situation #8

Category: Poetry| December 29th, 2009

We’ve got a situation
& the cock is loaded
Bent & ready
To rock n roll
& obliterate the air with speech
Twisted into tongue speak
The religion is alive
& it is waiting on the corner
Floating round the light pole
A translucent apparition
Like an electric comet it sizzles
Pops like the light emitting
Sulfur kisses
Putrefied voices
No longer listen
But suck with waxy lips from the dime
Store
In tune with the apron bound man stuck in the drawers
Licking the salt from the coins
Sniffing them for the one
That looked right through him
And sucked his soul from out his mouth
And said keep the change
Slithering out the door
Dragging the clerks body behind him
It left bloody a trail on the tiles
That 1950’s tile made fer dancin’
With poodle skirts & virgin eyes
& greasers
With idle minds dreaming of ripping the leather coat
Into strips
& binding his dance partner
To the foot o’his bed
There he would grind his hips
In her face
There he would spit so cool
& whisper babyletsgetiton
& this is the situation
Where time twists like the ball of 8
Maybe yes no shouldn’t do it
& you suddenly feel like the man in a cell
Surrounded by Rorschach dreams
& black and white squares
Walled to wall
With no door
nowindowsnoskynoair
& the sick speech begins to take its position
In yer mouth
& yer breath emits a noxious gas
Filing the room with its ether
A heady concoction of truth mouths
Yawping at ya
Chomping at ya
Needing a fix o’ya
Needing a body
& yer ripe for the pickings
& the bent loaded cocked
Dream
Blasts its bits
All over yer Technicolor sight
Twisting the squares
Into a spiral
& the dizzy felled ya
The tiles are cold
& the song has ended
And the poodle skirts fold in silence
With dead legs in the middle of a twist
& elvis said
Sonnoneothiswilldo
Give me back my blue suede shoe
& swallow tha pile o’pills
Over the waxy lips
Floating over that tongue
That forked one too many times
Rotted & pickled with yer worn out rhymes
itstimetasayhellohowrya
cause a situation has come
to confuse yer thoughts
& consume yer flesh
Leaving behind yer change
On tha’ floor
Bet on black
White is snow
And covers the cradle
Yacravedigginyergrave.

Yea Yea Yea!

Category: Poetry| December 13th, 2009

I waved goodbye after a good laugh
Teetering on the ledge of the 44th floor
The wind whipped my hair round my head
While my dreams were still plastered to my bed
Sweaty and slimy they fingered the indentation of my body
They are relentlessly searching for my cord
I told them time and time again I lost it in the street
Everyday when I met up with the ghost
Who procured my medication
Filthy brown little bits
Heat it up in cold fire
Cook it up perfectly to reflect off the hazel eyes
That leave a gaping hole in your soul
When they sum you up
Suck from your cup
Prittle prattle from yer veins
Leaving you with just a husk and a smile
Waving up to me almost a mile
I am tired of talking to ya’ll
I am tired of walking tall
While my shadow runs away from me
& that wind who whispers to me
Surrender surrender
Jump to the street below
The street where the sea recedes leaving behind its sludge
& one celled ideas
Just yesterday I was in love
Right hand gloved with velvet leather and rabbits fur
Turn it inside out
And stroke
Bringing the sense back to life
Getting ready to spurt the very essence
That remains inside my groin
Who rages around this town
Baby I love ya, come ride me, come come & drive me
To the end of the road we gonna dance
To the wind and a shoot up ah trance
The building and its eyes
The ledge who knows nothing of black er white
& that wind makes me sway
My skinny weed whipped flesh
Whistles in the night
Now if ya listen just right
We might sing the answers to you
Cause the end of the song beats
Like the child who tries to explain
Why it rains
When the sitter splits her legs
& says come take a look
Spread open like a book
Theres a tale in there
Tail is taught
Tail is chance
Tail is the end of it all
& now there is a ship with its white sails
Slack like my face
The wrinkles have gone to war
& left me behind with this face
One who has seen too many
Pretty lasses
Too many homosapiens with mouths
That snap up the air
I am cutter of things
Like lips and tongues
Speaking for your company
Living like a refugee
Finding happiness on the rows
Spray painting our essence all over the glass where the dead dancers
Tease the air with shriveled up nipples
Stink up the street with their perfumed lips
That trail behind them racing to catch up
Up n down
Sideways and rewinds of the reel
Pounding away on the keys
Miles and miles of papers
Stitched up hands from the fight
I release them all to this night
& watch them fall like doves
To the sleepers below
Wish they could cross the sky
& offer me love
But the bid is in
& my deck is about to fold
Into a nice bowl over dive
A perfect 10
So don’t ya worry none
It wont be long
When my love will last forever
& will leave you a gift
My husk will happily live as I rise
To the heavens
Where the judgment will reign forever
& my eyes will peal to the core of my brain
Leaving only the stem behind
Where I spent all my time
Unwinding my spirit
In the curve of the spoon
Bathed in the light of her moon
Eyes
Mama ya told me ta remember
& I remember
The song I had to sing
To this end I bring
My wings
Without any feathers
And I will dust the skies
Smash down and yell
Holy hell surprise!
This is how a poet dies
Dreaming of his sacred skies
Screaming
YEA YEA YEA YEA YEA!

