One, titled "The World of Absurd" was dredged-up from my mental tombs after scanning through an informative, 'Christian fundamentalist' website I think, on things like the meaning within and behind Freemason symbolismssssz, and about how the whole street layout of Washingmachinetown Untied States of America (TYPO! TYPO!) is actually one huge scape of their 'secret symbols'.
Fascinating!
I don't scribe poems much nowadays, seeing them, like most of the guff I write, as not mine, but things I 'channel' from other peoples' minds. Usually 'other people' with pretty fucked intentions and political/religious motives.
But here an' there I get a laugh from thought-streaming 'inspired' ideas and sentences, which here-an'-there happen to string together as rhymes.
The later poem I just scribed, after filling-up on a chunky oyster blade steak and fresh vegies, which the body was telling me I needed after a few weeks on rice and dried soup mix, or rice and rehydrated beans.
As a youngster, the family'd usually eat 'oyster blade steak' when steak was on the menu. I guess that had me reflect on my totally false life, and on those who made it so.
"The World of Absurd" came through with, as the intro states, a definite "Dylanesque" feel to it, holding the Great Zimmie as one of the Gods of Song, Poetry and Music as I does, and it makes me feel whatever Human is, when I re-speak such poems to myself, 'cause I can sound jus' like The Man, sometimes. Jus' quietly, I think he channels-in to my vocal chords occasionally, 'cause we's Syncopatin' Souls on the issues he and I write and mutter about.
I guess it's OK to say here, that one of his Greatest Songs, to me, is "When Dogs Run Free". I'm probably dreamin', but I reckon The Man, being so Soulful as he's always been, in the 1960's USA, a decade of Liberation and Social Justice inspired Movements and Concerts across that Nation, amongst the plethora of other Great Musicians and Poets Et Al, knew about the Great Man Henry George, and his 19th century writings about the bottomline need for Land Reform, and in Dylan's inimitable fashion, wrote this Glorious Song about it. I add, though, that I also hear it as Glorious for Dylan's majestic piano-playing, but as well for the sublime female voice accompanying him as he wanders through his Supremo poetic lyrics.
It'd be nice to know others know and like When Dogs Run Free too, and as I think he's off to perform in China soon, with the most Honorable political 'sub-text' (?) in that song, it'd be 'choice' if the audience there gave a call for him, to play it. But, HEY BOB! If you do, is the Fine Vocalist still around, to trip over the Pacific wit yoo, to sing and hit those notes as She did in the original?
Hope so!
Anywaay......, this poem jus' wouldn't stop comin through, so I risked writing it tooo long. Well, I thought to meself..., TOO BAD!
110510Tu
The World of Absurd. Ain't so sure 'bout god no more!
An Ode to the Great Poets who Know their own Soul
A 'Dylanesque' tone of a tome.
Praise You, Bob!
by Omaxa bin Eartha
Y'know we all get caught in getting all wound-up,
in beliefs we like and other kind o' stuff.
Wi' words any clever bloke speaks to you,
when they've a touch of magic travellin' through
The air and the ether, from one mind to yourn
an' if each sentence carries with it another idea reborn.
Since man first lost his way, been asking where to go,
Sometimes travels fast, sometimes real slow.
Wandering through the deserts of his own sandy mind
when he run out o' Clear Water, strange things does he find.
Sees all kinds o' weird and not so wonderful things
hears angels sing, an' fairy bell rings
Runs every which way, scared right out of his head
gets lost in the dunes, sometimes whole tribes fall right down dead.
But always there's a few, who make it through
an' find the River of Life, for a drink of that water clear an' pure.
And some of them settle down and re-find Inner Calm
while others end up drowning in a watery balm.
But no matter who makes it through life happily
S'always some who jus' can't find sanity.
And desperate for a drink to relax their brain
come out with all manner of weird beliefs that strain,
E'ryone else's thinking machine,
makin' some become stupidly hard and mean,
An' loose their direction,
Sending some crazy
'Til life all 'round them is all hollow an' hazy.
An' to answer the silly fools who can't stop asking questions,
they create all manner of mysterious inventions.
