Poems Of Any Length

[Loricybin]

once your eyes
go unrested for
over two days
loopiness comes with
a certain swoopey-ness
thumbs become grumblers

arms get shakey, tumblers

fumblers
bum-bum-bumblers

and i can't help but giggle
about the histerical histeria
hystorical hystoria his-terick
high-jynks, low-jynx
we all scream at ice rinks,

why go in circles?( , , ,
when you can explore?
this is not something to simply
ignore

you see that sun crapped
out of the east
in all it's early morning beastliness
but we are actually crapping out on it's west

not that it has poles
nor has it moles
or holes with moles
eating sea
-gulls

but oh to see a gull mole hole
plant dynamite, and have them
throw it
back at you
like fourth of july black cat
battles

[Tarantism]

Rejoice, rejoice a noble birth, a prince is born.
Behold the birth of violence, beasts of fang and feather cry for our concrete rapture,
and if we beg to be put down, unto us the most inspired storm
A princess ravaged by her prince behold: the birth of sex and distance,
two frail corpses both were they, his eyes were the first to stray...
every tree held fast the earth to sky
concrete replaces every branch and twig as they were frayed upon the birth of ambition.
The heavens filled our gilded vessel with poison tears, before we drink, I propose a toast, a final prayer.
Here's to the watchers in the wood, here's to the last days, unto us a most inspired song.
Shaper, stop the music. Halt the harpstrings whose chords confuse our histories with textures.
With the disheartened chorus of a hymnal whose choir is the conviction of the starving,
artless, tempted by the feast of proof that this body of work has worth.
Uncertain as the fingering of a chord torn prematurely from a piano's womb.
As we fill our precious lungs with concrete, that faithful shade,
a shaper's song is stopped short- a dying breath a sinking shore.
Then the only movement and the last remains of grace:
Pollen falling off the simple hinge joint leg upon the final breath of a dragonfly.
A cardinal, lost but headstrong in midflight cries for our concrete rapture,
wade...in the water, wade.
Let the flood swell, thank the storm for her tears.
The faithful say its beautiful,
its god's will, but the fool knows what the prophets have seen,
no salvation's impending.
The faithful say its beautiful,
its god's will, let the flood swell
and the bodies that break we'll just float down the river.
Stay tame, soft river, while we weigh our faith, stay sweet,
run softly, sweet river, the fool who wades in doubt will float like concrete.
Come and fill your lungs.
There's so much hope buried underneath tragedy, its the same shade as concrete.
The faithful say its beautiful, its god's will, let the flood swell
on the loudspeaker sermons and a parish descending.
There's so much hope buried underneath tragedy, its the same shade as concrete.
Let the flood swell.

[orbsycli]

my buddy loren,
your last poem, i enjoi ed

[Turtle]

Oh for a good fine poet now...
one of those good fine not-yet-dead poets too; you can't carouse with a dead poet.
can't argue a not-yet-dead poet to stuble back from that rail,
stumble back from that rail!
poets rail
poet's rail
po et srail!

Oh for a good fine poet now to scribble down some frothing lament,
for a good-fine-po-et now-yet-dead,
stumbled back over that rail,
poets rail
poet's rail
no poet to stumble now
po quoth the raven dead somehow.

So Poe is dead & so I said that he was not allowed,
but as it is for counting crows, that dead guy's not a crowd.
Grab a hat Edgar!
I got the papers.
Let's rail!

[Pyrotex]

For those of you who love Jazz and Cosmology:


Quantum Variations on a Theme by Miles Davis
Nelson Thompson
October, 2003

[chorus and trumpet over a background of quantum hush, whisper quiet]
--We’re all Jazz now, diggity…

[announcer’s voice]
Ladies and Gentlemen, please take your seats. Thank you.
This administration is committed to solutions. Solutions.
The paradigms of the past have gotten us this far,
But only solutions will take us into the future
Of prosperity, justice and freedom.

[Miles Davis]
We are at the threshold. Traditional solutions can take us no farther.
Freedom is only another word for quanta on the loose.

[announcer’s voice]
Ladies and Gentlemen, please take your realities. Thank you.
This administration is committed to realities. Realities.
The paired rhymes of the past have gotten us. (thus far),
But only realities will take us into the fruition of… diggity…

[Miles Davis]
All Blues. Jazz Blues. All the way to the Event Horizon.
As you can see from this chart, Red Shift has become
A local epi-phenomenon. Never mention it again.

[chorus and trumpet over a background of quantum hush]
--We’re all Jazz now, diggity… diggity…
--We’re all Jazz now, diggity…

[Miles Davis recites the progression of human history to present and beyond.
A dialog occurs between the Left and Right brains of his audience,
Until Cosmic Unity is achieved.]

Iron tools, Empire, the first relapse to the Dark Ages.
Renaissance, Reason, Technology, the Age of Exploration!
Live Jazz, recorded Jazz, digital Jazz!
The second relapse to the Age of Superstitious Terror.
Recovery! The Awakening! The Great Hegira! The Stars!
Symbolic Jazz, quantum Jazz, ontological Jazz...
All the way to the Event Horizon.
Quantum is only another word for Freedom on the loose.
Please take your consciousness to a higher level.

[chorus and trumpet over a background of quantum hush,
gaining volume and depth, with the Cannonball and Coltrane]
--We’re all Jazz now, diggity… diggity…

[announcer’s Left Brain voice]
Ladies and Gentlemen, please raise your reality to its full upright position.
This administration, council, senate, tribe, government, whatever,
Is committed to these laws, precepts, gods, concepts, rules, whatever,
For the betterment, perfection, protection, control, abasement, whatever,
Of humanity, this nation, the economy, this administration, whatever…

[announcer’s Right Brain voice]
Ladies and Gentlemen, where it’s at is rhythm, music, love,
Getting down with a groovy universe.
Take your Reality neat!
Take your Universe neat!
Take your Music neat!
Rhythm rules all the way to sub-atomic reality!
Feel it! Dig it! Move on out and BE it!
We’re all Jazz now!

