Inspired by “Howl” by Allen Ginsberg. http://www.wussu.com/poems/agh.htm
This is a work-in-progress and needs huge amounts of editing. Ginsberg’s howl is amazing and I’m enraptured by the sophistication of his rant- mine is simplistic and not at all comparable, but nevertheless inspired by. I’m hoping to work on this one for a while. Also, I apologise for the terrible formatting. I’m not techno-savvy, I’m other forms of savvy. and ego :p
Animals in cages ride fast the highway
a hungry zoo ignoring the by-fray
where the nethered are tethered
sending hate-mail to the feathered
and the furred with their bags
and the scaled with their tags
sending gold coin donations
to the African flags and the “not worthy as I” rags
there’s a mirror on our face when it should be at the base
of the tree of life and all things nice, to see with x-ray vision
a collective’s bad decision
the ignorance of an instant packaged bliss
the fabric fake- cheap remake
of a rich man’s play ground. Where the slide travels up and the ladder takes off.
A fashionable rocket into a poisonous socket
To be connected to the source of advertising force
“Read all about it” “buy before you need it”
“fluffy things and sweet things and pleasurable things”
And things. Things. THINGs.
Are we happy and proud of the loot that’s been ploughed
By the weary bones of machinated drones
But a drone drones, humans don’t drone!
Humans speak and shout and cry, strong turns to weak and they wither and die.
There’s nothing wrong with plucking fruit from the branches and reaping the benefits of juicy avalanches.
But where’s the beginning of the objects for winning. Does it lie in the hands of the desperate and thin. How far should we go to leap for the win. When our reality tv spends more,
Than the majority of the world’s reality.
Big box distractions, easy satisfaction, thoughtless inaction, blanketed reaction.
Wrong isn’t contained in a thing
But a thing can be used at the wrong time, for the wrong reasons to promote wrong ideas.
A surround speaker system might make the message louder, it doesn’t make it true.
All this sitting in couches is feeding the abyss with more of the gaps, toothaches, backaches, heartaches, stomachaches of imagined bliss.
Wasting time. The mind. The feet. The beat.
Stuck on Easy Street.
The sponge-minions of other opinions
our neurons are soaked with the “Daily Joke”
we take it all in, the reverberating din,
and we fail to see the powers that be are doing battle without us,
for our minds.
So we choke on the fumes of elongated plumes
of dump-yard consume.
Where the treasures and the trash are an indecipherable stash
And the code-book
So how do we live?
And what will we achieve?
In a SIMCITY of fabricated, not created.
Shadow-enhanced, not illuminated.
Am I allowed to scream now?
I want to sing-song ding-dong that maybe we have it wrong wrong.
A distracted day might be ok, but a week down the sink and the months roll by
And the paper dreams die
Think turns to blink to stare turns to numb
Numb! The worst deadly sin
The eighth evil dwarf
Blood on the floor of a fire existence
The path of least resistance
Numb implies nothingness, dead to the somethingness
To the eyes and the cries the sighs, lies and whys
Of a people confused and abused by the strange new world.
Young is drowning your head in a well of undead.
Not the life-less but the past-life, the anti-life, the semi-life.
Misery in stealth-mode, “I’m not purposeless, I’m entertained”
It’s all good right, not need to carry on, no need to fight
Surf the flavoursome waves of the sunny days.
Why are you preaching, can’t you see we’re beaching?
I see a problem.
The issue in question is not the direction of right or wrong.
One thing good, another thing bad- no.
It’s so many with plenty because others are sad. I can’t justify owning a lighthouse and a whitehouse and being spoiled for choice, when the majority have no voice to say to the few “all that shit makes me spew” out my guts “a kick in the nuts” because my daughters on sale for your
It’s a depressing monotony
That the world is the property
Of the few.
The earth shouldn’t belong to those who buy it.
Life’s not all bleak. No. “Not for me”, I say, you say, we all say.
We all? Well. The ‘we all’ is small, the bleak is big, and while this is the case
While it’s not a fair race I don’t think the contestants in front can say
I deserve more. “It’s my freedom, it’s my individual right” to have faster shoes and a jet-powered kite to heighten my flight and leave you further coughing up
There was a shift. A lift. A sift.
And in all this junk, we found some spunky. New. Attitudes.
With privilege comes responsibility.
Servitude should be the cry of nobility.
The hands that carve the world should be careful and kind.
Not selfish and blind.
I will use my opportunities to give,
How. Yes. HOW.