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496
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GENERAL / Poetry / People Like Us
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on: June 15, 2003, 03:16:12 AM
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There have always been people like us. On an oasis Back a thousand years One hundred thousand Camel caravans converge A gathering of the tribes. We have always made fires together To sit around and talk around and dance around And sing. We have always lived simple In open places Giving thanks and praises. We have always held our children In the center of the circle, All of them our children. And age upon age We are always tagged for slaughter They have tried to rub us out Don’t doubt it we are dangerous With our wild hair and loose limbs Walking working dancing standing Always saying YES and then YES again
Who the first man Who greedily decreed This patch of earth or that His alone? Who built a wall and an army Then to defend it? Whose ‘no’ echoes On the canyon walls Of this vast waste? We always have been The potentest threat to his claim And he knows it. For we are stewards, We understand relation, interpenetration O we are sexy! We live in plenty On next to nothing For always We have each other. And although every time We are mowed down Or picked off one by one, We are a tough, profuse, and vibrant weed- We keep coming back, Always have Always will. See, we win. There have always been people like us.
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497
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GENERAL / Poetry / How a Man Is
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on: June 14, 2003, 07:18:36 PM
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A man chooses one from the flock and then she’s his because that’s how a man is.
She will be bashful and leap from his clasp and say ‘no’ many times but she can’t resist his tender certainty, the way he pursues her hill and valley and stream, for long. It is to her as if there is a thing he knows and holds for both-
It smells of man and woman musk and jasmine, it’s the smell that stops her first. If a man is a man a woman can rise and shine for him. She will nuzzle his neck and lick his face.
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498
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GENERAL / Poetry / Ode to Kissinger
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on: June 14, 2003, 07:08:26 PM
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Ode to Kissinger
Each day now a new ghoul is disinterred Pressed into service of new world order He trails his putrid stench with each footfall, Here to assure us? lay our fears to rest? His creds are after all impeccable: Chile a torture chamber and Pnomh Penh Sabra, Shatillah, cities of the dead.
They say that every woman loves a thug The boot in the face, the Bushmaster Pressed against the breast yes we surrender Led like tender lambs to the slaughter. To the survivors is left the horror. They count upon our fear to silence us. They gloat and brag, at last they have a lock, They’ve conjured up the war that never ends. Our best friends yesterday our enemies. Look, my people, it’s 1933.
It’s hard to give credence to what we see. How bad, after all, could they really be? Imagination fails us, history Is what we struggle not to remember. And what are those of us who do to do? Like gil-scott sing, keep movin for what’s true. And bob, we jam until the jammin’s through.
These days, to tell the truth is blasphemy. Blaspheme than, blasphemers and have no fear: The biggest secret is that they are done . And know it. And thus their desperation. Sometimes you know things just ain’t what they seem. He who laugh last children is he who win.
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499
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GENERAL / Poetry / Necropolis
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on: June 14, 2003, 06:15:41 PM
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Necropolis 12/14/02
In days condemned for their barbarity the king, as stand-in for the Deity was sacrificed,and all his retinue was buried alive with him in his tomb This necropolis spanned acres. The eunuchs, wives and servants clearly died badly, Clutching each other, palms over faces. They died so that the earth could continue, the river flood, crops grow, camels watered. Understanding this they went willingly.
Today the millions die so that the king may continue, that those whom he holds dear will be well-fed. Crops wither, earth sickens, we don’t know what to do with all the dead and they do not go to their fates gladly. Abomination of desolation, how long are we to bear it? A city of the dead. Surely this is blasphemy. Barbarity unimagined by those who lay down and let themselves be erased.
They knew a thing that’s been forgot. The price will be paid if we remember or not.
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500
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GENERAL / Poetry / Send in the Clowns
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on: June 14, 2003, 11:55:17 AM
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This newest permutation of ancient conspiracy with imperial fantasy of world ascendancy looks like a clown convention to me. my, these boys love to play. The catchy logo of the new Information Awareness Office IAO is the good old Masonic pyramid, its hairy eyeball shooting lurid yellow beam over an unsuspecting little earth: "Scientia est Potentia" written underneath knowledge is power. Well of course. IAO-"I am the Alpha and the Omega." Now there’s some balls. Apparently they think their big bad New World Order is in the bag. They manipulate images Put finishing touches on oily messages, But the bag is leaking all over Its greasy contents smearing everything. Of the true juju behind those symbols they flaunt They know not. Not a clue. If they did, like me and you they would breathe into peace, see enough everything for everybody and be mad lovers. They don’t look like lovers, not much, so gray, so overstuffed. Look the best they can do is to hold off the new earth coming this way, impervious to their cartoon ray. Their silly suits, their sad eyes, their wizard hats and magic wands- I think it’s time we laughed ‘em out of town. Don’t you?
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501
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GENERAL / Poetry / America
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on: June 14, 2003, 11:31:59 AM
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America America does not love ideas O no America does not love ideas. America does not like to be sober. Not much. America loves to leap before America looks. America just cannot sit still. America hates history, hates to be reminded That causes have effects. America cannot abide those who observe that her chickens Have come home to roost. America will pay anything for the illusion of safety, Yet America is still afraid and can’t figure out why But that’s an idea and like I said America does not love ideas--- America busy anyways fixin her makeup. She will sacrifice practically anything Not to reflect, not to think long. America is afraid of the dark. After all America is the City on a Hill The muscular might the brilliant thrusting light Of a distant Deity And America insists there is no downside to any of this Of this America. America don’t need to play by anyone’s rules, America is America after all. America says America loves freedom While giving away as much of it as possible As quick as possible. Freedom- But nobody feels free Because there is much, much America refuses to see America is quick to anger, impatient, and unkind. America loves gas-gulping cars Dehumanized sex and bling. America loves varaiation after variation Of the same old fucking thing. America loves distractions and diversions of all kinds Cuz America can’t stand her own mind.
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