Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Saturday, July 30, 2016

Wobbly times number 198

                                                                             










Stammtisch at the Oasis


Clockwise 'round the short bar

sit half a dozen guys

on Friday night

four drinking beer

two drinking soda

the scene

becoming progressively chaotic

as more people file in

to the Oasis

to quench their cravings

after another

week of it

whatever their particular

IT is:

A homeless black, the rest white

a Berkeley Prof, an Intel millionaire

an unemployed printer

a retired librarian in his 70s and

a minor author--an ex ops-man

from that same library

a university library

in a university town

the next town down from the Oasis

where Steinbeck set a part of EAST OF EDEN

The conversation swirls above

the cacophony of

autre voix

It is nine in the evening

loose tongues

speak volumes of

forgettable prose about

sports, long distance driving routes--

U.S. 6 is the longest--movies, stars, races

and friends departed--most with liver failure

And of a sudden

it's time to turn in

inwards again

ever inwards

and bid good fellows fond adieu

as the week begins anew

and the wheel turns

on its screw

turning higher

ever higher

to be sure

but not by much

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Wobbly times number 182

Entropy

Somethings come and 
somethings go
and some last a long 
long 
time
But
change is constant 
We are 
We will not be
It is 
It will not be

Being banged
from nothing
to nothing
we return


Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Wobbly times number 177

 Images


For Rosa

Light follows darkness follows light
in the twirl of time around and forward
What was young must get older
while producing young again
Time is moving
Change inevitable
"I was
I am
I will be"




Dialectics of Dialogue

I'm not saying that you have to do it this way.  I'm just saying that your imagination should be exercised, not put into the 'naughty corner'.

Are you crazy?  If we did that, unity would disappear.

Where would it go? Into some safe corner?  Are there safe corners or only places to die?

Ever see a performance of 'The Iceman Cometh'?"

Yeah.  I was thinking of that very same question.

How intolerant we make ourselves.

T'is pity.

Perhaps a little forbearance would be in order.

Yes. Allen Ginsberg advised forbearance.

Wise fellow in many ways.

A gentle, gay spirit, making his way in the world.

Indeed.  Were there more poet messengers.

How about Omar Khayyam...

"Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring 
Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling: 
The Bird of Time has but a little way 
To flutter--and the Bird is on the Wing."


Interesting.  I can only recite the famous one from memory...

"A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, 
A Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and Thou 
Beside me singing in the Wilderness-- 
Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!"







Art Vandemark in 1960 


Drove like a bat out of hell
turned his eyes to switch the dial
as he passed that slower driver
on that bloody hill
smashed head-on
crushed that coming car
Art Vandemark dead
at a mere 16
He drove too fast
and went too far











Sunday, August 25, 2013

Wobbly times number 169



My mother died yesterday.  I was fortunate enough to be able to speak with her on the phone a few hours before she passed away.  The essence of what we spoke about is encapsulated in these reflections.


I'M HER SON





Lieutenant Recharda Benson WWII U.S. Army Nurse 


That's why I love you
That's why I want you to be free
That's why I hate the sadists
That's why I'm a democrat
That's why I'm sympathetic with the poor
That's why I want kindness to replace hatred
That's why I don't care about riches
That's why I care about animals' welfare
That's why I go for the underdog
That's why I love the vivacity wild things exhibit
In short
My mom's the reason I care
In short
she's the reason I'm focussed on elan
not tied down to property and status
She's the reason 
I've declared war on cruelty 
ever since I was born
And why I think 
It's nobody's business but my own
if I ride tear-filled waves of grief today 


 Recharda with her sisters and a friend late 1930s
 My mom and I Christmas, 1949
 My dad and I in the same place, 1949
 Me, my mom, Bruce and Grandma Benson late 50s San Diego train station
 My step-dad, Bruce, mom and me early 70s East Lansing
On my last visit to the USA in 2009




RECHARDA BENSON
April 1, 1919-August 24, 2013







                                                     

Sunday, March 3, 2013

Wobbly times number 166

“I know we're not saints or virgins or lunatics; we know all the lust and lavatory jokes, and most of the dirty people; we can catch buses and count our change and cross the roads and talk real sentences. But our innocence goes awfully deep, and our discreditable secret is that we don't know anything at all, and our horrid inner secret is that we don't care that we don't.” 
― Dylan Thomas





D'EUX MES EN PAD

As we stand here
in our bondage
making  small talk
at the party
a festival of monogamous families
shining faces cover anguish
temptation
desire
our secrets
Our private property is at the same time
for some time
 our mortgage
a promissory note 
based in near life terms worth of
our sold labour time


As we dance here
musically free
discussing philosophy
making love
living our time
the way we want to
the landlord  inspection
will happen
Landlords are like the irremediable  tragedy
of death

Monday, November 26, 2012

Wobbly times number 158




Full moon above Jakarta 

Last night
covered by clouds...

