfazed by lack of
facts
using meat and blood troops as photo
op
props
ringmaster of
fear
to the media
zombies
his hypno sleep sheep
flock
jolted to submission with terrorist
alert
shock
slip slide skate to police state
protection
surrender their minds to Asscrost
and
Rummy
Orwell’s oil well a
gusher
unattended elections
held
ballots
stolen
and the fainthearted media
raising
their ad rates and
fainthearted
Democrats watching their
polls
roll
over on their
backs
Oh, shake the Old
Vampires
off the throat of my
Nation
Zac,
when
you get back
we’ll
laugh
at how expensive your cheap education
became
I’ll show you this poem
and
you can teach my
son
your best skateboard
moves
antigravity flips and
jumps
and your lucky way of
landing
lucky way of
landing
lucky way of
landing
you have a lucky way of
landing
lucky way of
landing
lucky way of
landing
lucky way of landing
you
home
–
Rex
Butters
-----------
somebody
keep the beat
just had a tribute
at beyond baroque
a play for the beats
kathy leonardo
sang
some words to
them...
those who never asked
for publicity but
after
liptons book, got
it
ride the
tram
see the
freaks
now they are gone
they are on public
display...
honored as they should
be...
ginsberg being the only beat
from the north
beach....
to dance with
us...
snapping our fingers
for applause
so the neighbors
wouldn't shut us down
no
more
poetry
at the venice
west
shanna
-----------
HISTORY
LESSON
By John
Haag
That little ape that came down
from a tree
and used a stick on his
enemy
and called aloud to his
family
to show what a great brave ape was
he
made followers out of you and
me.
That little ape that got caught in
the rain
and used some branches to cover his
brain
and thought up gods for rain and for
tree
to explain away the
mystery
made worshipers out of you and
me.
That little ape that had more than
enough
and didn’t know what to do with
the stuff
and instead of handing it out for
free
put others to work for a
salary
made employees out of you and
me.
That little ape that schemed and
planned
and put a fence around some
land
and told his followers they’d be
free
if they fought his next-door
enemy
made soldiers out of you and
me.
That ape whose stick is his
bravery
whose ignorance makes
theology
whose avarice makes
wage-slavery
and makes a cause for
nationality
makes monkeys out of you and
me.
----------
GHOSTORY
LESSON
For John Haag, the ethereal
Venetian
By John O’Kane
I see John Haag on the Boardwalk near Big
Daddys
lost in the toxic mime
meeting my look with those white holes
combusting Eros for the unfooled paradise in
all of us.
I flash through the cackling
sheen
frantic to capture this astral fume
for the
Venice Historical Society archives
as Eric Nord
corrals him up Market dogged by
a streak of robotically
effervescing hare
krishnas, pacing the parade
to Speedway and
north against traffic.
Near Park it becomes a
gyre of weakening whiteness
rising toward
the leaden heavens to a
hovering copter
vanishing into its blades with a terminal
swoosh.
As the machine lunges north like a
beach crane
spotting the spume, I follow its
racing rotors to a circling
slomo above
Dudley where a bullhorn
berates the spectres
below.
“Drop that weapon,” it
echoes to one street-citizen near
Spontos
surrounded by slouching gorilla-stick
shadows.
“that
little…ape…came down from a tree with a
stick,”
he blurts between blows from a
scrap of paper
projected on the Cadillac
Hotel façade across the way
like a
pulsating monkey-wrench
swelling to
superhuman silhouette.
The scrap looses from
his grip unseen
sucked into the blade-whirl
of particles, freeing his
fury to finish:
“…to show….what….a
great brave….
was he…and
told…….his...followers they’d be
free….
if…they fought…his
next-door enemy!!”
he concludes to an
enfilade of thud-syncopated-cheers
from a
roving chorus of Make America Beautiful Again.
------------
A
Dream
by Hillary
Kaye
I
marched out of favor with the stars and
stripes
Got hooked on a different dream and
left town.
Imagined stained glass windows
glowing with the words
“America is
sorry for its wrongs.”
It enumerated
them starting with the Native Americans
right
straight through til morning and
mourning were joined.
I got a vision on christmas day....God was a
shaman a sainted
Tribal Chief ...and the
world went backwards til we were all sitting around a camp
fire
chanting and smoking a peace
pipe....chanting and thinking about how to finely live
with
nature.
I got religion that day the kind that won't
let one man kill another.
The kind that
speaks of the earth as mother.
the kind that
cares that man and child mother and daughter sister and son
can come together and feel as one.
-----------
life
and times
of a Venetian
Courtesan
homeless
well
you know
gone are the grande
palazzos
she makes love on the
sand
or in the
van
kissing delphic
oracles
trading rings with the
winde's
winged faerietale
blings
wandering souls
displaced
in time and
space
a doom
witchstalkes
the Beautiful
People
believing
like
Crazy Horse Dreams
one does not sell the
earth
upon which the people
walk.
red stilettos
sparkling
there's no place like
home.
– erica
snowlake
-----------
God
to be God, I declare, would have to be
Everywhere, even in
quarks, strings, things,
wings, flings, Jimmy Swaggart's
underwear
Things only seem to be better or
worse, the last winds up first.
The Big Bang
could just be an orgasmic burst
She could be
in paradise, while you fantasize she's in that
hearse
Beneath all your minor ego tragedies
there's a mountain
of
ecstatic, spiritual mirth
Until you really
know yourself, you don't know what life is
worth
Some people don't seem to have
completed the first, let alone,
The second birth
From the Goddess, of truth,
good, beauty and compassion, there is never
a death
When we awake, we'll realize, in
wonder; how we could
have failed to
care for our Mother-Earth
I don't want to
scare you any more, especially if you are
a religious friend, or a political whore; however, if
the
worm should turn inside of
you,
The Enneagram could serve to enlighten
you
Eckhart Tolle also could've told
you
But then again, it's always up to
you
Atheists are fish deep in an ocean of
bliss
denying the existence of
water
--Soul is everywhere, in reality, there
is no border
You're doing it to Him, so give
up that dollar, or quarter
It may not be The
Son; it could very well be The
Daughter
Everything born--dies; the onliest
remain--The Dindu Dot
And for Endless Light
Life & Love; Dear Sweet Goddess, Thanks a
lot
Peace
– Swami X
Posted: Mon - January 1, 2007 at 11:17 AM