The latest poem by ThisCantBeHappening! resident poet Gary Lindorff

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By Gary Lindorff

Welcome to the Land of No-poetry.

If I succeed in writing this poem

No one will understand me.

It will be like talking backwards.

It will be like autism.

There is no music here,

Except what you buy.

The weather is predictable.

Frogs are two-headed or one-legged

But it doesn't mean anything.

Up means up, down means down.

Everything makes bitter sense, but what is bitter?

We don't know anything about that.

Oh, and what is across the street

Has always been across the street.

Where ever you want to go

There is a sidewalk. . .

You have been here forever,

I have been here forever. . .I think. . .

Everything is recycled if it has a 1, 2, 5 or 6.

The glass and the plastic and the metal 

And the dead all go in the same bin.  

Everyone has a headache

That will respond to the latest pain-killer.

Everyone's tongue needs brushing.

People here either know each other or pretend to,

Or pretend not to.

They eat dead animals.

They control their thoughts,

Or pretend to

Or pretend not to.

They can't remember the smell of the ocean.

They deny the taste of each other.

Everyone smells the same,

Or differently the same.

In the Land of No-poetry

The greatest complement is:

"You haven't changed a bit."

In the Land of No-poetry,

Nobody knows their real age.

There are few rules.

People know they have to wear 

Shirts and shoes.

(Nobody walks around barefoot here

Because, of course,

Your foot comes off with your shoe.)

Many of the signs are blank;

Everyone knows what to do.

You can leave the Land of No-poetry

But you will be back because

It's pretty nice here.

Nobody will notice you are gone

Or even that you were gone,

Unless you remind them, like:

"Boy, that was a fun vacation!"

The water here smells of chlorine

So everyone knows it's safe.

The children have plenty to eat;

Their mouths are orange or blue.

They do drugs

But it doesn't teach them anything.

In the Land of No-poetry

Life does not teach.

Nothing means very much.

If you write poetry you will soon be gone

But we won't miss you.

Stay away as long as you like

But don't forget to let us know

When you return,

So we can ask you about your vacation.

GARY LINDORFF, TCBH!'s resident poet, is an artist, musician, poet and counselor / dream-worker who practices shamanic techniques, and who lives in rural Vermont with his wife Shirley and two dogs. More of  his work, as well as articles by colleagues JOHN GRANT, DAVE LINDORFF, LORI SPENCER, LINN WASHINGTON, JR., and CHARLES M. YOUNG, can be found at www.thiscantbehappening.net  

Gary can be reached at Email address removed

Submitter: Dave Lindorff

Submitters Website: http://www.thiscantbehappening.net

Submitters Bio:

Dave Lindorff, winner of a 2019 "Izzy" Award for Outstanding Independent Journalism from the Park Center for Independent Media in Ithaca, is a founding member of the collectively-owned, journalist-run online newspaper www.thiscantbehappening.net. He is a columnist for Counterpunch, is author of several recent books ("This Can't Be Happening! Resisting the Disintegration of American Democracy" and "Killing Time: An Investigation into the Death Penalty Case of Mumia Abu-Jamal"). His latest book, coauthored with Barbara Olshanshky, is "The Case for Impeachment: The Legal Argument for Removing President George W. Bush from Office (St. Martin's Press, May 2006).