And the best way to lure the lost lovelies in,
is to play tricks on their unintelligent thinkin'
And tell 'em they'se gotto bend down re-al low,
and surrender all certainty to something they can't not ever know
An' when the nubile fools asks “What's it's name?”
they get sucked in further to the preacher's power game
An' for want of nothin' better, he'll tell 'em “It's GOD!”
when all the while, he says with a smile,
“Jus' have faith and a path will present along which the faithful trod”.
“An' YOU CAN TOO! If y' really believe!
Gotto give me all y' wealth and work for me and for you I'll relieve....
….the pain in your Soul, an' the weight on your mind.
And you'll sure go to heaven and there true peace you'll find.”
So the loser finds faith, and give out e'rything he owned
and walks a new road, like a moronic clone.
And sometimes this kind travel all the way,
But mostly the devil springs up and leads them astray.
And takes 'em down an evil path,
an' afore too long they's sure that they jus' can't last.
But each time they ready to lie down and quit
the mind goes wild with more religious shit
An' she gets all agitated and anxious and charged
with a new zest to find what's behind the facade
Of all the mental 'motions and all the wasted work o' life.
Some never get there.
Some find its all just a game of confidence in whatever you like.
But next-to-none ever seem to actually get talking with god
even when they're forced to dig deep through the psychic sods?
While some see through the veneer of all the sweet words
and jus' sit their arse down and meditate away the world of absurd.
An' a few of them make it all the way,
and come to know that god an' that stuff is but a magical play
Designed to have you give away YOUR Sovereign Spiritual Power
so some trumped up megalo can lord it, even for just one hour.
An' walk around lookin' down on the rest
Like they'se god-king of the world
'Til their delusions start to undo
and their importance unfurl
But by then they don' never give a damn
'cause behind all their preach - god and life is jus' one almighty scam
But o' course here and there there's a few who are sincere
and see with a Wise Eye, why we gotto have another beer
An' can really unnerstand a suffering bloke's pain
an with genuine feelings, are happy just to ease the noise in his brain
So they go the High Road, and get over the woe
and climb the Holy Mountain and live way up in the snow
An' only eat things like a bowl of rice a day
and with True Dedication travel in beyond body - all the way
An' in that True Sacred Space
come to be One with their own Inner Grace
An' thereafter know what's True about 'god'
An' about all the creeds and cults
An' about Lucifer's straight and vertical Vertebral Rod!
An' don' care 'bout whatever the lost tribes believe
'cause they know their dedication only ends
wi' them being more deeply deceived
An' in the mean time they know there's a road ALL must walk
where the Spirits are High and there's no need to talk!
An' that this life an' all things, are but a flash in the pan
of an endless multiverse, beyond the biggest schemes
even the greatest god-ego could possibly plan.
So if you are so weak as to have to believe in a deity
well that's alright,
jus' don' make the mistake of pushing your monologue on me!
'Cause in MY Dream I'm a god happiest on my own,
found my happy little Kingdom in my mobile home
An' that growing my intellect is doin' mah thaing
an use it to Divine Wisdom - that's what makes MY bell ring.
An'..., seems to me that if we all saw the same,
there'd be less war and weapons and want for drugs to kill the pain
Pain created by that fundamental loss,
of always having to cowtow to the cult, landlord or boss.
'Cause it's clear to the Wise that each Soul
must have their own Sovereignty,
on the Land, an' in the Mind
if ever we are to ever really be Free.
So dance curses on my Soul you un-free mason fools
and you Catholics can jus' keep-on breaking the ethical rules
'Cause at the end of the day - there's not much to say
but that in your fanatical delusions
you've all ignorantly lost your way
An' that playing with the magic ain't taking you no where
but down the dark road with no way out - from the devil's lair
So off you wander you lost white tribes of old Dan
down the low road for as far as you can
When you reach the end you jus' gonna be grinding your teeth
'cause you'll find out too late
you been touched, by the romantic thief
Who stole your Intellect with a bag of sweet-tastin' magic tricks
and left you begging and with your mind heart an' Soul in a terminal CRAZY-CRAZY fix
In a place where you can't find no unshakeable Dignity
'cause your silly little heads been programmed without any sanity
An' by what's on the news and in the serious Scientific digests
your high talking lost tribes are fast-trackin' us all to our deaths
Once we get there, then what we gonna do?
Well the Pure of Soul gonna Rise, to Stellar Delights....
…..but I hold little hope for any of you.
