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Cornball Chowder: poetry, despair, and revolution

By       Message dale ruff     Permalink    (# of views)   5 comments

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Author 95661
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From Double Dead End {MID-71953}
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I feel a poem coming on

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not like a bomb

that explodes in my brain

but a trickle of words like a creek in the rain:

In the land of the free, the choices are few:

we build our cities but block the view

From Suburbs {MID-71947}
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or live in the suburbs where the land has been cleared

on Whispering Pines, with our wife and our beard

or live in an alley dead ends on both sides

and sit on the asphalt begging for rides

Clinton or Trump:

whom shall we choose?

one is dope and the other's booze.

War or war, what is the option?

Is our freedom up for adoption?

Greater or lesser, which evil is best?

Give me some drugs; I need a rest.

From Drowned {MID-71946}
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Shall I go down or shall I go down?

freedom's a farce, a monstrous clown...

and we sink and we drown......

Dead ends all around me,

nowhere left to go;

what's a man to do

watch the picture show?

From dog trainer to the stars {MID-71948}
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Liberty's a lark,

broken wings and all;

Maybe I will kill some time

shopping at the mall.

This path leads nowhere,

or rather the same

That path leads nowhere

so whom can we blame?

Half dozen of one,

six of the other,

what's the answer, dearest brother?

From No Exit {MID-71954}
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We dream of an exit

and work out a plan

if everyone follows

across our new span:

but mood is doom

and doom is mood,

forward or backward

it all seems to loom

like a dead end alley

as I said before:

so what's the point

of keeping the score?

There's freedom beyond,

there's pie in the sky.

But who will hear our lonely cry?

We fight with our comrades

and throw verbal turds

we die of a silence

that's smothered in words

In the land of the free

our choices are few

tho everything's new.......

Is freedom then a shopping spree?

A million things to buy

but nothing else to do?

From shopping {MID-71949}
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The old is a memory

a pile of dust

we reach for the latest,

dreams coated in rust.

There's nothing to live for

nothing to die

our freedom's constricted

to one last lie:

you can do what you want

in the land of the free

if you're able to just pay the fee....

you worked to earn

but who will keep your dream

alive, as deepest longings burn?

How long can the ashes be turned?


Who will hear you sigh?

Who will crush the the choking lie?

Do you hear me?

Am I free?

Am I all alone?

Dear readers,

throw me a bone.

From Europe throws bone (Crete) to Greece {MID-71951}
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retired, working radical egalitarian/libertarian socialist old school independent, vegan, survivor

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