Gargouille

Justice

Justice is a myth
like the idea that your slaves love you
the lying twitches of faked orgasm
the liars that oil your driveways
lending an appearance of power
to the fascists
Justice is a myth
like the minions of silver tongues
that lick your so badly burnt ego
all the women who've ever been overcome
are so sympathetic
legions of self-proclaimed
survivors of a long forgotten heart-ache
advantageous to only some
Certain now the crime is bested
by drama and too sweet whine
Justice is a myth
a fairy tale the ones on the outside
tell themselves hoping
they won't be next.
Keeps them struggling to look innocent
while they look for a pre-approved victim
to jack up their credit debts.
Justice is a myth
Noone picks the big bastards
bankers and billionaires are for emulating.
Everyone who tried to kill Hitler
was assassinated.


[edit on 7-12-2006 by clearwater]

A Sucker Born Every Minute

Slam is angry and twice as loud
and offers succor to a drunken crowd.
Hip hop used to speak up for the meek
now it hangs its' teats out for the corporate beat.
Imagism fills in color without the lines
offering challenge of the anorexic kind.
Lit dim reading rooms and coffee shops
with the washed-out faces holding tarot cards
and the whimsical women lithe and sweet
blandly rhyming off on the colour of leaves.
All reminds me of the time throwing up
and pulling the chain right out of the top
of the toilet.
Comes a point when you can't go on
And Padre Pio seems all but gone
and hunger dogs your every step
then you wonder why
you're not dead yet.
Take time out to write a line
on how proud you are of falsehoods and lies
that tell you, your every accomplishment
is because you're a smart new penny just out of the mint.
Minted in the hottest fire you'll ever know
that fire burnt with the blood and the bones
of the silent slaves who bear the weight of your crimes
on Christmas and Easter and all the time.
No sentence, no hope and no voice
no crowd of well-wishers, no water, no place
nothing to live on or for but Grace.
Luckiest of lucky is a fine joke
because the house never loses
it's the children that croak.
Now you offer them up to the prison cells
cause you don't want to share the money
dwindling down from the boomer's wells
and send them off to foreign wars
or sell them into slavery as whores
and pump it out every night on the net
where husbands find solace from the needs of their wives.
So step right up and place your bets
if you're feeling lucky, there's a long shot ahead.
Better listen to your hearts and not your heads.



[edit on 27-12-2006 by clearwater]

Reprieve

We went swimming

into dark waters
so cold and deep
breath short, sharp
snapped in lungs.

We went swimming

warm salted oceans
once filled with colors
scrapped elbows, knees
edges of reef.

We went swimming

find the missing
calloused shells
hardened hearts
gasping air for reprieve.

Talk TV, Conditioning

The rich know better
than to air their dirty laundry
and let every officious wastrel
with their first taste of money
Judge the distance
from their heads to their feet
just to make self-absorbed pronouncements
on the importance of being sweet.

They know better
than to be at the bottom
of the Total Awareness Surveillance
that's buying them the best treats.

Matrix

Can you hear the resistance?
Muffled mob of groaning complaint and restriction.
Smearing paints on for Goya.
Ocean tides that destroy you.
Coddled by devils they know,
thinking it bold.
Begging
please,
more,
please,
from the matrix.

Mother

Water, Water -
I'm the Water -
the Amazon
the Tigris
the Nile
the riverbank
the gates of life
the Ob-irtysh
the Congo
the Lena
the blood that flows
the green that grows
the Yangtze
the Huang He
the Amur
the Lover.

[edit on 8-12-2006 by clearwater]

She can't help it it's not punishment.

Waiting at the apeture of the long tube that leads to the take-off point.
How is it possible
How is it possible to take that flight?
There's no money to pay for it.
There's no travel plan.
There's no airplane, but -
it's an airplane.., No
not an airplane.
We've been here before
traveling to the amusement park
traveling to the park with the roller coaster
that rolls over miles and miles and miles.
Who's that in the house?
Not in the house -
in the long tube -
not in the tube -
in the flying tube?
Crashing Ice and cold sweat
3am half here and not here yet.

Men

How long have they been in love? -
As if such things have a beginning and end.
Wagering disappointments into wars.
Reeling in passions too extreme to venerate.
Put an end to it, an end, an end -
Wishing for silence, an accord of deep meaning
A sonata by moonlight on strings of reward.
How long till we reach the finish line? -
As if such things can be lined in.
No understanding of the spiralling
Ever upward, ever downward
On and on and on and on -
Ever outward, ever inward.
They live like rueful chickens
Pecking whomever the cock crows out
For the amusement of the little red fox
Standing insoluable against time.


