Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Alley Loo Yeah Chorus (Tuesday Blogging)

Alley Loo Yeah Chorus
   or Sane Tongue Worth Thousand Manners

Fickle fingers at point
   seeking out Tad
      who would stand for Simple Simon yearnings
      stoolbound in corner
      dunce cap anointed

Tad, we proclaim,
   though greater machinations get abroad
   over dead bodies
   than ABC’s abrogated

Oyez   Oyez   Oyez
   Hey man   Hey man   Hey man
   O yeah   O yeah   Oyeah

Thumbstruck Tad
   fundament three o-pinioned
   R for rogue
   R for rebel
   R for refractory

      alley will lull y
      alley will fool y
      alley will school y
      sully me none
      heads will nod
      t’others will roll
      hey ho me hardhearties n bullyboyz
      alley lullaby ‘ll rule y!

Tad, one ear bugged by radio hot line wiseacre
   whoz tossin stone with malapropos zeal
   t’other boxed by Salomez head-on-platter song

      let’s all sing Salome’s song
      let’s all sing Salome’s song
      let’s all sing Salome’s song
         sin, gentlefolk, please!

      if’n everybodyz victim
      all hands turn up clean
      whoz to blame?
      let’s all play hide-n-go-seek-‘m-out:
      anomalees, if you please … first!

If’n everybodyz victim
then everybody can be predator
But top must be on bottom
   bottom must be on top
That’s the rules of the game!

babe in manger
   idiot on stool
   what do they have in common
   when one was born to rule?

tother was not meant for throne or parliament
   he was taught misbegotten role:
   how to play the fool

shapes!   we come born in shapes
   some shapely, some misshapen
   by whose standards?
   critical eye! prejudicial I!

exception to rule of order
   Tad by election
   posted kittycorner to schoolroom
   pilloried figure of shun
      for pointed sniggers and gibes

here he reigns
   anointed with generation’s dust
   dunce’s cone for crown
   he shall moan
   he shall whimper
   he shall not cry uncle
   with temper main gauge and helpmeet:
   to hot blood and cold circumstance
      he shall knuckle down

come! sez alley-loud-yeah prophet
   i’ll spin you tuppeny dream
   i’ll box you shadow play
   i’ll sing you te deum
   i’ll hymn you alley-loud-yeah anthem

The earth is a plaything

he earth is a plaything
    the globe is a toy
from sandlot to shingle
    from suburb to sky

tis not gods that are playing
    tis not gods that here strive
tis vicissitude's willing
    the gods they do skive

and if from these hazards
    some good should arise
tis not what the gods planned
    oh no, that's all lies!

tis right here on earth
    that we'd find a reprieve
born of our suffering
    this faith we'd believe

that here lies our birthright
    and all is not lost
the earth is our freehold
    the world is our trust

goodbye to the gods' rule
    goodbye to their plan
in humanity's name
    goodbye and amen

it's faith in a venture
    contingency's throw
gaining a purchase
    amen and let's go!

1997 (rev. mm)

Monday, January 29, 2007

i sit here pen in hand thinking

sit here pen in hand thinking
commonplaces, while the snow falls
making it hard to come and go
i peck at my problems
like the birds on the roof, hungry for a crumb, a scrap
thown by a haughty god     'if i were him' i say
irreverently, 'well, i'd look after me first     dispense
emoluments with an imperious hand     like him     or is it me-in-him?'
certainly the snow is a commonplace     so is hunger     so is god     but
i mean     what i see what i know what i feel     not speculations
put simply, thinking goes so far, no further     commonplaces
drift upon the sea of thought, floating idly while the currents play
a suboceanic surge, momentous, patient, traverses the continent of the skull
projection of the infinite, more dynamic than a mountainstream in spring,
slower than the crawling of a glacier, upending thought,
moving debris and cracking ancient beds of instinct

i almost believe this:     but the birds skip on the roof unsatisfied
and the snow keeps falling, so i never shall get out


Saturday, January 27, 2007


ne empty word
fills the void


Friday, January 26, 2007

Oh lord, I promise

h lord
    i promise
tomorrow i'm crossin over
   i promise    i promise
goin on t'other side

cant help lovin and hopin for today
cant help it less than suicide
what d' y' do now y' do what y' do
   except promise
   'n i promise lord
tomorrow 'm crossin over
goin on t'other side

lord     i recognize
   infernal grandiose scenario's
      smoke machine's
         gonna capture y'
if y' don seek eternal rapture

but for today lord
   gotta stay till i get a preview peek
   gotta wait 'n see

oh i promise
   yes i promise
whate'er betide
i'll be yours truly
i'll cross way over
tomorrow i'm goin on t'other side


here we are

(Note: this poem was written during the Vietnam years. How much has changed?)

