:jawa

BEYOND BLUE SKY

Reality was quoted grey
but Skies are much prettier,
no one gets a High off a Tree
but Neon Lights send chills
of great happenings;
Cigarettes
have come and gone today,
now the Mushroom is in demand
the Real Thing
I mean the Powder kind
True Reality to Blow my Mind.
What is out there lying
beyond Blue Skies?
What makes a nation of slaves?
What is greater than
the Advertised kind,
or a Government approved fix;
How is life enhanced by the thing,
when the event goes Unremembered?
How can past generations understand,
when Alcohol makes them Apathetic.
What is out there lying
deeper than Blue Sky;
It is not God
the LSD Religious fix is dead.
What is the true worth of the trip
when Reality brings on;
Harsh Reality behind the bars
of your 24 hour addicts prison cell.
What is the point?
Flying past the Blue Skies
or Money the "Evil"
to bring forth such Goodness.
For what is the Good,
if Happiness is bought
for the price of your slavery
to a Monkey for a Habit
you gave Yourself,
with the fix in your hands:
Reality,
is more than grey
it is the colour of the bean.
Pop one, or snort the system
out of it; you serve the machine.
Designer Drugs, Booze for fuel
beyond Blue Sky;
One finds only Fools,
or a hill.

:jawa

:jawa

LESSONS

Shimmied up a Tree
for an Apple,
scrapped my knee
sat in a classroom
so complacently,
learnt about the three R's
One
Two
Three
cause when I reach High School
they say I will need all three;

High school came
I changed to a man from a boy
grade school is nice they said
but all that Education is Void
Algebra, Shakespeare, Health
and Trigonometry
if you don't learn these
you can not hope
to get your College Degree;

Up the Ladder now Two Rungs,
the final test
so far Education has left me
a total mess,
to this day I have never used Algebra
to cash one single Pay Cheque
and what they said
that I did need never got me my Degree;

For when I hit College
I knew the letters
V and D
in College and today
I have always read my Poetry,
in College I had the three R's
still they failed me
for in College
I never learned
Pub Drinking
Love Making
Drug Trafficking;

So today I have my Apple
and all of William's leads
so today I have every Lesson
they said I would ever need
but I also have a Lesson
that no Teacher ever taught me:

Lessons come from Within,
Not the Education Ministry.

Take some advice Darth. You never know for sure when it's been cut with soap or ground-up flourescent bulbs. Switch to Crack.

:jawa

SINISTER EGGMEN

Small town boys
with their new found toy
orange short radiant hair
peering over style free glasses,
leather bracelets
bedecked with care
shouting obscenities in the air
when they can
crying Anarchy
all over the land
working still Nine to Five
for the Man,
little boys;

Waking up,
growing false fangs
then shaving them
losing locks in the air
bobbing, leering
sings unclearly
hiding their heads in the sand
finding themselves alone
when they can
hanging out with other
Sinister Eggmen.
Thrashing wildly about,
that's the end
little Eggman;

For Homemade leather
replaced by Store Bought leather
is no more safety pins
but trendy fashions,
old tye dyed jeans
Boys of London clothes
from a magazine
short spiked hair with cream
and care
not part of the scene,
just a pose
for members of the silent minority
now a big majority
all the false hopes of Eggmen,
fearing imported clones
from over sea
doing the best they can
to be originals
yet failing;

For yolk is so cliche
rebel Eggmen have gone today
rebel eggmen wearing suits
making you bunch pay
marketing the gear they wore
as teens telling you,
that it's your dream
laughing
oh yes, they laugh
at all you Sinister Eggmen;

For Hippies made their stand
breaking windows
and Black Swastika's
cold grown Punker Bands
the day of hard core Punk
has gone on by
only small town,
middle class boys carry on
ex-boy scouts screaming
along with the fading songs
of the Sinister Eggmen.

SUICIDE

Existence
is the Layman's term
Depression
is how Psychologists
name it
Glamour is how Hollywood
knows it;
Heaven
the Religious claim.
Life or Science,
an accurate form of Reality
names and faces we all know;
closest word being Society.
Generals smoke cigars
rolled from it,
label it War
One Carpenter built it;
with Twelve of his friends.
Karl Marx taught
and identified it,
Class Struggle
Subways take you through it,
and Abraham made a Covenant to it.
Henry made a Black Car
from it,
Hittler saw it,
and designed a Flag
to go around it.
in the Desert
they have 99 Beautiful names
for it.
Historians point out
life's viscous cycles,
Advertisers call it
Prime Time.
Democracy
votes it in,
Communists
order it about.
Peace activists
chain themselves to it;
Housewives serve it
to their families.
Addicted we Smoke it,
Drink it, Snort it,
or Shoot.
Business calls it
Recession
and like Cowards,
Poets call it Love.

