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

Monday, September 14, 2009

This, That and Another Thing


Zig and Zag were such a drag;
She would sing & he would nag.
And no matter what Zig did,
Zag would always flip his lid.
And no matter where Zag went
Zig showed up so she could vent.

They trudged through life, through highs and lows;
Zig and Zag – strange bed-fellows.
Stranger, still, you must agree
Was when Boredom joined them, ménage-a-three!
Zig would dance upon a grave!
Zag would never be so brave.
Zig danced upon a table top!
Zag begged and prayed that she would stop.

Yes Zig and Zag were quite the drag;
She loved to speed but he would lag.
So Zig and Zag just led their life-
He going left, her faking right.
Never was there worse a match
Than Mr. This and Mrs. That.

This and That could not agree;
She’d order wine- he’d bring her tea.
And This, so dull, could take no more
Of That entering through the exit door.
And taking off the mattress tag!!
Life on the edge was not his bag.

Zag digged This and that was that.
Poor Zig was stunned but there she sat,
‘Til she was face to face with That
Thinking “This” was tit for tat!
Zag fell for This and made his pledge.
Zig and That live on the edge.
That loved Zig so gave a ring ….
But then, walked in Another Thing!

Sunday, August 23, 2009

Not Silence

You will think I have no strength left
Barely breathing ~
Eyes clouded with the dust
kicked up from years lived.

I may want darkness, but not silence.

As I drift toward the River ~
The greedy boatman picking bones from rotting teeth ~
Waiting with grim impatience for my patronage ~
I shall fire up my will –
fan that pyre with the heat of my recent youth.
I will curse and ask for one last drink.

Let’s wrestle in the sounds and smells of my life gone by.

Not in silence.

Bring me music ~ haunting, shocking, pointless, poignant …
I think I shall like to drift away to something raucous and complex.

Fan the aroma of fresh baked bread and apple pies until the cinnamon and yeast , vibrant and powerful, waft throughout my dieing chamber.
Deny the stench of my decaying cells and chilling, slothful blood.

Not silence.
Laughter.
Laughter and children ~ squealing, teasing, crying.
Let them come with dirty faces and ill manners and
questions uncomfortable for mother’s to hear.

Not silence.
Your voice.
Loud. Audacious.

And dance if you can.

Be an accessory to my death.
Make it noisy. Bring the obscene.
And I shall do my part.