[chorus and trumpet over a background of quantum hush,
approaching crescendo with Chambers, Cobb, Evans and Kelly]
--We’re all Jazz now, diggity… diggity…
--We’re … all… Jazz… now… diggity… (she-bop) diggity…

[announcer’s voice]
Ladies and Diggity… please take your Jazz now…
As we have… diggity… to the Event Horizon…
The quantum flux of… diggity… this administration…
With music for all… diggity… and quantum commitments… diggity…
Reason rules in five part harmony...

[Miles Davis recites the progression of human history to present and beyond.
An infinite flock of pink flamencos sketch a cymbal in the sky,
Trailing all the way to the center of the Milky Way.]

Monarchy, republic, democracy...diggity...
Meritocracy, digitocracy, hyperocracy...diggity...
Ultimocracy, mindocracy, jazzocracy...diggity...
The ups and downs of… diggity… (she-bop) diggity…
The ultimate progression of real-awareness… diggity…
Consciousness is just another word for… (she-bop) diggity…
The cosmic membrane of gravitational tension… diggity…
Upon which plays the buzzing, throbbing rondo of the Cosmic Fugue…
WE'RE! ALL! JAZZ! NOW!... (she-bop) diggity…
We’re the Hadron Jazz and the Boson Bossonova
In Cosmic syncopated harmony! Welcome to the Groove!
Please unite your minds in a higher consciousness.

[chorus and trumpet over a background of quantum hush, fading to silence]
--We’re all Jazz now, diggity…
--We’re all Jazz now, diggity…
--(she-bop) diggity…

[Loricybin]

hard to scamper
hardly knows

but upon a hill
we see the bills
flippa-flapping
snapping gills

read through all of it
before you dismiss those cards
they used all night, for the
stale moonlight

turn around and lick your crotch.
now you are outstanding blotch

[Tarantism]

not a fragile waste from piles
that build and court six shrine does do
nay supreme unwanted leasure
so sure
sauser

the wings hang upon the wind
and thy bribble drags upon the sand
the beach where the depths meet
salty < land
minus the greater normality of pulp

in a world uncharted
once
a tree there grew sublime
a head sat upon the ankle
and talked in fluttered rhyme
or babbled, (if you prefer)

great does the mean who pratices want
or need to slomper
sulk
skunk
sklunk.

wrest gruble and flowing steam
the pillows from a hole the breathes
and instant tells us that fortune smiles
towards tommorow, and sum and|of miles.

[Tarantism]

i am walking
in a courtyard with me
simply happy, walking and being
when then, out of the corner of my little eye
i see tree!
O! what a glorious tree he seems to be
there, standing, and not seeing me
yet i can feel tree
speaking to me
in a language that i like
and speak freely
and so i walk over
just to say hello
and tree, to my utter suprise
says hello just the same
and i am tree
and tree is me
and eventually
i left my new friend tree
and though tree will not always be with me
i will, in heart
all-ways be with tree.

[Pyrotex]

Alpha Geek Blues
Nelson Thompson, 1999

The lurch factor of software engineering just rippled again,
But I'm too doggy to die - too foggy to fly.
The cubes got snarfed under two meters,
Making the desk to wall ratio under one for the first time.
Gotta stand it or sell apples, as they say.
Obscurity sucks.
I'm a mere coordinate in a tri-dim reference frame,
With origin zero, zero, zero on the first floor
Precisely between the D-cup mammaries of our receptionist.
She's very bright - can spell "engineering", "co-aptive", "befuddling pin",
And dates only lawyers with perfect teeth. Put it on a stamp!
I got rent on the Octane at noon, but my buffers are bogged.
If I could tolerate the shinola, I could peg up or even snag super.
Take that, you dirty Dilberts.
Notice board cork hasn't seen light in two years,
The older Urgents turning to yellow mulch.
Any info that barks, they'll give me face-o, else frag it.

Flip side, they let me rule the roost and I got Geek to burn.
I'm an obscure blur, but I got Geek to BURN!

We gotta new flock of 20-watts right outa "KAH-LIJ".
And no, scabface, I don't punct inside double quotes.
Strings are sacred, in or out of code.
Gotta find sockets for the 20-watts, with their shiny scrubbed brains,
No-clue grins, and perky torts.
God, I hate their perky torts, wanna push 'em down their throats
But that would mez the regs.
So, I slot them broomed cubes and dork their faces into the paper trough.
Preppin for the Octane, maybe I can wing the proto with sumluck.
C'mere, baby, let me put my hands on you.
Flip them switches, listen to your drive purr.
It gets lonely out on the cold, barren stretches of the bell curve beach,
Four sigmas from "sexy". IQs don't breed, as they say.
Still looking for a 20-watt that can count that high.
Maybe then. Maybe then.

Flip side, the money is paid for and I got Geek to burn.
I'm a horny hermit, but I got Geek to BURN!

[Tarantism]

i played my hand upon the surface of the sea
and waded slowley into the dream
nothing as lucid as the promise of the latter
time on a string cut into tatters
forget that, nothING MATters.

on my knees now,
begging and pleading
for the sea to speak, for the sea to hear me
becuase i know that it knows
it is in tune with the moon
and so even though it NO's
i still need to know.

then i found myself in tune with a feather
the sound of its waves sliding gently in the breeze
its the subtleties that bother me
all the people who have to speak to speak
when i am tryinng to tell them what i mean
and at the same time stay silent as the rocks
atop, o atop!
i sit still all alone
and nobody will answer,
not sun, or moon, or stone.