Peculiar that we give
so many labels
to the One Word
that says it best.

FEEDING THE ANIMALS

Went to sleep,
I dreamt of the Killing Machine.
Fed the Animals on my porch
heard a noise,
heard Her approach
with no feelings
I said,"Hi"
looked away into the sky
clouds hovered in
turned to grey
I looked away
from blackening day;

In a field stretching
into horizons;
never ceasing,
never stopping
rain came drip dropping
on my head.
The rain was blood
the rain was red.
I ran to the only warm shelter,
a tenement house
on the outskirts of Skelter
it was so cozy small from outside,
the inside hall stretched
forty miles
I walked alone.

Noise level grew,
found myself in the Human Zoo.
Everyone I had ever met,
seen or knew was here with me
in the Killing Machine;
a Dream Disguise
harmlessly I got in line.
Did not know what was up?
All I knew was surprise.
The wait was long
as I shuffled along
in this huge snaking
Amusement line.
I drew close,
heard the shrill whistle;
People rushed and dressed
in Surgical Gowns.
They took positions as casserole
dishes on conveyor belts;
brought forth Beautiful People,
Blonde haired and strong
totally naked:
Not one Doctor assaulted a lady.

The Referees grew tense
then came the next whistle
the Surgeons started hacking off
all the heads.
Using razors,
Tools of the Times
they reshaped Flesh and Bone
to suit their own Principles.
The timer went off,
the Winners received
Gold Medals
as pulpy casserole dishes
were drawn away.
I looked in horror
at Reverend Chain Smoker;
he smiled and told me
he had competed already twice today.

I left the line up
to retreat to the corner,
a pen of Animals were caged there.
I fed them grass pellets
straight from the kitchen,
until the Keepers came
and took them away.
I followed closely
while the games they continued
I lost track
of the Animals I chased;
Technicians took me
and put me into line
insisted that I participate,
I Refused.
I was hazy,
totally revulsed
they brought me to the Clinic
with care Doctors in White,
Big Chested Nurses
explained to me all was
Harmless Fun
Good Therapy
I would not Believe it.
Sighing;
they showed me the
grizzly Human Factory.
The Victims were just Actors,
the Mutilations
just Holograms
no one got hurt;
like in the Movies.
The Fun was Good Natured
and Tame.
I was not Resolved,
it felt Morbid:
so the Doctors held me back
in Sick Bay.
They tried to calm me
or Seduce me was it;
with Sexual Favours
from the Blonde Nurse French
I would not Co-operate,
so back outside I was placed
back in the line up now
Nine to Five;
Twenty-Four Hours straight.
I saw my Parents
I saw my Teachers,
I watched them all
continue to hack and chop
still Animals feeding
in distant pens;
being taken away
to feed the Actors.

A Smell of Ozone,
a Spark in the Machine
the Dream was Real
the Dream was over,
the killing went on
no more Actors
all were butchered.
The Animals in the pens
were really Myself:
the Doctors and Nurses
turned into Animals,
Animals eating Humans;
Animals feeding themselves,
panic became real
the People did flee
but no one left Skelter House.
Mouselings abused us
Pigs kicked and used us
Chickens and Cows
gorged themselves
the rain stopped flowing;
Humanity stopped flowing.
And the fields grew diminutive.
I was back at my house;

The clouds were passing
the girl was strutting
She was not Real
She was just a Cat
the People all faded;
fed to the Animals
Animals Corrupted,
turned to images of Ourselves
I stirred and woke
from my Day-Nightmare;

Was in the woods now
Feeding Myself
Feeding the Animals
Sparks in the Ozone
the Dream is still on,
I can hardly wait:
till I wake up.

THERE IS NO PLACE FOR CORPORATION
IN THE LAND OF KIPPLES DOMAIN

Standing,
like two icons in the sky
the towers stand.
Made of gleaming white rock
they appear as bones of the earth,
erected as a monument,
to the Free Enterprise system
and the Man.

He looks back and smiles,
for but a few years ago
this castle was not here;
yet through peril and hurricanes
he and his clan,
traversed the seas wrath
in vessels of plywood and tin.
He came with but a pittance
in his pockets,
but that soon changed;
hurling his fortune into the Earth
it took shape,
formed and became a structure
small and potent,
it grew again.

But that is the way
all cancers do,
small and slow at first,
then quickly and out of control.
Additions are made to the palace,
now it has it's towers of ivory,
and it has an ebony abutment
where the Royal Suite lies.
Completed now with
hall of greetings,
wonder of marble and brass.
Domed on the top with crystal
and chandeliers of sparkling gold,
fitted with long low chambers
of merriment and meeting.
Also the caverns of the stables,
home of the horseless chariots;
we return to the present.

