Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8970653
Einstein defined what’s nuts,
clear as day, no ifs or buts.
Doing the same, time and again
and expecting change is insane.
So when you hit a fail,
don’t hammer the bent nail.
Pull it out, start anew,
and don’t let bent nails accrue.
I’m too happy to be crazy,
but the happy makes me lazy
Not lazy, but lacking focus.
Madness is a creative locus.
A sad gravity weighs one down,
as lip corners into a frown,
but in the pit resides a muse.
People pay to hear the blues.
If you could peer inside my mind,
you’d see stacks of rotting rinds.
The rinds pile up and they ferment.
Maybe to a soulful lament?
Or maybe they just start to sour,
becoming fouler by the hour.
Until you can’t believe the stink,
and every word is wasted ink.
I met a man
along the road
who thought he knew
which way to go.
Certain was he;
he knew the path.
He had a map.
He’d done the math.
“Your map won’t help
you now, I fear.
Past the map’s edge
the world turns queer.”
“I’ll find my way,
be sure of that,”
the man dismissed
with words he spat.
When I returned,
an hour ago,
I passed a car-
cass in the snow.
No doubt, twas he,
the certain man–
hit a blizzard
in burning sands.
Source: Wikipedia (Public Domain)
Where dunes are whisked in wisps down the valleys
Quiet as midnight in pitch black alleys
Thar be dragons
Where boxes tumble into churning seas
Submerging with the ease of a sea breeze
Thar be dragons
When you twitch into the deeps of sleep
Amid the bleating of counted sheep
Thar be dragons
“Indefinite Divisibility” (1942) by Yves Tanguy
T.S. Eliot said,
Midnight shakes the memory
As a madman shakes a dead geranium
I know–exactly–what he means
Tragedy lurks in the midnight deeps
It hides, free from consciousness
It hides, outside memory
A catastrophic tick that has no echo
Fleeting images and emotional residue
all amble home in the morning
“What do you want to BE when you grow up?”
They ask you when you’re just a little pup.
So, what part of what I must BE,
is different from the me you see?
Dad thought, “the part that they’ll pay you for.”
Like an allowance for finishing a chore?
“Yes, young man, but you can safely assume,
no one else will pay you to clean your room.”
Kids don’t think of being gainfully employed.
Which seems to make grownups quite annoyed.
At five, I wanted to be a cowboy.
“Son, there’s no jobs in that line of employ.”
That’s OK, then I’ll be an Indian.
“You’d have to be born that way, my friend.”
I wasn’t born a doctor, but you said that’s OK.
“That’s not the same, son, what can I say?”
I know what then, Dad, I’ll be the Batman!
“Come on, son, that’s not a feasible plan.”
You’re thinking Superman, Batman has no powers.
“Bruce Wayne by day, Batman at night, where’s the sleeping hours.”
You have a point there, you’ve got me stumped.
Thinking myself prematurely defunct.
Source: cliparts.co
I have a particular set of skills.
No, not ones that pay the bills.
While Liam Neeson may kick some ass,
my skills are more in the realm of sass.
My course won’t teach you a spinning kick,
or how to head-butt to a brick.
No, nothing so stoic or taciturn,
for mine is the art of the kung fu burn.
If you wish to unleash the power of derision,
tell them their kung fu lacks vigor and precision.
If that has not the effect desired,
tell them their kung fu is sloppy and uninspired.
If you haven’t yet gotten their goat,
tell them their moves makes vomit rise to your throat.
That’s just a sampler; wisdom ain’t free.
But you can learn more for a nominal fee.
[Disclosure]
Just one thing, whatever you do.
Don’t use against anyone who knows kung fu.
(Even the old ladies who do Tai Chi in the park,
may rip you apart like a school of bull sharks.)
memory, she’s a fickle cow
you can never have one in the now
and why are the memories best of those who need them least
should not as your age grows great your memory too increase
an eight year old has no need of keys but he can tell you where they are
for me the point is quite moot cause I’ve forgotten where’s the car
more and more I’m less and less certain of what memories were dreams
I clearly remember posting that bill cause I passed a yeti eating ice-cream
a woman watching 60 Minutes was robbed, but cops called her a loony
you see the old girl was quite sure she’d been burgled by Andy Rooney
now it’s time for me to bring this poem to a close
I had a much better bit but have forgotten how it goes
I passed a man on the street,
in the brutal noonday heat.
Blending in, but for his Tee.
It read, “Nothing is as it seems.”
I said, “Ain’t that the truth, brother.”
He walked on, like all the others.
A message sent on the sly?
From some watcher in the sky?
How’d he know it’d draw my eye?
And not be taken for a lie?
Maybe my will is not so free,
and what I “know” isn’t reality.
[Later that day…]
Rev. screamed, “We’re living in a simulation!”
“Friends, this ain’t no pre-apocalyptic nation.”
“Aliens watch us on their reality-TV station.”
“All I can offer is a bargain spaceship vacation.”
I distrust those who shout from a box,
and distrust more the joining of flocks.
But the kook’s words rattled in my mind.
Maybe lunatics get things right sometime.
What if the world is just a simulated grind,
and passersby just figments of my mind?
If this world is fake, should I abstain?
Or try much harder to entertain?
Baby, I dig your bipedal ways
You could chase down wounded game for days
And walking around on just two feet
You can forage in the mid-day heat
When it’s too hot for those big ole cats
Who bully their way through our habitat
My dearest, it simply makes me drool
When I see you working with a tool
Thumbs opposable, and shoulders free
I’m awed when you throw stones at me
Just imagine how I shed a tear
When I see you chuck a pointy spear
And that prefrontal cortex, oh my lord
You could plan the move of a nomadic horde
One day you’ll be able to add, and subtract
You’ll think–and paint–in the abstract
You just need vocal cords of greater dexterity
To express yourself with heightened clarity
[not in grunts and stone throwing]
True, you’re not the strongest of the apes
And while tigers race you barely traipse
Monkeys climb, swinging tree to tree
You lack arm strength and dexterity
Still, there’s something about you that I just can’t deny
Though you share sixty percent DNA with a fruit fly
You’re so evolved
