Forsooth (dear Horatio)
And though long in tooth
My tongue is steamed
And dancing on its own roof
The marbles dismissed
From the mouth of my youth
Smoke ring halo’s
(increased in the math)
Crowning thought bubbles
Distant thunder rumbles
(or was that ‘fart’ in bubble-bath?)
A Sphinx fades into Pharaohs
( as worms one day become
And if by aim he charters truth
He catches up to arrows,
And stumbles from the booth
The absence of words
Is the presence of mind,
When living on borrowed,
If you just saw the ‘blue flash’, you are in! Welcome!
Short rock and roll poem # 1-
IT COULD NEVER WORK
Because you are a lesbian
(and I am a Les Paul man).
IT AIN’T LOVE UNTIL IT’S BROKE
And while it is neat and tidy, fresh and free,
It is ‘infatuation’, but cannot be the birth
Of love, until it begins to bleed.
Until the heart has gone limping
It cannot begin to live, until it is broken
It’s cherry stained with purple bruises,
It can only hope, dream, but stand outside itself
The hole you sucker punched in my soul
Spit out brushfires that singed my throat
(we sat within a sulphur bowl, and
blacked out all the things you wrote!),
Now I pick my teeth with your lance
With your virgin muses I now dance
And settle our debt with your goats
I scribble this out in longhand
(while I nap) reduce the meaning to shorthand.
THE ANTI-CHRIST IS BABYLON!
Just as in Egypt in the days of ‘Moishe’
( and to counter the beast of his inertia)
All manner of ‘tricks’ and distractions
Were deployed to foil the attentions
Of announcements made, every day,
New wars, new stars, fresh disease!
Not from the core, but from the
‘peels’ are written our ‘histories’
But what is new has already been
Your front door sees me out (yes yours!)
My trap door sees me in.
I CAME IN A TRAIN OF THOUGHT
( though I couldn’t afford first class)
And this lyric on a t-shirt was all I bought
The mind, overwrought, ran out of steam
What to do ? Floggeth, floggeth,
Out cometh cream!
But what to name it, Gladys or ‘Hannah’?
(since the flame itself was ‘gratis’).
WHAT ELSE IS THE MEANING OF LUST
But the desire for less of harsh mother?
By turning us away from the bust
We milk our tears for cradles of lovers
And strand them in the begging hour
When will is torn at random
Blood and needles stab at trust
And pinches its veins beneath ‘rubbers.’
This could be me, this could be you
(it’d be you if I had my druthers).
Dances on the roofs of tongues on fire
Flies fly vividly beneath ferns
The more florid is the language
( the more money ‘Beckwith’ earns)
Because the foxtrot of words pay well.
Then the alarm clock rings (and so I dream)
And then I wake up in Hell.
SUSPENDED BY A DEEPENED HAND
Vengeance, through and thrust!
The barley house blues song sang off key
By the convicts still left in the band
There once was said to be a ‘masterplan’
Though it went up in smoke once tried
After that, they ‘improvised’, once we called
Him ‘Big Willie’, now we call him
‘circumsized’. Naturally, he’s less
In demand. Once reanimated
I called for the doctor, he for
The priest, so we fed him
And he ate well (at least).
O HOW BEAUTIFUL LIFE IS
When your wife is!
A muggers lament: I TRIED TO GRAB HER SATCHEL
But she hit like Joni Mitchell.
It took a while to see the aftermath.
As I had little education.
…these short attention span poems are longer when you take longer to read them! Do go at your own pace!
How lovely the legs are
How long they do get
When the summer heat
In Milano pets
Calves that blush with
The calories locked inside
And placed upon pedestals
With pedal pushers, haggled
And touched by bush leaguers
Flush with the need to display,
Though rushed, it’s mark
And this is why the season
Contains more daylight
Hours than dark.
Life is flex, mind is reflex.
Life is action, mind is reaction.
Life is exclamation, mind is question mark.
For sure, there is a time to
Simmer, a time to boil
Then detach and walk on.
GET MORE SMARTER
GET MORE WISE
AND YOU TEMPT
A HIGHER PRIZE!
HE HAD NOTHING MORE
THAN A POETS CHANCE
WHEN HE CAME TO
JOIN THE DANCE
They say he drew
Blood with his quill
Until the curfew
Scattered the parking lots
I was dead still
Sat by the punchbowl
Looking for my pants…
As it beckons
Reckons it owes
Its viscous rebel truants
A shuffle in their drainpipes
Though rattled by their ruins
Corroded are the dandelions
Whose roar has slovenly wilted
Cheeses in the cupboard have
Gone from blue to stilted, my
Digestion surrenders to science
( it too seems in ruins), and
Slowly releases a ‘backflap’
Fart, to fluff up my affluence!
