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New poems by the renowned Beat / post-Beat poet on the state of affairs & the state of the heart in the later years |
Is It True
Is it true a huge swath of India will be
too hot to inhabit? where hundreds
of millions now live?
Will the land cook?
Where will this massive swelter move to?
A huge cauldron of people cultured to live
their unique manner & outlook
Where will they go?
Is it true Greenland is sweating out millions
of tons of itself into the Rising
of the Great Thaw?
Is it true Venice might be submerged
New Orleans too?
Will many islands disappear?
How about Manhatta?
As fit water is rarefied and the profit motive
derives policy & law & commands
enforcement
So the Big Boy wealth will have just cause
for war as their traditional solution to scarcity
& over population & climate change
Mutated seeds have replaced the Buffalo
The Pacific Ocean is radioactive
Baby Godzillas everywhere
Cameras inside cameras
Every busy corner televised
Yes or No decisions faster than sound
won’t let you escape
Calculates your every future move
Wishing is a curse
Wishing that I could make life
easier for you
An adequate provider instead of a geezer
whose accumulated wealth is in
battered notebooks & a 20 year old
iMac
Who’d be pushing mushrooms
if not for you
I haven’t a foot for games of fun
as in fun & games
At the parties dancing is another country
another era
I’m not getting old I am old
Wisdom is more than caution isn’t it?
Even children of rocky soil
Scions of bedrock smile at
Turn eyes to……flowers
both feral & cultivated
Yesterday’s rebels & revolutionaries
are afraid of change
Now old & compromised
They have their small slice of pie
Yet the Garch have made it mandatory
Change and not just talk of It
or that slice will amount to zilch
They Have An Artist Graveyard In Woodstock
The masses have been molded indoctrinated into
thinking meanness is cool
That we must cold look out for number one
to as always survive
Major Mass Media
Main Stream Media
Violence sells, intrigues
Maybe I’m wrong, that we know
Too much is the problem, maybe
We do better as cattle prodded this way
& that, huddled together
in our own excrement
Waiting for the train to the slaughterhouse?
Artists die here
They even have a special cemetery for artists
It costa money—so does the regular graveyard
Get rid of my carcass cheap as you can
I think burning it will be, if I can’t be dumped
in the Atlantic, my preference
left out for carrion eaters from the sky
But my ashes can go anywhere East Oakland 101st
Ave would be cool so would the Meuse back
in the old country and the Ganges!
Rather one reads my books than a stone marker
A Way Out
The situation we find ourselves in
is driving me to nostalgia for the bottle
I haven’t been drunk in at least 8 years
(Yes what you thought was intoxication
was just my bad personality)
I can’t believe the “Love” Generation is going
to the grave with a whimper
Didn’t you experience the marvelous possible
unseen, seen when our eyes went
supernatural inside dancing molecules
buzzing from body to body?
We hear the mountains speak
They have heard much
They can correct us
The ocean can discipline us
The sky can make life unbearable
or healthy beautiful
The constituents have been hoodwinked
into voting against their interests
Not realizing they/we are examples
of why universal suffrage
can be viewed by some as a failure
We failed to win the war on drugs
(I admit I wanted drugs to win)
We failed in the war on poverty
No one in my recent ancestry was a scholar
Neither my mom nor dad finished hi school
My son Cassidy is a scholar
Are there rooms where the oligarch’s secret ministers
are picking out the assassin & victim?
Perhaps the method will let the well-paid controllers
of data let all falsity slip by on the party line
as facts are rendered meaningless
It drives me crazy when I know good learned people
who think our next political move should be
a compromise an attempt to replicate the recent
past and rely on good old free enterprise system
to suppress the violent revolutions of the
impoverished and busy away from peaceful
petitions of working class they, our version
of free enterprise, will limit the power
of the Garch
The minds behind that direction have no duty to the
future or past (the present defined)
The minds propelling policy—employ hate as the
great equalizer
They want violence
They think their money will protect them
from the massacres and keep their rule extant
Get rid of troublemakers
I’ve been over it myriads of time and I still don’t
know how money does it
Poison darts? maybe not but even depleted uranium
guns need money
The soldiers & officers in harm’s way
with huge harm in their retinue & regime
available but not without money & food
That I don’t have a remedy for the problems
humans face
The words that could solve this inextricable
suicidal dilemma are not forthcoming—
I don’t see someway out of here
no I don’t
I think for now victory for the Garch
is near inevitable
How long before the fellaheen rise again?
