Clearly! (c) David L O’Nan

This piece was written circa 2005 during the Bush administration. I was frustrated as much as I am currently with how the world was circling. I wrote this beat-poem, satirical poem (in Ginsberg/Phil Ochs) stylings & influence. This poem has been published previously in my own books, Fevers of the Mind Poetry & Art Digest Volume 1, & a big piece in my new chapbook ‘The Cartoon Diaries‘ currently out on paperback & Kindle. The point of this poem is that when everything seems so clear and resolving, people just bring out the worst in themselves instead. They don’t look for the change, they look for the quickest way to get by. Without thinking about the clarity. All the metaphors in this poem are looking in the deeper self, and finding clotting to resolve our bigger problems on Earth. A poem to rise against these hates, and unite in peace! Clearly!

CLEARLY!

Kaleidoscopic rainbow men
scurrying through dumpsters
In search of their souls.
They carry the hands of fate
with matching bleeding fate
They succumb to territorialism,
they breathe in tantric manoeuvring
They slit the soldier’s wrist in the green air,
The war air
Bombshells, gun shells
filling up their stomachs with nuclear slime.
Digesting liquified bones
Dreaming in presidential monotone
Picking the hands off the clock
with many shades of plasma and blood
on their claws
Ripping the tock away,
making love to the ticking
Relishing and marinating
in each other’s sexual juices
Lighting a cloud on fire,
then inhaling the ashes
To take in the ultimate high
High as a cloud they exclaim!
As they continue
pulling their amulets and chains
out from under God’s lockbox.
Sepia coloured tombs
being spit at by these loose streetwalkers
These, living in monarchy
dressing in megalomania clothing
They peel whispers out of strangers,
secrets locked in silence
Chipping away at the stones of their mind statues
Beaming red flame cigars
in their quivering halitosis mouths
Gorgeous sun burning their breasts and legs
with Cancerous sores.
Glory written in black on their televisions,
on their windows
Glory burned in their mind
much like a hot iron pressed into their brain cells.
They are found by cold blooded killers
With gangrene gasses and poisonous sewage
Trapping them into a burden
Parading them with acid rain
and bulletproof tears
The sexy ladies are there
picking them the flowers
That crumble and die once they touch the palm
The murder geniuses
are salivating in their orange vests
Screaming with lungs crippled
and dangling from their smoke-filled chest.
Staring into and out of trees
with decrepit sinister eyes
Senile diseased chapped loins
being gazed at on busy sidewalks
throughout the city everyday
They walk in moderation
To picket the celebration
To riot against a freedom nation
They want to close minds
Drink the juice of the atrocious arsenic wine
And who is that in sheep’s clothing?
It’s a It’s a government,
a media darling
The sounds of hell’s wolves howling
CLEARLY!