Chariot, come here and carry my stacks
Pegasus fell in war, he cried, I swear
The other soldiers died in packs, while
Marching out their backs. Letters were
Written, stamps were mailed, the cowards
That were found, beaten and jailed
Tweed candles burning as lamps
Traitors nailed, slammed against fire escapes
while trying to cover their tracks.
Witches don’t like me, which is how I prefer it. Why? because:
I SCREAM MYSELF HOARSE WHEN I’M RIDING MY PONY
AND THEY CALL ME ‘THE OWL’ WHEN I’M SPOTTING A PHONY.
A ROSE FROM THE GRAVE WHOSE DEAD TREMORS REMOVED
THE ASS FROM THE BOTTOM OF THE GROOVE, I’M BURIED IN MILAN
EAST SIDE FIRELIGHT THE CRYSTAL BALL CRACKS, ESCAPE FROM NIGOR ISLAND
The School of hard knocks had fewer big books, I repeated my courses due to the girls second looks (and I had a teacher whose tits were always smiling)!Camel toes and sheepskins, give me my diploma, I graduated MAGNUM CUMS LOUDLY for the exuberance of my ‘boner’!
Every other word which
Spills out from her mouth
Is a lie, the other words
Are alibis. What cannot be
Spoken, she cries, croaks
Craves (and craven are the
Deeds which by their needs
Promotes restraint). What
Cannot be culled, she chokes
With curdled vituperative moans
And what she cannot bleed
She headstones, her heart resembles
The marble pressed upon my grave
Her fuming assuming rattled like
Snake charms, so the smoke rings
Reduced to but
A red flag to rivals
And hanging by
The loose stains that
Stitch up our survival
There was nothing
To do but wait, get wasted
And master-bait fresh
Hooks for darting Silverfish
With writhing, wiggling worms
Similar to like my life was
When it was on your terms.
Love got taxed
Fate got robbed
Out to be ‘Dicks’
All my Roberts
Were paged and
Bobbed. A Chaise
With a bleeding
Leg, where ladies
Sat and sobbed,
Their tricks. My
Prime time show
Was ‘axed’, while
I was shitting up
‘ex’s’, and growing
Last poem 46:
I AM A TSAR,
BECAUSE I AM
A DYSLEXIC STAR!
(…But I am not ‘rats’
Because I’m not scrambled
Like that ).
….AND IF UPON THE RISER
YOU SEE THE QUEEN,
DO NOT CALL ME KING!
RATHER CALL ME KAISER
I’VE HEARD SHE CAN BE MEAN
AND LAST TIME I SURPRISED HER
WAS CAUGHT BETWEEN THE GALLOWS
AND THE THRESHING BLADE AND
SPREAD LIKE FERTILIZER. (AND ‘FATWA’
TO THE FABLED FOOLS WHOSE FATAL
FOLLIES SEIZE HER) , AND THEY SAY CEASER
HAD SEIZURES, THOUGH PROBABLY ONLY
TO AVOID VISITING KAISERS, BEFORE DITCHING
THEM AND SPENDING SOME TIME BAREFOOT AT THE GEYSERS.
( ACCOMPANIED ALWAYS BY HIS DOGS, HIS WIVES
AND HIS FAVOURITE SCUBA DIVERS), THOUGH
THERE I LAY BENEATH THEIR TIES, THEIR LACES,
DRIVERS AND LITTLE WHITE LIES, EXCHANGING
GLAMOURS WITH THE GHOSTS, SCATTERED BY
THE LASHING RAIN USED TO TAUNT MY HOSTS.
IT WERE A PIG ROAST, A MERE APPETIZER
THE LENGTH OF A LIFE, THE LENGTH OF A ‘TOAST’,
CHEERS! (AND NEVER WRITE VERSE ABOUT ROYALS
AFTER TOO MANY BEERS-UNLESS YOU ‘ENERGIZE HER’).
I KNOW YOU WERE
A WITNESS HERE
I SAW YOUR HAT THERE
AND IT’S FEATHERED
PUNCTUATION. ALL AROUND
WAS SENSATION, TAUT INEBRIATION
WHILE CLASSROOMS DANCED WITH
THE SPOILS OF INNOVATION
THEY SAID I PULLED A GUN,
THEY SAID LEO DID THE BAG WORK
WHILE SAL WAS ON THE RUN
THEY SAID VEGAS VINNIE ORDERED
THE HIT, SINCE KANSAS CITY HAD
RUN OUT OF PATIENCE, HAD GRWN
TIRED OF ALL THAT SHIT, THE NUMBERS
WERE DOWN, “THE END OF IT“!
