Monday, August 9, 2010
TheProf Bus! THe Prof Bus! What profit us?
Under the cosh, under the weather.I've gone for the minty tulip without the mint or the two lips, that pursed together and blew.You know how to blow the whistle don't ya? Just put the fuse wire together and BLOW!
Intermittent internet connection, I feel a general objection in the direction of the woirld.Every poem has an equal and opposite (perhaps more apposite) anti-poem.
We are sheep and we are lambs to the slaughter , whichever way we are hung, sheep /lamb/rope/dope soap on a rope, hope on a thin blue vein line we cross so thin you hardly see it till the knife is in your back or the bullet is in your belly. KIll, don't kill, kill /be killed, read all about it/don't read all about it, duck your head/ bury your head/ blow your head or their head clean off, like a football at christmas, punish them for playing football instead of killing, double think, reverse psychology, invert good.
Set up a think tank, a depth charge, an atom bomb for hearts and minds, bodies and souls, death and destruction,everything is fair in love with war.
The smiling assasin, better the devil you didn't know.Tippler, tout, beggerman thief, rich man poor man, Omar sharif, Tim Finegan lived in Walker Street, an Irish gentleman mighty odd, he had a brogue both rich and sweet, and to rise in the world he carried a hod.
Blew his brains out in a blanket on the southside, waiting for the bus, for a gravy train of thought, his ship that passed in the fright to come in to the parlour.He thunk, he thiddled ,he widdled de dee, over the Liffey to the banks of the lovely Lee.
And so say all of us, so say we, so says me, the dot in the infinite that we all boil down to.Do you see the dark, can you see IN the dark?
It's so cold there in the dark, alone, no windmills to rage at , no moon to howl at, only your memory for company your heart to eat.
So Poets of the world of the dark, eat your hearts out!!!
WAR, huh!What is it good for? Absolutely nothing!Say it again!
What is it good for?
I fought for you and
You fought for me and
We fought (apparently)
I stuck a bullet
In another man’s throat
To give him freedom of speech
We blew a small boy to pieces
they stitched him back together again
all the Queens surgeons
and all the Presidents men
told humpty dumpty to be grateful
that his mom and dad could vote,
if they were still alive.
What are they trying to do to me?
Give me a medal?
A heart attack?
Told me it was the right thing to do
Then stick him back together again minus arms and legs
Are they fucking with my mind?
Are they fucking with my life?
Are they fucking with the world?
Who is the real enemy?
Who holds the absolute power?
Emperors in their new war clothes
Should we kill them, or,
Forgive them, though they know well what they do?
Maybe we should just say
NO, no more, fuck you!