This fortress of achievement
stands silent.
The Overlord now has work
still to do,
he must stock slaves
to fill his kingdom
but he is not alone.
He calls upon his allies,
they come.
The High Priestess
and her Siren answer the call
using seduction and temptation
they begin their work.
Those who sow their grain
in the right places
reap in rewards;
at first one soul,
then another
now by one's and two's,
and three's
now in scores they come
lured by the promise
that the Sun and the Moon
will be theirs.

Chains however clink
and rattle amongst
the cries of woe and despair.
Now the Task Masters come
to wield the yoke and axe,
to keep the peasants
in control,
but outside help is still needed;
guards of finest breed
are implanted into the castle
to control the workers.
Giving orders from up high,
like little machines
they march to the masters tune
finally come the Priests and Lords,
the Ladies of lore and wisdom.
They laugh;
down on the little people,
worker slave, they cry
"Harken to us plebeians
of most contemptible nature,
we are your superiors
the chosen ones of the Man."
They work their mathematical magic,
and the master grabs greedily
at his stack of ever growing wealth.
All is smoothly running,
so the Corporate Empire
sits back on it's laurels
and relaxes in a state
of self confidence and arrogance;
deaf to the sound
of the end approaching.
It is here,
It is now:
Lone centurion on patrol,
trips and discovers
the end in the form of a hole,
in a voice of command
he orders suspect to arise
and face judgement.
It comes,
as a brown furry gopher,
rodent of little harm
scampers out and grins;
"Fascist guard bring me substance,
and I will set you free."
The guard runs like lightning,
reacts, thoughts of freedom
spur him on to the kitchen
to get required food.
The guard returns
and the gopher
devours the meal,
the pact is made;
the end comes.

Night falls and the moon rises
clear, crisp, clean
Lords and Ladies,
the Master safe in dream land
they turn uneasily tonight;
creeping through woods
the army is approaching
Kipple comes
let none stand in it's path.
At day break the Corporation
once again starts wheels in motion:
Just another day,
or is it?

Two great towers shudder once
then twice
a final time
which makes it thrice,
pressure mounts
then charge:
The walls are besieged
by massive Kipple
Animals and Plants
of every shape and form,
Insects, Scum and Dust
Cobwebs, Rust
hit with grinding impact,
causing momentary freedom.
The slaves react;
they rip off their uniforms
and throw down their tools
running like wild naked apes,
they attack all they see.
Using Nail, Claw, Bite,
Fist, Kick, Punch
they destroy property
and then people.
First to die are
goon like centurions,
prison guards;
Except the young centurion,
he runs naked with the pack:
Panic stricken,
guests try to escape in vain
but are cut down
by the savage mob.
The outer walls crumble,
forest animals and naked apes
hail each other
they begin again new violence.
They rush the Temple
throw down the doors
forcing the Siren
down to the ground,
they rape her.
Ten score apes ravish her
filling her with molten lust;
then they take her
up into one tower
and hurl her to the ground.
The Bitch dies in a puddle
of her own blood:
Searching the Temple further,
for the High Priestess
they find her;
dead by her own hand.
They ransack the Temple;
then, return through secret tunnels
arrive at the den of magicians
who create profit for the master.
The Lords and Ladies see apes,
and flee horrified;
but to no avail.
They die and scream
in anguish and surprise.
Then there is Silence:

Torches are lit
and a wall of flesh and fur
surrounds the fortress.
None shall pass the forest animal,
nor the naked ape.
All remaining will perish
in the purifying flames,
the Empire gone;
only rubble and ruin remain
to tell of its passing.
The naked apes are gone;
accepted back by the masses,
to the safety of Decent Society
only the ruins stand,
crawling with scavengers
and parasites
eating the flesh and bones
of the remaining corpses.

A Snake slithers along
the edge of a razor blade.
A family of Maggots
live warm and cozy
in the skull cavity of a body,
feasting on the now inert grey ooze
that once was a brain.
Ravens feed on
glazed charred eyeballs,
while wax like skin and intestines
nourish a brood of Spiders.
The battle field is picked clean,
the parasites depart
leaving ruin that time
soon will efface completely.
Rocks turn to dust,
blow away in the wind;
all is gone.
Eventually all
is a grassy dell
like long ago.
The Man and his Kingdom,
faded memories.

The gopher is wise,
for he knows
there is no room
for Corporation
in the land of Kipple's domain.

damn but you're good.

sun's setting over me and all that has been dreamed.

thank you!
very high praise indeed
coming from the land
of some of the greatest
peots, authors and writers
of all time.