SO HERE I SIT, THE ‘FINGERED’ MAN,
I COULD BE IN INDIA, WITH AL-QAEDA
IN PAKISTAN, OR WITH WAL-MART
PACKING THE RACKS, SELLING 2
IN ‘SINGLE PACKS’, GETTING MY
ROCKS OFF WITH MY WAX,
STACKED HIGHER THAN THE
CRIMES OF HACKENSACK
ACCEPTING THAT I’M NOT
REALLY WHITE OR BLACK
THOUGH STILL CUTTING MY
JOHNSON NO LESS SLACK,
STILL STROKING IT FORWARD
WHEN NOT PULLING IT BACK!
BUT BOULEVARDIER, THEY’VE
GOT ME PINNED, LIKE A BUTTERFLY
IN A BOX, THAT MOTHS WERE
SPAWNED IN, AND BORN, BEFORE
THEY BEGIN THE DANCE OF FIRE
THEY WOULD ANYWAY SETTLE
FOR LIGHTBULBS, FOR ME
ONLY VESUVIAS COULD
SHAKE ME HIGHER.
WHY MUST THE COST
OF TIME BEAR THE BOAST
WHERBY THE STAUNCH
ARE CONSIDERED LEAST
AND THE BRANCHES OF
FOLLY, PROCURED THE MOST?
YOU’VE LESS MOMENTS FOR
QUESTIONS NOW, MORE
TORMENTS TO DETAIL
THE WILD COASTS OF DENIAL,
TO TOSS AROUND A TEMPEST
TO WAIL AT SUBAQUATIC BEASTS
BENEATH THE BRINY BREW THAT
GIVES LESS LIFE THAN IT DEIGNS
TO BORROW, AND SENDS MESSENGERS
OF BLOATED BLISS WHILE THEY PICK
THE POCKET OF YOUR GAINS TOMORROW
BUT OF COURSE YOU’VE LESS TIME TO BROOD
SINCE THE ARMY IS THIRSTY AND ARMED WITH
LESS FOOD, SOME I’VE HEARD ARE EVEN
SELLING THEIR GUNS, EXCHANGED FOR APPLES
AND CINNAMON BUMS. Some are tired of fighting,
Their Greek blond women tired of dieting, their African sons
Tired of rioting. And some just want to get stoned. So wrap up
The ‘claymores’ and send them home! ‘Sic Semper Tyranis’,
I am sick and my temper is tyrannical!
And were the bells not in tune with their own accord
They’d still be in tune with their Lord, the ‘soundwave’
Master, they do in fact call it, this matter between it
And what there is of the other ‘it’. They squeal like piglets
With corn on their minds, and droplets of rain in their ears
Being sung to by the ‘soundwave’ are the cherubs of metal pleading
In this there is no bleeding, but a draining of wounds, non-plussed, retreating.
Somewhere in Spain there is a church, where tears do not lean,
But lurch. And gathered on it’s dusty crown is a dome of redemption
That works, and for as long as these bells ring, even in silence the sullen
Solace that seeks my confession sings!
At thy foamy fingers I fade!
And those luscious lotions
That lick the ‘lingua’ when
The cunning in me trades
Dice for rolling numbers
A slice of the local grade
Trembled the hand that
Thrust upon itself it’s
Crippled accusing point
And holds itself against
The wind which otherwise anoints
And castes spells of reminiscence
At the stroke of a joint, and endows with
Mortal traces, those looks that stir memory in
Yet another refrain, while the samba
Hipped siren in sequins retains, what of
Obsequious obnoxious remains can be wrapped
In the forgiving heave of her buxom cleavage.
With just ‘a little rationing’, I could
Startle her, but with ‘alliteration’,
I’ll choke her chain like a chipmunk challenged.
IN THOSE WHOSE STARRY FACES THE MIDNIGHT FADES
Let your numbers rest, that your hearts be sure, what is best, knows cure!
IN THOSE WHOSE TEMPERS, THE CLOUD VAPOURS LISP
Know that there is magic in the kiss, that would stiffen the fibre
Of annuity, and tickle below our knees for bliss, only fate does this!
IN THOSE WHOSE DARKNESS CAUSES URGENT SHAME
Re-train the mind to re-frame a new refrain according to the rules of
The modern game. Restrain the methane of the low strains, from descending the
Method of your meditation with pain.
IN THOSE WHOSE TALLY IS SHORTER THAN THEIR MERCY
Begin again now, isn’t it so wonderful to finally be alive, and able to feel
How real and vital life is? And to know the trellis between toil and trifle.
It’s canopied starlight, the mists of Heaven’s braid,
IN THOSE WHOSE STARRY FACES THE MIDNIGHT FADES.
COPYRIGHT SANANDA MAITREYA
MILANO 29th JULY 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
INTELLECTUAL COPYRIGHT PROTECTED