An' like Ol' Lao Tzu so Wisely say in a day gone by
“The Sage chooses the belly, and plays not wi' the eye!”
'Cause His Wisdom was Strong, and Eternally True
'bout if y' mess wi' magic - Hell gonna land on you!
So get on li'l Christian doggie, keep barking your 'miracle' “Jeezuzzzz” prayers
An' maybe you only need credit cards an' blind faith to get y'self outta here
But the Wise ol' Sages of Top o' the Mount
know better than to fascinate 'bout magic
an' all the money - read DEBT - by slight-o-hand y' bring about
An' that dropping all the insatiable noise inside yo' silly cunning head
is the only way you gonna Rise Up an' be Free after you's dead.
Meanwhile, over in the mad Middle East
the whitefaced upclub devil's preparing the ground for a feast!
E'ryone's heads are afire with REVOLT!
While Zion sits waitin' for their false Jezzuzzz's THUNDERBOLT!
An' if things keep blowin' the way they's carryin' on
All Hell's gonna break loose down there in Mageddon!
An' the psychotic Israelis will go the mad M.A.D. nuclear war road
o' Mutually Assured Destruction, if in our ignorance we goad
The psycho-techies by keepin' buyin' all the toys
intended to keep us hooked on our useless egoistic mental noise
An' like lame little ba-lambs, we hide under mummies udder
an' don' get off our fatcells an' march on our parliaments
to make our pollies in-their boots SHUDDER!
'Cause the future's a mess while we stay gutless selfish scum
an' refuse to Stand UP an' DEFEND TO THE DEATH
our One Most Sacred Eartha - our only TRUE Mum!
But as Lord Bob sings “Th' times they are a changin'”
An' the next generations ain' gonna so easily be estrangin'
Their minds and their muscles, an' less afraid will go sick
For the future of life, I jus' hope they learn the Best Trick
O' droppin' the stupid materialistic desires
An' with Intelligence, Wisdom and Honor
Ride the Righteous Road ever-on Up, ever Higher.
Out of the DOOM of the right-wing corporate CRAPitalist whitefaced liar............
CHINA! Please Give A Warm Welcome to The Greatest Mister Bob Dylan, for little ol-dish me?
I don't relate the next poem to either Bob Dylan nor China, nor anyone other than the women who have made and continue to make it their business to screw my life into a premature grave, if not into an other bottle of vodka.
Without going into it, they do seem predominantly to be white, and more often than not Catholic?
So, if you are female and either of those, be warned, this is not a nice nor romantic poem, albeit that it has it's seeds very much over there in Rome!
Dear mum..., Dear sister..., dear lover..., dear checkout bitch..., dear psychiatrist!
Mother's Day 2011.
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist.
Won't do nothin', any women suggests.
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist,
By evil witches, I been kissed.
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist,
like WC Fields, s'why I get pissed.
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist,
E'ry time I speak True, they call a witches tryst.
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist,
If I do or don't, make moves on them, they call me 'rapist'.
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist,
Won't even look at them, cause they jus' want to twist,
What I do, 'cause of what I write,
into a case for their 'men' to fight.
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist.
Stay well away, might use my fist.
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist,
But I'm also a sworn misanthropist.
Specially the white mainstream kind,
Undignified fools all, Spiritually blind.
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist,
mother o' my child, stole my seed, for her selfish wish.
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist,
women say anything, but use 'men's' fists.
To hunt me down, 'cause I talk wi' out fear
agin their '...wanna have a baybee!'
though there's too many already here.
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist,
'cause their cunts more important, than their Intellect.
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist,
'cause for their 'motherly need', planet's over-stressed.
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist,
Catholic nuns, steal men's Bliss.
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist.
Self righteous bitches, look down on us,
'cause we jus' want to be kissed.
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist,
mother lies e'ry day, 'bout the facts I missed.
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist,
Dad ain't Dad, I'm her sacrifice.
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist,
'cause they'se breedin', insane kids.
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist,
been led too astray, by hosts o' th' deceiving bitch.
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist,
banding together, say I won't be missed.
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist,
They turn men gay, but it ain't in my list.
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist,
damned if I need a psychiatrist!
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist,
But I definatlee ain't, a racist!
Me, I'm a sworn misogynist,
But Coloured Women make my heart arrest!