Now heat
blasting my shadow flat
against the white paint
blistering in summer sun
after being stroked
with foul
acidic smelling
skin burning
remover

Grasping the spatula
I scrape the disintegrating
blisters from the
grey-brown
wooden wall
my nostrils
seemingly seared with tin
my throat
parched cracks
like a dried salt lake
my mind drifting in
insane desires
to drink a gallon
of ice-cold Coke

Muffled
inside the house
Debussy’s “Claire de Lune”
begins to waft gently through air
I stop
get down from my scaffold
set my sneakered
burning feet on green grass
I listen
silently
quenching my thirst
with warm water
Stepping away from the wall
I cast my gaze through the bay window
and see you
cool
caressing the piano
millions of light
years away

Monday, October 29, 2012

Wobbly times number 157

MORE PROLETARIAN PIPE-DREAMING








"If you assume that there is no hope, you guarantee that there will be no hope. If you assume that there is an instinct for freedom, there are opportunities to change things, etc., there's a chance to contribute to the making of a better world. That's your choice."  - Noam Chomsky





Private property for whom?

Private personal property within a classless, Stateless, democratic society would be a given.  Common ownership would not apply to your socks, your dog, your partners or kids or to the home which you use.  Common ownership would only apply to the things we use collectively like: public transport, clothing outlets, universities, grocery distribution centres, aircraft factories and so on.

In class dominated societies, the producers of wealth remain in thrall, debt and servitude to rulers.  In a free association of producers, men and women enjoy equal political power amongst themselves.   Direct democracy has become a norm. 



Unity for what?

Harmony with what
with whom
For whose strength
do we depend 

One path leads to 
conserving human orders
of top-down power 
all hushed-up inside
so as not to disturb the 
harmonious hierarchy of the dour
for do so 
would be a sin
against human nature
according to some supernatural 
code 
might even lead to 
bad karma
or 
in some other way
be offensive 
to those
who would dominate 
through guilt tripping you
with claims of
moral superiority
with maybe a promise or two 
of pie in the sky 
when you die
or pair a dice 
through submission
to THEM


The other way
of unity is
toward a solidarity 
for more freedom
not the freedom to do 
with your property
what you will
to be family patriarch 
as if humans and 
property objects 
in the same legally defined 
State enforced 
cage
For freedom defined in such a way
is only freedom for one 
to have power over others' wills
and that's greed-dumb
my friend
no freedom at all


Made by humans 
freedom flows from instinct
in history's river of time
ever on 
toward an individual liberty
where the social condition for the freedom of each
is the common condition for the freedom of all
where equal political power
between all men and women
negates the negation of debt

Whereas collectively produced wealth 
as legalised 
private property
makes for
slavery
bondage & disciplines
servile bowing rituals
to the masters of the State
or workplace
or bedroom
of whatever owning class
or caste
or gender
or supposed superior 
'race'  

Authorities who are ever ready to bring the whip on down
or brow beat you to injury and frown
for the sake of some power monger's
adrenal filled sadistic self-esteem
or crown

All that is done for
with common democratic ownership 
of wealth produced socially
and one forever rebellious NO! 
to domination and
YES! to unity 
for liberty and freedom's continuation


Saturday, October 13, 2012

Wobbly times number 156





WELCOME TO THE LAND OF BETTER SEX

Where no means no
and yes means yes
and yes is said
way more often
than no






BRAZILIAN TOURIST ON LSD IN MELBOURNE
(for Roberto Curti)

Dropped a tab
an hour
or was it a hundred years later
I went outside
to take the air
and get away from the
spider 
web making....

Maybe bread will
bring me back
Bread

Where's my shirt!

My sister wants 
to kill me

Call her now!

Cops!

Shout for help
and
tasers blaze
What a high!
Electrifried
my eyes
burning
scream out
level
It's God...
...blackness
gone


dead




train

Saturday, September 1, 2012

Wobbly times number 154

Began/Begone/Begin 

I joined the party
became a comrade
put my passion in
Facing hostile public words
"Go back to Russia!"
with leaflets
explaining our very rational
position
Gave my trust
my name 
and all my ambition
Spoke my mind
once too often
Stepped on toes
in honest confusion
contradiction
confrontation
And then
my comrades turned
on me and those I loved
Made me look the simpleton
I left and licked my wounds
Then later
joined a union
Once again
did I begin 
so full of passion
honestly relating
once too often
and got myself in trouble
with the keepers of the cage's keys
Got brought up on
some trumped up charges
racial slurs
and sexism
all by petty power mongers
in search of self-esteem
And then I quit their games
refused their rule
"Begone?" said I
"Of that
you can depend"
And now
I'm back where I began
I think
I'll just begin






Thursday, August 16, 2012

Wobbly times number 153




REFUSE THE ROLE
by Mike Ballard

What if you were given
power over others
Would you get your kicks
at their expense
or would you
refuse the role
refuse the role
You have the will
and there’s a way
Refuse the role
refuse the role
What if you were treated
to abuse and active scorn
Would you get your satisfaction
blowing master’s horn
loyal to humiliation
like a Pavlov’s dog
or would you
refuse the role
refuse the role
The roles we are
assigned to play
just keep us
in our
slave-like ways
refuse the roles
refuse the roles
Live free
Live wild
Associate as equal mates
in one big union free
and don’t let the bosses
put you down
refuse to roll
refuse their roles 
********************************
originally published in 

FANNING DISCONTENT'S FLAMES
Australian Wobbly Poetry, Scurrilous Doggerel, and Song
1914-2007
                                  

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Wobbly times number 136

"Growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell." - Edward Abbey.