I read Sinister Eggmen like you told me to and I found it very deep and thought-provoking.

It is somewhat me I guess(Trying as hard as I can be to be original) But I do act differently on forums than I actually I am. I just release my angst a bit. I'm always doing a little pre-association typing.

But yeah, you wrote basically my entire environment. There are so many screaming posers around me that do that.

I love the idea (or fact) about commercialism taking advantage of these people trying to be individuals. I'm always yelling at my very Goth brother(all chains, spiked hair, spiked gaunlets, tall boots, black make-up) I yell at him, "If you're going to try to be an individual, do you have to pay so much for it?"

I love the poem a lot. I'll have to make Jen read it.

Maybe I should try some so SADs myself.

That poem reminds me. Have you ever seen SLC punk? That is a very good movie.

I'm glad you read the post Jofa and let's see, I just want to clear up something right now, posting as we do, is sort of like intelectual jousting, I can not speak for you, but I will speak for myself. I am a very odd duck myself. I am very opinionated, selfcentered at times, and can be art fagish and pretetious myself. I also many many times on purpose play the devil's advocate just to childishly get a rise out of someone or sometimes to wierd science see how others will respond to what I post. I guess I am just trying like most people do to kind of be like look at me, look at me! I mean I do not know you, or what life you lead, how good it is, or how bad, so sometimes one can when talking to quasi strangers go too far over the line or the edge trying to be funny, cool or savy. There are many times when I post things on this forum, that make others cringe. my style of posting is very offensive to some, I have people PM me basically saying hey don't post like you do. I also sometimes read posts by poeple and I think what were they on about there? I mean I can honestly say that I have several friends now online that I enjoy chating with quite a bit, and even they sometimes post stuff I wonder about, or might even object to, however I eat a double chocolate chip cookie; her is a virtual one for you; open up another bottle of Coke and smile count to ten and take it all in as part of lif'es big joke. I mean we are bits and bytes on this forum, user names and fake personae's, where we live, who we are and what we are really like, hell most of us are still trying to figure that out ourselves. so basically I am offering you the sacred evil bone, a peace offering in case you feel your feathers were ruffled. Now having said this all I can say is that I am sure there are still going to be moments of friction, disagreement and variations of characters online, between myself and other forum members and vice a versa. all I can say is unfortunately for most, until I ever get banned from the forums (they have recinded my PM priveledges so they are trying. ;) you and those whom I rub the wrong way will just have to sort of tolerate this vegetable slurry byproduct.) which is DarthEggplant. so I will kind of try not to bait you so much Jofa, but I have to admit, wickedly it is kind of fun sometimes. sorry.:D

I never do take what people say online offensiviely. I barely even take what people say in front of my face offensively. Yet I do try to consider who I am from different sides. So if one says "this one poem reminds me of you" I'm going to read it(and that's basically just human curiosity as well) I use internet bashing to release angst, its **** I don't want to say out loud to other people. You probably have heard me rant about being a liberal athiest in a christian conservative community. But otherwise I really don't care, so you don't have to write me an essay about it.

I did really like the poem. I think it is brilliant. I'll have to read some more of your stuff. what is the so SAD concept anyway? I don't hang in the blue casket often let me know here.

By the way I did try to PM you. It keeps saying you're all filled up.

SAD


Splinters


of Surrealism


and Driftwood


they are a poetry trilogy I wrote
a long time ago, and they are the
three different headings or topics
of poems I post in the Blue Casket.
each section has a different view askew
of life and things in general.

also my PM does not work???
I do not know you have to icq
or email me if you want to talk.
icq is #151128733
email [Redacted]@[Redacted].[Redacted]
or MSN sinsitereggplant
or email [Redacted]@[Redacted].[Redacted]
personally that Residents album
the one you said was good,
my 3web email can take large files
if you have mp3's of this Residents
CD and care to enlighten me;
well I'm all ears!:D

...

It's people like you who make me want to commit sepuku...<sniff> <sob> <sniff> It's just that..man, why are you so darned good?? You write so well and so MUCH, makes me realise how bland my poetry is(and how seldom inspiration comes to me)

oh, oh, you think you'd be willing to give poetry classes??

PS: I don't think you got that private message I sent you, Darth-sama..did you?

never send me PM messages,
I never get them.
my fan site like my PM priviledges
are non GFN related.
my emails are
sinister.[Redacted]@[Redacted].[Redacted]
and [Redacted]@[Redacted].[Redacted]
I also use MSN messenger a lot
and icq #151128733
and I have lots of time
to talk reason and rhyme