here we are at home
safely (it seems) and warmhearted
but in despair about this and that
bills to pay (it's xmas) or problems to iron out
vietnam, black power, the f.l.q. and so on
race-riots and protest marches:
these begin at home, too
in desperation
though we are all warmhearted
about our plights: what to buy, who to see
how to pop the question or find a job
the wife is taking a bath    for her, nil desperandum
because the water's hot, the soap is bubbly and the drain runs freely
these are our commitments to society -- what we take for granted
but our big talk -- this is straight from god
the horse's mouth or tipsters who know the winner
-- a gamble we can afford to lose
so we write our letters to the editor and feel satisfied
the rumblings of discontent are few: a burning dervish
or a recumbent bum ... but when the going gets rough, look out
we'll fight in the streets and on the beaches:
so we loll in bed, eat our soup, say our prayers
and die in mediocre circumstances, halfway between the ford and the split-level
in transit to somewhere
no inheritance .. . no dower to posterity
although the water's hot and the drain runs freely
look me up in the telephone book
(yellow pages)

c. 196_

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

To wish i had not been born

o wish i had not been born
   and to fear death's dearth
both in same worldy breath . . .
   ironical laughter from gods
seat of judgement distance lent

   i shall not judge from on high
i refrain from low comment
   and with compassion
urged by mortal pain
   feel thankful for this term of sensible being
knowing my personal identity shall cease
   and wear sighs and tears never never again


Is it for heydays

s it for heydays that I seek?
The stimulation of the racy life?
This vice, that satisfaction, the urge to be or have
Or do as I would do?

"More haste less speed," like shuttered slides that catch
The instant broken moment
That stirs to mind then goes;
The replica of all our yesterdays.

Turn a page, turn a page,
Another leaf, another thought,
Of what lies forward, a glance behind
Taken in the extremity of our advance.

Who cares for "sober thoughts and calm desires"
In these our busy days?
What price the aching forehead
That relates the pressures of the evening spent
In search of fond amusement?

Where to find our bearings?
What star to sight and keep a constant watch
On moods of destiny?
Juggle the stars! Reorient the sun!
Turn somersaults upon the lazy pole,
Our vantage-point for flags of nation-hood
Fixed upon the station of our brows!

Well? What god?
What GOD?
What ideal path to walk upon or from?
Who dares to march in unison with troops
The legions of the damned or dead
In favour'd obsequy, the leading principle unread,
Which states the golden rule:
"Belong or else be spurned; behave or else be turned
Upon the spit." You learned a lesson sullenly.
Throw caution to the winds. Grasp the lean bottle
By the empty neck. The heck with heroes!
Swing wildly, mow the crop like tares
That pall and fall in orgies on the stairs
To upwards swarming mountaineers, in freeway
Desperation. Visitation of the fevered mind.

Look on. Look up. In verses loudly call
The mess to order. Let others sicken on the sentiment.
Muses, poets; idylls, dreams of troubadours
In love with romance.
What the latest breath can tell
As I expire upon my bed of nails.

c. 1960

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Alley Loo Yeah Chorus (Tuesday Blogging)

(Note: this is a long poem, in 50 sections plus prologue. I will be posting one section per week, on Tuesdays. The cumulative sections to date will be posted in the sidebar, under "Alley Loo Yeah Chorus".)

Prologue to Alley Loo Yeah Chorus

i laurie fond old man
    eking allotment of sand in hourglass
    reminded of surplus
    how soon permission for astonishment
    search for foot-on-neck remedy

big z wunderful
    infra dig z mean
    big z little hierarchy
      writ large on silhouette screen

when bottom line
    reads in red
    “bottoms spanked”
    arent further bottoms
    with common weals striped?

peckin order scores big
    among mates
    who figger to rate higher
    on richter scale
    attendant fallout from causalties
    by rogues, bullies n ingrates

i fond old man
    exchanging baton
    meant for play or war
    hand down to successor
    soldiering on
    in fellowship anon

this my prologue
    this my witness
  written under rubric
    of westering sun

mcmdcccviii rev. mm

Monday, January 22, 2007

"Nature's Prayerful Niche"

Verse Courtesy Sunshine Hills Biblical Tract Soc.

