Benjibopper

Here I sit on top of the world
Exhausted from my climb
I gave music to the angels
inspired a siren's sorrowful song
I moved men a mile to make way
so I could spill myself on the asphalt
I picked myself up and staggered on my way
Where I waged war on the stupidity
of our endless adolescent conceit

What's more I gave my time
my dollars and my calories
to whoever needed enough to ask

I helped intelligent white men make money
I helped the rest trickle down
I connected gardeners to politicians
I put my hands in the ground
I pulled out the great Canadian novel
And was fashionably late for dancing
that very same night

Then came the dance of lovers,
and I had a lot left to give
I bet 50 on the Colts
blew more on supplies and loans
and used the rest on a bottle
for a homeless Buddhist

I made more friends than Jesus
and they'll never be content
I played them my song
on a capo I made myself
They asked me what's for dinner
I threw a party for my friend the Pope
he was 4 hours late

I dove into a warm lake
and swam until my lungs broke
was swept into the ocean
where I resuscitated all the fish
absorbed the mercury into myself
and introduced democracy
I was featured on the TV
when I made my own documentary
about the experience

The sun was in my eyes
as I wrote these lines
the lines were on my face
when I was 15 years old
Now I'm sitting on top of the world
my heart racing at the sensation
that swirls all around me
as my eyes blur and my head spins
you took me higher than before
It's 9 o’clock in the morning
and I don't wanna work no more

Let's lay here in the cold moonlight
watch the stars 24 hours a day
We'll warm each other on the cold snow
Exhaustion will never leave us
but our stamina will stand the test
While we lie here on top of each other
As we're sittin' on top of the world

Labels: Poetry

Cash sang a lot about jail
the long term kind without bail
Those paying for sins part theirs part ours
men and women at extremes
under the American dream
fermented and left out to go sour

But is not America in itself a chimera?
What fools thought they could tame what God made
on the backs of Africans and by theft of Indians
pretending men are equally made
Blood's slippery foundation
built many a strong nation
only to see it fall after rise
America is not new
nor sins its powerful do
It won't be the last corpse to breed flies

Power is a psychosis
All the world ought to know this
Pinochet Amin Seko and Bush
The most powerful men
are doing all that they can
Pushing all the buttons they can push
and on a much smaller scale
killing sprees by men on bail
while bystanders get an injection

Vengeance spreads like a disease
the pesticides in the trees
root in our hearts as an infection
but it's time and time again
powerless women and men
receive discipline and punishment
It's delivered as jail time
a career ladder to climb
either form equates shoes of cement

Seems Cash was a lucky man
Besides his millions of fans
he believed - was able - to speak truth
His religion did decree
That the truth shall set you free
and he took likelihood over proof
Not that religion is key
though wise is humility
salvation need not come after death

There are human qualities
That could save us - set us free
Humbly we learn secrets of the depths
Imagine how freedom feels
dancing out in sunlight squeals
using our true gifts working with friends
In this ancient place I walk
on a geologic clock
that's just the means folks used to meet ends

You can think it in your head
or else use your gut instead
these things will tell you what's right
and if we use all our skill
and if we focus all our will
we can make societies work right

The jails will crumble and fall
and so we'll end office stalls
No longer will we cower in fear
Dictators will be reduced
to harmless psychos cut loose
but we'll welcome their antics with cheer
and a peace flame will be fired
commemorating desire
for ever flattened hierarchy

The poor will climb up higher
C E O s will be rehired
to build homes for guys in factories
Farmers will earn vacation
for having fed all nations
since the fertile crescent got big press

We'll all dance in hopes of rain
as God takes control again
we'll remember that gods do it best
With human diversity
and biodiversity
cooperation over control
Cash's truth will prevail then
No more slaves human or hen
Smoke will clear - life will spring from this hole

Labels: Poetry

I walked into your white room
Charlie Sheen on the TV
The ceiling was cracked
and there was money all around
Charlie was stressed
and you were wet
And there was pieces of technology
falling on the ground

Some in my hair
as you cried your way down
and down my spine
in witch's chills
I waded through it all
the technology spills
"The bleeding hearts
will have a field day now,"
boomed the man with three fingers
eating raw cow