Synecdoche poem: 1800 plus shipping

Category: Art, Poetry, beat, drugs, the plebian rag| October 14th, 2009

The shirt turned up its collars
& smiled at me
I buttoned up my pants and limped away
The trucker blared his horn
And the lights turned green
Picking the stripes off the street
I tied one around my neck
& the noose constricted just right
Pinching off the veins
Bloated face spreads purple
& I turned off the tv
Mumbling like a commercial
Wishing for the sea
& the clean kitchen floors
They sparkle & tell me how much they
Loved me
& then I leaned on the counter listening
To the sunset
Crashing everything onto the floor &
The knife fell into my foot
My bloody prints trailed to the bathroom
& my mirror winked at me
The medicine cabinet opened up
And spilled out some pills
Clattering in the sink
I bend and tongue them into my mouth
In the middle of a 30 second clip
I bit my lip
& my teeth turned into iron
Gnashing at the air
Grinding up the pills
The street strips glowed in the fluorescent lights
Down a one way street
I thumbed for a ride
Collar turned up cool
Limp like a cat
Strutting down the gutters
Blinking into the neon lights
Too many vacancies
So I turn back
Counting the street signs
I was found staring at the STOP sign
The following week
There were quarters and pennies
All around my feet
• I felt like an angel
• With my halo of change
• I did a little jig
And got some applause
& I took a long deep bow
Smiling on my corner
Muttering bout north and south
& 1-800 numbers
Offering all the passers- by free shipping
If they would just carry me
Home
Ooh I wanna go home
Home.

Daoine Maithe! Daoine Maithe!

Category: Poetry, the plebian rag| September 30th, 2009

2008 ©john c sweet

One to the three four. Forty? Three four sprites came to me.
Tearing little bits off me, flittin this n’ thata way swoopin low cross that river.

I swatted tha air n’ that’s when she, Abtawa she, came to me.
Slipped into my ears, whisperin somethin bout a warning.

Her sisters they weep.

‘Bout a flood in the bottom o the well, those crazy Angiaks,
Ooo how they love tha deep crystals o dreams, dancing round their parents that weep.

Years n’ years of restless sleep, those parents that weep .
Leaving babies in tha deep, headless sleep of Anthropophagi,
Heaving his mouth n’ snapping gaping wide!
How did his head divide body divide!

Trying ta catch Asparas !
Painting this Alaskan sky, one last memory for I.

Abtawa cries tickling my eyes, whispering somethin ’bout a surprise.
I am now forty years past prime deep into my wandering,
Looking for that blessing of my divorce to the rules that do not know me

That’s when Asparas showed herself to me, triple sayings blessing me.
Now all I want is to congeal, for this is far too surreal, scooting away on legless wheels.

Noseless no sneeze mayday!
Anthropophagi wiggling into my hayday, determined to squeeze my blood
Noseless no sneeze mayday! Screaming Gesundheit! Flood! Flood!

Once
Upon a time I saw faeries one time
Once
Once
Upon a time, I saw faeries one time.

Now I need a rhyme & the protection of Blue Men of the Minch who can surmise.
Salvaging my remains from the curse of a eunuch, spinning my tales of self-made demise.

Pity me pluck the prize, flock my cock shorn wise, mature nature storm,
Still alive they said reborn, but do I deserve to be? & that’s the question

Abtawa serves, slipping the curve of wings into my skin
Flapping in the wind…
Flapping in the wind…
Soaring to heaven, knocking on the door screaming

Daoine Maithe! Daoine Maithe! Daoine Maithe!

Save me! Save me!
They want to rape me!
Maime me!
Tame me!
Shame me!