A Sonnet by Miomyone

It's a rare cold morning of the early year
   my neighbour's cat sits warming its buns
on the hood of the lately-rested car
   in the parking-space next to mine

How providential, i say
   that Jesus helps eliminate
the trials of a newborn day
   by rejoicing with a cat

A homily i call to mind:
   the Lord is kind, the Lord is wise
no matter what your errant sin
   the grace that massages a cat's behind
won't meanly see feline intent:
   an early bird's doleful demise

jan, mmvii

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Buff-naked ...

uff-naked we come
Stuff-naked we go
Unburdened of pelf
Unburdened of ego


to rhyme's a reason for making sense

Whoa! wot me, bend the knee to deity
because top of pecking order
as far as eye can see --
or stretches bestial herd mentality?

   stripe me pink! i can think!
venerate power for brute's sake
might as well pity the lake
for not being as big as the ocean
or shed a tear over small beer

   i drink when i list for thirst's own sake
and heed my thirst my thirst to slake
one notion is to and another is fro
where has that logic got us ... yo
into palace, city hall and gutters!

   dry up rain! cease storm! sunburst vanish!
what's left to cherish:
deserts seabeds and darkling hours
naked stripped of their potency
like a hired whore's quenched fire
a violation of love, will and desire

   we come to grief and loss   lament the cost
unappeased by reason we beg to heaven
for amelioration
why? let me guess--
as if ours were the deity's business

   top dog or bottom   win or lose
to be born we share the risk   no shame
welcome to breath, spirit's vital sign
never blame candle's fluttering flame
no sorcery exists up yonder
beyond the magic of our wonder


Friday, January 19, 2007

Keep Off The Grass!

   dear to mores
contrary to writ
rarely fit our earthly pleasures
lasting as they do
eternally in thought
   but deed is over momently
and so adieu to prohibitions
solicitor of hangups
mentor of repressions

   it's hello to franker feelings
and how to deal with love and lust and arrant rage
acknowledging our passions unashamed
and unafraid of social duress
   barbed wire barricade
to thwart our predilections
   a press of pressgangs
printers inking laws for whores and witches
indigents and sons-'f-bitches
which we take for granted
inescapably as ours

   finality is banality   don't you think?
so tip me a wink my merry lasss
and together we shall pass our laws of liberty
by coaxing what we will to be
free of logic's anonymity!
   walking if we care on grass
or lying on it
just as suits our fancy
like a pretty woman's bonnet

197_ (rev. mmvi)

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

epitaph for presidential warmonger:

onest to God, it's the lowdown," he prevaricates
bumph   we're fed   shred from paper lies
   how low is down when truth flies
even lower than curst money buys!


One god

ne god
many manifestations
   number and name
signs for the countable
   and the unaccountable
neither of which is determined
other than by fancy and feeling

we grope among intuitions
   beyond parlance
and divide to explain --
setting apart ourselves
from the greater amplitude
to which we undoubtably belong


Tuesday, January 16, 2007

if, generally speaking

if, generally speaking, in the main
and not as a general directive from Heaven
virtue is its own reward
then surely virtue reverts to an earlier meaning
a potential capacity to act of beneficial value
and not a gift requiring a gift in ceremonial exchange
such as a salute from those who watch unobserved
over our good moral behaviour
that tiresome facility acquired by paying attention
to the strictures of one's elders
though how our elders know what the unobserved observer
expects or demands     i am at a loss to explain
perhaps none of us is to be trusted
rotten to the core, originally deceitful, froward and recalcitrant
bad boys and girls
though that's not what i have noticed
could it be virtue is its own reward when it's not regarded as a virtue
but a simple act contrary to our originally sinful nature ...
oh dear, my mind is tied up in knots!
i'm inclined to believe the scholar monks and friars were right
when they dumped reasoning as a path to Heaven --
and isn't a virtue
i've eaten of the tree of knowledge
rotten apple to the core
and time to spit it out --
bluntly, to hell with rewards
they select the few with whom i am not generally on speaking terms
exceptional behaviour is its own reward, nobody wins or loses
though benefits may accrue
moral: don't expect any special favour for favour given
    let things fall out as they may and will; that's virtue
and do me a favour, forget i uttered a word

Easy rider

Saturday sunday sanity
where have you gone?
      america marches on
from a.m. to p.m. to the sound of a drum
   pompoms on field of play and battle
   marching in like array
   before the bug-eyed black box
      chips off the old block ready to turn
burn baby burn! till even a liberal worm will squirm
   tail up escaping the insanity of bloody humanity
      seven days a week of wonder
      fifty-two weeks of fear and anger
   for a year's annual return
      the holocaust
the holy cost of dying
   bits and pieces flying
   miasma of plasma
   shit and buttons mixed
      hallelujah     son-of-a-bitch     ditched
   pitchforked into purgatory
git along little dogie!     the all-american west
   just went thataway!     unbutton your vest
you stink without the sanctity of saturday sunday sanity
       deodorant vanity?     ugh!