Charlie's dad was crying
he'd been a bad father
you'd played with me
like a Harley King's daughter
the house was creaking
and my head was sore
From those pieces of technology
landing on the floor

Pieces of technology
falling on the ground
hitting my head
as you sob on down
to the sensitive parts
that you wore right out
so only pieces of technology
can kill my doubts
that this place is as bad
as folks make it out to be

Pieces of technology
falling on me

Maybe one day
we'll learn to stop this machine
So we won't need a movie
to warn us against greed
And we won't need the likes
of Charlies Sheen

We'll have pieces of technology
crashing all around
Food for the hungry
and counseling for the down

Labels: Poetry

Lying in the crack of a prism
in a solitary tub
with a drop of water stretched
full by our bodies
shadowed by candlelight
tickled by the tiny fingers
of words written for a baby
an eon ago
in a crescent
at a manger
thousands of miles away

Innerly massaged by mice come humanoid
imagined by a woman come empire
on an island that ruled the world
and spawned the dominion of a future Republic

In another crack is a man worshipping
the genius of television writers and ad-men

And in another
under the hot sun
sweat women all in black
over dark brown
kneeling bending hands to earth
kneaded by the palms of a prophet
who died a thousand years
before their latest baby was still-born

Somewhere in this crumbling prism
is a woman glazed and astounded
at the exquisite quality
of deep blue brush-strokes 80 years old

The ceiling stretches above us
and reveals infinity
an eternity before us

As the hunter reveres
the spirit of the hunted
in an apology
for the life he has taken
to sustain his own

All these micron molecules mixing
so when fully perceived
they become a solidified reflector of light
unified in purpose
if not in intricate detail

In awe of the wonder
the vastness and the Greatness
and the humility
of our own tremendous importance

Labels: Poetry

You take the moral high-ground
I’ll take the low

You can look down on me from there
black or white right or wrong
and I’ll get dizzy with complications
or take refuge in my vices
poisoning everything around me
but only moderately so

I’ll take my corporate lovers
while you make your principles and laws

You take your vows
destroy evil with absolute prejudice
I’ll destroy everything with moderate disinterest

I’ll look up to you with admiration
You be what I’d be with discipline

You loathe me as all that is deplorable
together we’ll end humanity

Labels: Poetry

Seven celestial celebrities assembled surreptitiously; this was the cast:

Chatty Chandra was a virtuoso of verbosity, but despite her whack of words never let one slip into the skin unheard or unappreciated, for each of seven septillion syllables to her was like a sibling, a character unique in form and style, and such intimate appreciation for diversity was contagious.

Playful Pamela cart-wheeled onto the scene and pulled out a homemade set of silicone playing cards, a 57-set deck, each adorned with a cartoon character and a set of instructions designed to tease the brain, touch the heart and stimulate the soul toward a more sympathetic point of view.

Sexy Samuel rode in on a Siberian tiger and matching g-string, chasing chocolate-covered strawberries with cognac while pouring a hot bath of massage oil.

Jumpy Jerome leapt over Sam’s tiger and landed in full splits singing “the universe is a joyous place and all its life is beeyooooo-tee!

Meanwhile, looking up was Brickhouse Bill, and sure, he could have climbed to the clouds where the spiritual seven were gathering but he decided instead to pull the sky down to him in one HEFT - with endurance he was endowed but feats of pure power were more his style.

Unfortunately Dancing Dalia was just about to land a quadruple spinning back flip as Bill brute-forced the heavens downward. Her resulting over-extension ended in a head dive and subsequent spastic convulsions, and that’s how break-dancing was born.

Last to arrive in eloquent style always innovative was Beautiful Boisson, with her lips a-puckered sucking on a sour candy for effect. So overcome by that facial expression was Sexy Sam that he dismounted the tiger and remounted Boisson.

An orgy ensued and then later a bitty baby love-child. Well, you can imagine the reaction of Russian society to the behaviour of such lucky demigods; needless to say it wasn’t good.

Next thing you knew the little baby (Bitter Water – after Boisson’s beautiful candy-face and Samuel’s bath in sensual in-sensibility) found herself the darling of the otherwise practical baby loving Finns.

That was April 30: Miia Day.

Labels: Poetry