As sad and horrible life can be I desire
it goes on as the song stated
“for the good times”
We Will Live To Dance Again
O you were special flaunting that bare shoulder
with spinning moves in the drum circle
on the country tavern hardwood
in the meadow of magic round the fire
High stepping the electric hoe-down & the slow
danced intricate hands elegantly mudra quality
motions of cleansing & cherishing
That Blakean smile of smiles welcoming eyes
emanating desire is tonic is health
When I first felt the back of your thighs and your
glutes somehow and why I knew and stated
wow you have the good stuff
My friend warned me you were demure
No! You wanted it as much as I!
And your face resembling so Bernini’s St. Theresa
Espousing & exposing what the ideals of the day
made into spiritual orgasm into strong queens
and sought after princesses, Mary
Wollstonecraft & her daughter Mary Shelley
and you loved and produced exceptional
language and rocking and rolling blues
that birthed jazz & symphony
Know I am blest we two deplore the Establishment
four kids and big breasts & a face I’ve always
adored since puberty
The Gates of Eden protrude and beckon
I would learn the heavy heat deep in the
Ambrosial bath of my main tool exhibiting a mind
of its own and your gypsy skirt dervish
Men & women are enthralled in homage
to the traditions you evoke
The Future radiates your cheeks
I watch you change apparel; your skin orchestrates
my fingers
I put my eyeballs into your nipples
It feels Good!
Covid-19 just isn’t going away is it?
Must it invade every ode every lyric?
Going to the happy side of the bed
Your entire body transforms into Clit & G spot
all of it makes you glad
And that is my desire & goal
There’s no ambiguity in our desire our lusts
The back of your ears your naked neck
excite my face and the noises
Breathings whistling outbursts of animal pleasure
I admire your hips a classic woman
Our bodies assemble to resemble the movements
of the divinities of the Pantheons
There is a god for every blade of grass
and a divine iota of sound for every
burbling pebble of water
Whether it is my mind or yours
The years the creases of time the tree rings
of the brow vanished
I could see sharp as daybreak the girl
in your face
Meanwhile the Fall of America
We like the lovers of Pompeii frozen in lava
embracing
Our history all we knew and abided by crumbles
into industrial back black bleak burning water
What was the reason to believe? & love is from
another fairy-tale era
In a motel room
In a pup tent
In the guest room
In the car in the other worldly Grand Tetons
Jackrabbits & tumbleweeds
going ape shit
O delicious skin O fragrant nape
Waves of genital heat sound like the inauguration
of this Universe
A sucking reverb and the Big Bang
is only my voice
There is no number symbol icon or word
come close to accuracy or description
We can’t rally we are inside wary of touching
the outside
The spoken air is a danger, singing
in the church choir could be a ticket
to the after life
This life on earth is a riddle only solved
by Death & what kind of answer is that?
Yet for a moment all the gloom evaporates
when you let your jeans fall to your ankles
When you put yr Mammalia on my buzzard
bait face and you soft touch my testicles
We’ve had choices
We’ve had opportunities of heroism
The directions of nations & empires
could have gone an unorthodox path
to Nirvana
But money pleasure self aggrandizement
got in the way
Because of you I’m still here
saying the great escape is still alive
I think humanity will find a way from this
sickening place it created It may take
millennia and IT may end any day
because of the damage to the air fire earth water
Yet humanity could & may survive to a harmonious
collective will yet free minded destiny
and you know why?
Me & You, You & Me, that is why in the drum circle
on the country tavern hardwood floor
in the meadow of magic
It is the lovers who deserve life
and we will dance again
Let His Male Progeny Be Busboys
Let Barbie daughter work a 50 hour week at
McDonalds & deal with male co-worker
predators in the crowded work space
like the other girls & women
Let the Kentucky prune be an orderly
at an old folk’s home
bed & pan division
Let the little Batista
unload the vegetable crates
out the semi onto the forklift
Let him eat out of a vending machine forever
or a Dempsey Dumpster
Let the Cuban-Canadian-Texan politician transform
into Whipping Boy
Let the Cockwomble like Stalin insult and belittle
one’s wife or lover as a loyalty test
Let the dark Adamms family wannabe do its turn
in the swank dungeon with grinning sadists
being creative dining on bat meat
Let Lady Macbeth the fork tongued gangster
spend her days as an ordinary working class
Saudi Arabian woman
Let the Minnesota Soccer Mom Prosecutor
wait for Beaver to come Home
Let her spend a few months in a cell
or quad next to the innocents
she prosecuted and convicted
Let the talented dark government groomed
and tested Howdy Doody
be entertainment at the billionaires’
masked costume ball
Let him Sing & Dance with Death
Let the Grand Bribers beg on the sidewalks
& let their progeny be bus boys
About the poet, Andy Clausen
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