Monday, January 15, 2007

Meet your Maker Blues

Ive got a long-bodied woman
in a long-bodied car
i've opened the hatch up
and i'm smokin' a ceegar
guess what! ... i'm headed for a bar
with that long-bodied woman
in the long-bodied car
the drinks are on the house...
what am i waitin' for?

"meet your Maker with a prayer"
on the radio, saith the Preacher
"give up your black ceegar
give up your fancy woman
and the long-bodied car
'cos the Devil's got your number
and the Dreadful Hour is near!"

the traffic light's on amber
i'm headed for the bar
with a long-bodied woman
in a long-bodied car

let the Devil take the hindmost! -
foot tramped on the throttle -
though Doomsday is the Host
there's Redemption in a bottle!

when Trumpet sounds Up Yonder
i'll be struttin' in the Alhambra
smokin' my black ceegar
with a long-bodied woman
   i tell y'
Devil as bartender
diggin' Meet My Maker Blues
played all night on a long-bodied geetar

august mm

Sunday, January 14, 2007

If i were custodian

If i were custodian
of divine cake
i wouldn't dole it out
in crumbs
as if begrudged


Take a good look

Take a good look at Christianity
with open mind and feelings:
welcome to heresy!
honesty's apostacy condemnation's rife
prosperity and adversity rule belief
for ideals languish by wayside
with begging bowl
or flourish flamboyant sword of ultimate conviction
that sacrifices needs to intent

if God is God -- just supposin' --
why would that fantastic paronym
care about our booby enterprise?
what have we to offer?
bended knee and reneged promises?
we are on our own
castaways inhabiting desert island
under hazard of self-extirpation
led astray by pernicious habits
as if on lazy susan
that inevitably reprises cycle
to defeat any interal design or purpose
that by grace or providence could emerge

september mmv

To wash God's mouth out

To wash God's mouth out
with soap of unction and balm of Gilead
so honest inquiry is thwarted
to usurp direct authority of plain experience
or lack thereof
to profess oracular insight
by supernatural revelation

to be guiltless of error
to invoke an eternity of fiendish torture for simple doubt
or consideration of doubt
and to prevent recognition
that no expertise at juggling text
can transport us from our world to next

september, mmv

We people - you and me - together

We people     you and me     together
we know the whether and if
that govern choice
not a reedy voice from god
nor a living-up to morals
(little red devils pointing the finger of scorn
wishing we were not born)

    what we want are mights and mays
these oughts are ways like pilgrim's progress
better left for them that raise
the hallelujah chorus
for us exactly-made is tailored to a fashion
fit to preach
we seek a definition like the sun that's out of reach

    at the cockcrow
we'll not beseech the keeper of the gate
for just desserts
no more of psalms or qualms or laud alarms
straight in the eye     shoulders high
we'll march to oblivion
which suits our mettle
boiling water never melted kettle

1970, rev. mmi

Hell is Damnation

Hell is damnation eternal
unrelenting torture, amen
and amen to pain’s dispensation
as suffering, primeval and sooth
for hurt is injury’s signal
thru sentience nature’s affec
tintegrity body’s domain
mortality fraught with finiteness
till death do us part, amen

what more hateful inglorious assignment
to Creator of Firmament
than contempt for susceptible creatures
whose calling they trespass upon?
lust indignant with righteous reason
propriety turned on its head

oh, the One marks the slogan and challenge
blood feud among the elect!

june 14th mmv

I am Forsworn

i am forsworn to belief in unbelief
the unknowable as unknowable
why should i mock the righteous believer’s lore
since it would violate my own persuasion of ignorance?
turnabout’s fair play! an aye for an aye
and a nay for a nay ...
you that impugn my honour with alleged guilt and blame
as if i were attaindered by your cateschismatics
must be reminded that the afterlife is not life after life
it is departure from this life
it is death! plain words for plain works
redemption and salvation are the obsessive gambler’s
all or nothing staked on a throw of the dice
the irreproachable is not irresponsible
and i cannot blaspheme against the absolute
whose honour is beyond insult’s stain
just so, the wind of the mouth is a breath in a bent ear
taken forsooth as a maybe :on my oath, by cripes and gor blimey
your vain laudship aint got no moniker
lest you reduce the unattainable to may-hem-be

oct. 9th, mmv