Daoine Maithe! Daoine Maithe! Daoine Maithe!

faulted mimes feign reflections of me

Category: Poetry, beat, the plebian rag, tic| September 27th, 2009

Battered down in sleep
Is where you will find me
Tired of the skies
Tired of the night
Mares in my shadow
Tunes of a sad song
Keeps me safer long
As the wind that blows
My memory & name
Over the sunset
Where I tried to steal
The world’s tragedy
& cruelty in due
Time of faulted mimes
Feigning reflections of me
Under the suns heat
Burning up what was true
Deep inside my electric hue
That shines upon my sleepy eyes
Where inside I ride on
Desperately trying to reach
The moon, she cried
For me last September
& I laid down in the meadows
Where the headstone weeps
Blurring the dates
On the calendar that is yellow’d
With the oils from my fingers
& the stains of a grease pen
X’s & O’s stand alone
Like the eyes of discarded doll
Where a lonely little boy
Drew over the eyes
Deaths maiden surprise
Kiss even the inanimate
Deal in the shame
Of a never-ending sleep
Left on the floor
Adored no more as the
Holy sorrowed cloud rolls on
So here I lay in repose
Waiting for the time
When I don’t sleep under
The black roses comforter
That constricts my body
Into a little shroud
Wet with the tears
From my blind state
Deep in the trance
Of unruly grace
Father forgive me
Hello
Father
Goodbye
Father
He’s crying in the silence
Of a million days
Where the sun
Has fallen
The sky
Has fallen
& He I still runs
To the end of the earth
Bending with the curve
Of the horizon
Forgetting the tragic
State
Alone
In creation
Carved out into the bed
Making snow angels
In his eyes
In
His
Eyes
Cave in the ceiling
It’s swallowed
Him I whole
Priceless
Pieces
Tumble
On
Tumble
On

a shadow has no name & nameless we will reign

Category: Uncategorized| September 7th, 2009

Let me remove this giblet in the name of the nation
As I gathered my skin in the honor of this formation
I grip the knife and I cut to the quick
(Where no blood gets in)
There will be blood in this sin that I wage upon this flesh
And the giblet will be the storage place of my souls
Sniffing the heady brew, lolling it around in the pewter snifter
I retch with a surprise, a clotted moist cough
& spit flies smattering the walls with my lungs’ graffiti
Yesterday, or three years or four, I took the hinges off the door
& I shaved them gathering the slivers into a good tall pile
Arranged them into neat little lines, formations of
Angry little spores, and I lit the smoke in my eyes and closed the lids
Snuffing up all of the rows, my mind it was terrified
And inside I was held to a standard much too high
The little barbs burrowed in with the cells,
Maybe it’s a cancer now,
With this cough it’s all just matter now, coagulating on the walls
Of this filthy room, papered up with my cut ups, and fuck ups,
I smear the mess into a headdress and paint
My faces, then I fill the snifter with my blood dripping off my malice gloved
Hand, the hand that shape shifts into
Far off lands penciled into the books, where everyone I loved is dead, and dead
Like the trees that boil in their sap for fear of the music
That climbs out of my windows and creeps like a slow fog, circling round their trunks
Sniffing waiting for the right beat, the sound of clopping feet
& the white horses race into the clearing before the queen, who has come for her sacrifice,
And the elder trees they bow
And sway with their shame
consumed
With the chorus of my sacrifice that rides
on the horse’s backs slipping into the saddles with their headless ghosts
& their bony hands they grip the reigns
& the skies crash open
The skies have been alone for far too long
Now they shed the sorrows of the damned below
Rushing the rivers who bleed now in rage
Casting spells on the oceans
That froth in their deepest leagues
Waking the dead mans chest who clutches the treasure,
the amulet; it stinks, reeks of a psychotic killer, who has adorned his soggy meat
With the gold of defeat
So now he shines way down below waiting,
And back to here, a million feet above the sea, I begin to cleave off the sheath
(Some cry hell bound to the cutters)
Most cry for they too want to save themselves the same
But are too afraid of the knife
Too afraid of losing the skin that breathes for their life
But not I not today
I slam back the gimlet of pewter before my blood cools
Blood to blood,
And then to dust my skins will become,
Swallowing down my once pure essence,
Now polluted with my very presence,
This table has shackled me for far too long
And I hear the music that wanders in the forest, urging the horses to run
Towing their ghosts who shimmer in their crimson
Robes off to the mountain where we all will meet
The mountain where the snow bleeds in the heat
Of the sorrowed skies
& now this is no great flood
But a hurricane of blood
Where the eye is on target
Ready to rip the ground into strips
& tear the steeples down where the worshipers
Search for their misfortune with their purity prayers that spill from dead lips that
hang below empty eyes
Unaware of their stigmata lies
Cause they lurk where only the un-sane know
The ones that hold the blame inside
Letting it boil where the truth is in the reflection
Below the mountain
Where there is a candle burning
And it will soon meet the wick
And then it will be snuffed out
With the darkness that will now conceal
The population who have shed their skins
Hanging them on flagbones dripping
Onto the streets that have been overrun
With a million souls cells
So come walk with me past the rain
Come walk with me past the place in the night
Where the dark conceals this fight
Between mind and body
My giblet organ glows in the starlight
And I rise and toss it into the fire
Man walking, the king of beasts,
The king of the feast
And I now I will be overrun
With emptiness
& wander with my hollow body
And my satchel tied into a noose where my heart
Lies denied inside
So I think it’s time to dance for new blood
Cause the old has grown cold and has the stench of demise
A perfect bloodletting
Is as good as a nice slow burn
Let the blood run quickly
And prostrate with the monks
Who now understand
Wrapping up their own stigmata hands
Chanting
In tongues
Cutting them off
They too will then cough
The moist graffiti lung ghosts out
So they too can wander about
And taunt the trees
And chase the ghosts for some clarity
For where too they ride
And unto here I will wait
Waiting for the fire to quit
As it cleans the slate
Leaving nothing but salt behind
Salt for the wounds
That have left their scars
On the weeping heads and hands
That have filled the lungs so sweetly
Now with smoky breath
I will love waiting lonely
On the edge of the forest
Lurking in the shadow of the queen
& There I will remain
While the skies blood it rains
Cause we both know a shadow has no name
And nameless we will reign.

