April 16, 2014
Kempenfelt Kelly

poetrespasser:

Between growing up in Simcoe County
and summers in the Okanagan Valley,
I thought it only natural every lake
worth it’s lack of salt should hide
a monster. And I’d lay awake,
and think about the bones
at the bottom.

One night, they called out in a chorus,
some seaweed melody, saying:

      Come! Join us!
      You can breathe
      the water’s
      just fine!

(Of course I knew
that they were lying.)

I asked them
to describe
what it was
like…
but they
      made no reply.

* * *

Written January 2014, revised April 2014.

5:35pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Zi-g2w1DEQ0QG
  
Filed under: poem poetry 
April 16, 2014
Shareholder

$160.
That’s fair market price
for your component atoms.
     You are value added;
you are more than organs,
yet you’d make more
dead than alive -
up to $45,000,000
for the whole buffalo -
so don’t spend it all
in one place, or borrow
too much on your net worth.
     You are not an ATM -
the profit margins are too thin;
your share is in the earth.

* * *

Written April 2014.

5:13pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Zi-g2w1DEIcr_
  
Filed under: poem poetry money worth economy 
April 4, 2014
Red Ensign

So drape myself in the flag
until dyed-in-the-wool is
more than a metaphor;
         I can feel the blood
         in this red, and it
         never washes off.

* * *

Written April 2014.

March 18, 2014
Hopeless Romantic

Une femme moderne,
elle prend sa mission
civilisatrice au sérieux;
schadenfreude en révolte,
on récolte ce qu’on a semé -
cui bono? Dieu seul le sait!

Elle prend une journée ensoleillée
pour une métaphore;
une promenade dans le parc,
pour La Belle Epoque.
Elle porte une robe
appelé une “Pinafore” -
qui est britannique
d’une sorte de sarrau
Elle utilise des parapluies
comme des sémaphores;
calls a spade “espada”,
tomato “tomate”;
et sa musique préférée?
                      “Rock”.

* * *

A modern woman,
she takes her civilizing
mission very seriously;
schadenfreude in revolt,
you reap what you sow -
cui bono? God only knows.

She takes a sunny day
for a metaphor;
a walk in the park,
for La Belle Epoque.
She wears a dress
called a pinafore -
which is British
for a sort of a smock.
She uses umbrellas
as semaphores;
calls a spade “espada”,
tomato “tomate”;
and her favourite music?
                           “Rock”.

* * *

Written March 2014.

March 16, 2014

Harry “The Hipster” Gibson - 4-F Ferdinand

March 16, 2014
The Great Fire

Let London burn,
we’ll party like it’s 1666,
and it’s the end of days.
Elect in nomine – elixir
prepubescent Plague –
Malthusian fixture
for a Guilted Era.
Nude intruders
fill the Harem;
scarecrow eye –
         Are you sick, sir?
         Long live life prepared
         at every moment
         but to die.

* * *

Written March 2014.

March 15, 2014

Playing with HAPI tracks in Audacity now.

March 15, 2014

Just meditating on my HAPI drum.

March 14, 2014

People don’t burst into song nearly enough anymore,
they also don’t wear enough hats.
People don’t burst into song nearly enough anymore,
they also don’t wear enough hats.
      Hey why don’t we sing a song? Yeah, we can all sing along,
      I know you don’t know the words yet, but you won’t get it wrong,
      ‘cause we’ll just make up a verse, and then repeat the same words,
      and then we’ll all get up and dance.
      Yeah we’ll just make up a verse, and then repeat the same words,
      and then we’ll all get up and dance.
                                                             Ok, your turn now.

March 14, 2014
Dr. Andersen

Well, I never told anyone this before, but I was there, I remember, two hundred years ago, and he wasn’t a God like they say he was. He was a human being like you and me, he just made one hell of an entrance. Other than that he was very workmanlike – he wore overalls, I remember that – and once he’d established the credibility of his power at an event televised across the globe, he presented a list of names and set a date to convene the Committee. Bunch of diplomats and professors and artists and stuff – and regular Joes too, that’s why I was there – and gave us absolute authority to rule in his name and a sort of automatic power with which to do so. Then he promised to come back in two hundred years and see how we did, and if he didn’t like it, he’d blow us all up. And, well, that really lit a fire under our asses, and we tried, we really did, and things went well at first, but boy… we sure fucked up, didn’t we? I mean, it wasn’t all our fault – and I’m not just saying that because I was on the Committee – but Dr. Andersen got way out of hand so… gradually until we were all too scared to stop him. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry if we all get blown up. But sometimes… sometimes I think I’d like to watch the fireworks.

March 8, 2014
A sad one

"You’re such a happy person,"
she said. “Singing all the time.”

Funny you should say that,
because if you don’t laugh you cry.
There is a song in my heart, a sad one,
but I’ve come to like the mask,
and I can carry a tune.


* * *


Written March 2014.

1:48am  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Zi-g2w19W0XO_
  
Filed under: poem poetry 
March 6, 2014
Sieze A Lazy Day

    What do I know?
    What do you care?
    Sittin’ on the ceilin’ and starin’ downstairs,
    openin’ the door that doesn’t lead to anywhere,

Could’a would’a should’a but I didn’t so it doesn’t matter;
sittin’ on the ceilin’ summer simmering a-pitter patter.
Sieze a lazy day well that’s a crazy way to haze a lady,
bought a bug a bottle so a beetle wouldn’t burn her baby.

    What do I know?
    What do you care?
    Sittin’ on the ceilin’ and starin’ downstairs,
    openin’ the door that doesn’t lead to anywhere,
but…
What do I know?
Would you care for
a spot of sunshine
to go with that glare?
If you need some shades
I brought an extra pair.

And you could’a would’a should’a but you didn’t so what does it matter?
Rainin’ on the ceilin’ beats a rhythm in a bitter batter.
Sieze a lazy day well that’s a hazy to way to say that maybe
beetle bottle’s better bought to woo a baby ladybug,
    a beetle bottle’s better bought to woo a baby ladybug.

* * *

Written March 2014.

12:32pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Zi-g2w19M8COz
  
Filed under: poem poetry lyrics song 
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