[edit on 9-12-2006 by clearwater]

Wheels in the Sky

The ground is muddied and streams with riverlets in the indents and gouges left by tables,cots and benches.
A tarp flutters overhead under dark skies lit by diamonds of night fastened to two by four frames of plywood.
Crowds of lone wild ones stringed hair all greasy and teeth yellowed and chipped too young.
Dressed in Sally Ann's cast-offs and second hand denim, hiking equipment thrown out and repaired some.
Tales of lizards and wolves in sheep's clothing - nightmares that shake the wood they sleep on.
Fire breaks the morning with solar storms and wind-blown brightness to scare off the care-worn
Myths of oppression and hopeless suggestions dogging the dreams of the hungry and first born.
Hula hoops of unnamed bright colors dance in intricate interlocking ferris wheels unattached to the ground.
Five or more wheels turning and spinning round discs of surreal into geometric patterns of sound.
Impossibly choreographed aerobatic acrobats - all the children look up and not down.


[edit on 10-12-2006 by clearwater]

I hate to break the flow but I have to say again...

BRILLIANT stuff.

My new port in the ATS storm.

Thank you clearwater.

Thank's soficrow, your words mean alot to me.

The Human Seasons

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;
There are four seasons in the mind of man:
He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
He has his Summer, when luxuriously
Spring's honied cud of youthful thought he loves
To ruminate, and by such dreaming high
Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves
His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
He furleth close; contented so to look
On mists in idleness--to let fair things
Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
Or else he would forego his mortal nature.

John Keats

[edit on 8-3-2007 by clearwater]

How Do You Feel?

Is that a thorn -
small piece of jagged steel,
shard of glass,
splinter of wood?
Tetanus is unnecessary
in this age
like leprosy,
people are still dying from it.

The Roman's too,
thought themselves invincible
and offered everyone
Roman Justice
on splintered steel and wooden crosses,
under blazing symbols
of Gods and Goddesses.
Congratulating themselves
on their unsurpassed modernity,
while time marched on
Discerning.


Three thunks on the wall, while the third eye zooms in from upward.
All the tiny hairs stand right up, the body electric.


[edit on 11-12-2006 by clearwater]

We're Going To Need a Bigger Boat

There it was, clear as day,
in the first dream.
A large black cloud
full of lies
and all the souls lost
in grievous wandering.
Trying to find the recipe
that controls people,
places and things.
They've picked a fight
with the God-King.

[edit on 11-12-2006 by clearwater]

Paradox

You're a deserter.

Just desserts.

More a bezerker
That trolls and lurks.

It's well and truly
shaping up
for an early dawn.

Another sleepless flight
of the Valkyries.

Redundant.

They always lose.

It's like Suicide.

Applause

From all the witnesses of survival.
For the mountain too tall to climb
that was surmounted.
For the flying machine that droned
automatic, overhead
that was confounded.
For the lost times and places
battle-weary with missing pieces
that were mapped and countered.
A standing ovation.



[edit on 11-12-2006 by clearwater]

Indigo

Take all the labels
cementing you in
like the silver snake
and the iron horse
choking the streams and lakes
the silver eagles
that are really too slow
and the golden cities
that reek of burnt coal
and throw them away.
See for yourself
how free you are
all colored disks
and star people
already know.

The screens do something
to the eyes,
turning one sideways
and the other blind.

Framing certainties,
arial printed moments
captured like power
and sent unchanging

Into past, present and future
comprehensions
toiled over with lonely yearning
recognition of a face.

Sacred substance
so powerfully banal
hallowed sustenance
silenced in the howl

in the miles of wires
isolating the particles
in all of God. Part machine
a machination.

Web cams aren't eyes at all.

Canuckistan Cookery of Burp-Ups:

Diet coke and Dare real fruit gummies burps taste like root beer floats with vanilla ice-cream.
Schnieder's Naplese style pepperettes and nacho cheese Dorito chip burps taste like taco bell.
Candied miniature marshmallow cones and pepperoni will burp up McDonald's.
Licorice, chocolate and hard candy burps up like cakes and wine.



lol, a work in progress.

Tree Woman

Tree woman is planted at the water's edge.
Sun and moon are her paramours.
Her skirts sing when she whispers and twirls her summer dance.
Under the stars, under the suns' ardor all the world shudders
with tree woman's romance.
Sun and moon so desired her, as she sparkled and sighed and swayed,
their ire grew, their jealousies enraged,
sun threw fire at her and moon withdrew his gaze.
Sister wind cried with tree woman,
together they wailed and wept sick flowers.

Nymph

Of kindness you have shown me none
And less of virtue. As though struck dumb
Piteous sounds of wailing rail from your tongue,
Moors in mourning for a dawn that never comes.

Distinct as stripes on tigers bright
Who hunt those facing away into night
Lit by stars through darkness dense as black holes
Blinded predators dream of sight.

In dreams of constant chivalry
They cow and hiss and add to misery
Already unsurmounted by their groans
Pinched judgements taken for delivery.

No night as black as your black kiss
Women rue the moment birthing this
Perversion as the raped are named
Dressed in torments, christened thefts of bliss.

No, of kindness you have shown me none
And less of virtue. Quiet in the day you shun
Hidden from the clamour of your lost crown
Gods green graced Livinia, the nymphed one.