Dukkha (states will dissolve the wire)

Category: Poetry, beat, drugs, sketch| August 2nd, 2009

I sutured my eyes tight,
Spliced my tongue into two
Wired my jaws shut with steel wire,
& here I sit wondering
What the world looks like now
Afraid of my silence
Cause I am a wicked
Forked tongue wild man
& here I sit the t.v. is on entertaining me
Politicians perched on a burning pyre
Flickering on and off in the markets
Of Tahiti
In Rome
& censored in Iran
Absorbed by millions of eyes & ears
Cutting to a scene, a commercial on repeat,
Speaking its Vietnamese with govr’t control
& on the corner the people tip their paper-hats
To the monk on fire
His ashes frozen in prayer
Sullen and tragic
He broke all the rules and the destroyed the path
He is speeding out of control
His soul will now wander
Cursing the jewels
Slipping in & outside the ball of 8
The ball of 8
For they have abandoned him
His Suicidal refuge
His abhorrence of hate
Cries in defeat
Burning in the steet
& hear I sit in my own refusals
Blinding my easy eyes
Silencing my soulful cries
Listening to the t.v. static
Absorbing the Technicolor
Control
I can smell the politician burn
I can hear the cries of the monk
Somewhere round midnight the street machines will rise
Sucking up the remains of the politician
Disposing him to the landfills of modernism
Brushing aside the ashes of the monk
Preserving them in reverence, leaving them in the gutter
For his sad sangha brothers
Who will rise up in the morning
Dressed in yellow
Slowing walking in their procession
Crying for their friend & his demonic possession
& hear I sit wanting to cry
Jaws clenched with pressure
Eyes sutured in black
Tongue hanging slack
Wailing from the inside,
Breaking my skin apart,
Then I fall to pieces
This moment of surrender
Shatters the windows
Blows out the doors
Creating a big black hole
Echoing round this weather’d globe
Calling up a windstorm
Hurling a hurricane of words
& they come crashing down
On every shore
Leaving my reflection on the waters
Now the world cannot sit idly by
Not noticing me
For they all are knocked down
To their knees
With the force of my sorrowful sound
& hear I sit
Scattered all over the world
Flickering on and off with the sunshine
That fills this space
Reverberating with a Technicolor
Boom opening the door
To space
Where I wander from place to space
Silent and blind
Scared and dismissed
Please make a wish
Offer me yer goodbye
& cry & cry for the world
The world where you no longer play free
The world where your dukkha states
Will dissolve when you become aware &
When you decide to notice me in the skies
Notice me in the skies
The first precept in the story
Rising with the sunshine & fairy tales
Of yesterday’s when
Of yesterday’s when….