It’s About Time

We came out of Africa
ages ago
We roamed o’er this planet
in various tribes
But
our numbers have grown
We’re hitting six billion
We don’t need any more
We need a rest
some disposable time
We’ve got enough families
and too many swine



We need a shrink
We’re working too long
driving for hours
with ring-toned
bright mobiles
stuck fast to our ears
jammed ‘twixt car bumpers
to-ing and fro-ing
producing more gadgets
than we’ll ever use

And what’s most of it for

To profit the powers
THE POWERS THAT BE
increasing their greed
immersing our planet
in fads become junk
twelve percent plastic
and toxic to boot

Yes
truth is still beauty
but look what WE’VE got
beauty’s become
a ware to be bought
a thing to be sold
In this day and age
cheapness’s the measure
of market-share gain
It’s just so much fools’ gold
What happened to leisure
Why so much pain
Come on fellow workers
Let’s turn the page

Our faire Sister is groaning
under this weight
We’ve created more wealth
than ever before
measured in money
and we’re still insecure
Output per worker
has shot through sky
do-dads are humming
boss profits are high
while needy go hungry
and poor children die
Yes
by thousands each day
because water is dirty
and boy is it scarce
The deserts are coming
the planet is warming
and pundits are talking

they’re talking ‘bout more

All for the bosses
More power for them
to grow their damn
business
and lest we forget
we’ll get more landlords
and rent hikes galore

Oh my god
can’t you see
by the dawn’s early light
Come on
all you workers
wage slavery’s a bore
It’s taking up your life
and taking up mine
Let’s make something real
something useful for us
for us and our planet
before we go bust
Let’s grow us some FREE-TIME
Give it a think
We’ve piled enough crap up
We need a shrink






"An era can be considered over when its basic illusions have been exhausted." Arthur Miller





Saturday, September 17, 2011

Wobbly times number 130


The Modern Way
                                                                 
Don't show you are hostile
your feelings are wrong
come now my darling
let them be gone
they're a big social stigma
they’re not even mature
you're aware of dysfunction
 that's NEVER approved
remember the others
are all just like you
one must embrace life
with positive tones
sure there'll be casualties
and a few broken bones
remember you have to
sell self with skill
wage-slavery’s the price mate
 that we must all pay
so suppress your emotions
and have a nice day
your fate is the market
your destiny's sealed
now on with the show love
 the modern way

Wobbly times number 129




On Reading
COLLAPSE
by Jared Diamond


It is disquieting
like watching one large accident
about to happen
with most every body
looking way away
far too willfully blind
too caught up
busy in our billions
burying noses
in some million dollar
owner’s  business
sticking the Earth
“our faire sister
in the side of the dawn”
with fences
symbolic markers around
“a vast accumulation of commodities”
which make up our wealth
especially our current Nature
Amen


“Well
it doesn’t affect
my children
or
my S.O.s!
Just leave me mate
the hell alone!”

And the Disquiet
worms its way
into our computed days
Somehow we know
in some fashion sense
sleep loss
weight gain
collapse
migraine
fear of our childrens’ tears
But
we’ve always done our work this way
just as we do it now
We sit upon an eve


and think
that we will never ever fall

I give us fifty years
old mate
give or take a few
We’ll slowly boil like lobsters
one by one
then two by two
while unbeknownst to all of us
we’ll turn a deep red hue

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Wobbly times number 127


Observations on September 11, 2001
written by
Michael Thomas Ballard
on September 12, 2001


murder is not a legitimate political weapon
murderers should be jailed for life
they're bad for our health
 fundamentalism is a dangerous ideology
no matter what its dogmatic flavor
oh suicidal self-abnegation
is your name only kamikaze
if I thought the "U. S. is the great satan"
then i'd guess i'd think that god was on my side
especially if I was dirt poor and ignorant
"gott mit uns" was inscribed on the belt buckles
of german soldiers
who took off to smash the U.S.S.R on june 22, 1941
hitler "heroically" shot himself four years later
feeling betrayed by "his" deutsches volk
now
let us hear the war cries coming from the bravest of the future non-combatants
many of them "our" leaders
"let us prey,"
they say out loud
 for the teevee audiences of the world
half devoured children dripping from their mouths






Monday, August 15, 2011

Wobbly times number 124

Globular Cluster 47 Tucanae
Source: Hubblesite.org



Beware the Secret synthetic Life

I knew
that face would haunt me
at my dying breath
The photo-captured time
still full of life
un
dead
preserved moments
in a shrunken skull
Memories lost
in aftermath’s dusty cloud
invisible now
that consciousness is dead

Images lie
The truth is closer
to the quick
Gone!
as soon as spoken