Monday, May 30, 2016

the city

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

illustration by konrad kraus and roy dismas

different folks have different ideas
of how life ought to be
some want to do their duty
others just want to be free

some folks want to live forever
in peace and love they trust
others want to conquer the world
and rub its face in the dust

some live inside the great city
others on the outskirts bleak
a few still live in the country
but they will be here next week

once some folks lived in castles
others in hovels bare
now they gather at mcdonalds and wendy’s
and smoothies and fries they share

once some lived in mansions
and walked down marble halls
with pictures of their ancestors
staring from the walls

they slept on sheets of satin
and in the morning rode to hounds
but in the new world such behavior
is strictly out of bounds

others stayed below the stairs
and made the cakes and tea
but now they too are swept along
by the tide of history

the city walls are towering
blotting out the sun
over those who dreamt of glory
and those who just wanted to have fun

those who wanted to save the world
from patriarchy and from sin
those who wanted to invent the games
that only they could win

those who shouted at meetings
with whatever they had to say
and others who were happy
to watch television all day

now all are gathered together
in one happy amalgamation
there is a bit of pushing and shoving
but the train never leaves the station

the city gates are closing
closing in the wind and snow
a few sad stragglers talk to themselves
but they have no place to go

Friday, May 13, 2016

2 poems

illustrations by palomine studios

start over

by chuck leary

i wish i could live my life over
i wish i could start anew
i would be a much better person
my heart would be faithful and true

i would appreciate mama and papa
i’d treat bud and sis like folks
i would stay away from temptation
and never gamble or tell bad jokes

oh you may call me insincere
but whatever you might think
there is one thing i truly abominate
and that is the curse of drink

you may take all the world’s other vices
and roll them up in a ball
but all of them together
will not equal alcohol

you can build up your civilization
you can write your high-sounding laws
it will all dissolve in the morning mist
and drink will be the cause

i wish i could live another life
although it too would pass
i would scorn all evil companions
and never raise a glass

pals and booze: a fragment

by horace p sternwall

the original concept of the pal
is lost in the mists of time
but i summon it, o muse
to invigorate my rhyme

let women, priests, and bureaucrats
judges, jailers, and fat cats
look down their long and pointed noses
true pals will always come up roses

the only thing better, i confess
is pure delirious drunkenness
but what are pals, in song or story
but those who share in liquor’s glory?

oceans ebb and flow
empires come and go
some win, some lose, but only booze
will light life’s brightest fuse

and when bright dawn comes pitiless
to sneer at night’s now lost excess
consider that the coming end
may be your best and final friend