lil tear say hello

Category: Poetry, beat, drugs, sketch, the plebian rag, theplebianrag| June 18th, 2009

Plaster o paris’d
the face
taught dry
mummified & sucked the brain
outta the nose
wadded up the Kleenex
tossed it in the can
took a walk round the city
grim fac’d n statuesque
white fac’d black lip’d
a little hole fer the tongue
slippery snaked sounds
greet the hellos, how r yas’
Sssssssssssssssssssssslop
Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr’u
thoughtless n jobless
dressed too clean for some change
too clean for scraps
pennies n’ lint all got
cup of gin
serv’d up some hidden
Surrealist café’
dry rott’d tongue
air etherless n yung
borrw’d a cape from the bowr’y
n flew
threw the crowds
concrete smile w/cocked grin
grimace’d skin wasted under balloons
white always wins
took da-king
horny bishop laughed
something ‘ bout museums
n pantomimes
w/guns
borrw’d pin hammer
tapp’d tapp’d the plaster
peeling back from da face
perfect’ly form’d
goodbye eyes
lil’ tear say hello
we’re all sons of Abraham
straight’way onto Eden
offer’d up the mask
fer forgivness
Shake
shake shake it clean
clear da table
of da empty gin glass’s
eyes
plaster skies
always win
white beat da black
n’ yea better not fergot

symbiosis

Category: Art, Poetry, beat, the plebian rag, theplebianrag| June 18th, 2009

………………..

Thorns without can stick with these sometimes stick woods
my safely want their walk
spiders trail
Are touching at me

animals and itch
point whenever webs
Out there by them
across that have
make plants by some
Stick the spin
use them way
plants move
in them the gently
look
Move at too.

don’t kiss the emperor’s ring

Category: Art, Poetry, WSN RADIO, beat, the plebian rag| April 29th, 2009

This is an SOS to the saints
Tho they are all dead
Our world is sick
Stricken with tired aching feet
Mouths that rest slack
Ooh those sorrow’d eyes they bleed
Coloring crimson cheeks
Into a false state of bliss
This is an SOS to the bedraggled
Waiting every month for their dollars
Completely co-dependent upon
A deceitful organization
Ruled by mobsters with dollar guns
And coins fer the eyes
After they suck peoples husks dry
Why o why
Do these shackles of oppression
Hinder them, probing deep inside their memories
Little bells ting their gongs
Humming a tune of farewells
A heavy tune to bring them further down
This is an SOS to the fearful
Who cower in their beds at night
Scanning the midnight skies for fighter jets
& wmo’s
Smothering their faces with the pillows
Like a makeshift gas mask
Waiting for the end to come
Sending this SOS out to the masses
A wakeup call to the order
A new world order
With tattoos just for you
No branding of skins will do
Will not be perpetrated by you
Will not be herded to concentration camps
For special treatments
Will not submit to martial law
Or subtle morse codes through the phones
Or control through tele-screen portals
So this is an SOS for you
To wake and rise
Take to the streets and riot
Take no prisoners
Raise no swords
Load no guns
Sheath the pens and jam the streets
This is an SOS to batter the walls
Heed this call
Pour out the brandy
Melt all the pills
Break the needles and smear the lines
Cause there is no need for chemical confusion
This is our calling and its time to yell
We are sick of it all
Yea its time to say
All there is to say
That has been stifled
By the butt of the rifles
Bled out with rusted bayonettes
Lost in the bunkers of peace
Sucking on the sticks of grease
Torching the meadows slick with oily footprints
Forget about the carbon in the air
Dodge the acid rains
Cut off all yer hair
Tie it up in knots
1000’s of feet of rope
For the greatest tug o war
This nation has ever seen
So yea this is an SOS to the unseen
The sullen ones that just get by
The lonely ones who cry
The broken ones who cannot rise up
The little children
Ooh the little children their clock it ticks the clock
Distorting their enchanted view
So this is an SOS for our little girls and boys
Hiding behind our no-vacancy eyes
They are still spying on us
Waiting for us to remember
Those days that we must sing
Rather than these days where we don’t feel a thing
Yes this is an SOS for everything
We adore
An SOS to open new doors
Slam the old boys in the closets
Hang their gangers on the hangers
& hit the streets
Hit the streets & riot
No longer the quiet
But a raging storm
To ensure our futures
Ohh the children
Let them sing
& not bow to an emperors ring.