Children Want To Know Why

 

Why is there war?
What is it for?
Do the rich simply want to have more?
Is that what we have politics for?
Somebody profits that’s for sure
Open your eyes, take the tour
Lost in the street with hunger pains
Clouds crying down in apocalyptic rains
Families sifting through the remains
Searching for their kin
Finding pelts of burnt skin
Like it’s a win
Fracking for the truth
Only to find destroyed youth
And the children just keep on asking
Why?
Why did my parents have to die
What makes them kill what makes them cry?
Hatred spreads like a plague
The truth is far too vague
Children beg
Pray each night to see light
But what they get is fright
Skies explode in burning glory
Streets littered in deaths blood so gory
Wishing mom would read a story
But she’s not home
Agents of war left our world so torn
What shall they leave for our kin yet unborn
A world of scorn? A world forlorn?
Or a nation reborn!
Do children need to die?
Why?
What does is bring save an unbroken chain
Of misery and loss followed by pain
At what cost?
Playgrounds of frost
Balls left untossed
Motherless children wandering lost
For what?
Belief in the Pentecost?
Ignoring lines that adults have crossed
Bombing for serenity
To execute their enemy
Kill one of them kill ten of me
I still don’t see
The children want to know who
Who sends their parents into death
Who sends the bombs from the Ivory tower
Having an orgasm while rolling in power
Far from the battles where puppets die
You’re the one who burnt their sky
Put the tears into their eyes
Filled them with your freedom lie
You destroyed them so you tell them why

Fait Acompli

 

 

Destiny denies and deep inside
Lets out a moan and a pleading sigh
I’m surrounded by the constant sight
Of the decaying visions I try to hide
The ugly remains of days gone by
So I get high trying to hide my pride
That was my life with me as guide
But I tried
It feels like my fate is just a dream
Karma isn’t real just another scheme
Mental stream of an extreme bad theme
An existentialist’s surreal daydream
Kismet can be mean
Fate a concept in my inside pocket
Stale memories trapped in someone’s locket
But don’t knock it cause you cant stop it
Goes way to fast for us to clock it
Too absurd for us to shock it
Destiny is an aura rocket
Fate leads you down the path of no return
You can change direction or crash and burn
Its your decision and you’ll get what you earn
Living through failure is how we all learn
We all go through it when its our turn
Its acceptance we yearn
What is shall be and what shall be is fait
You can choose to love or choose to hate
No time to ponder no time to wait
Like the Rabbit said I’m late I’m late
You need only look to the side in order to see straight
A date with fate is on the slate
And that’s great
For many footprints litter my path
Some I followed in earnest
Some I followed in wrath
Perhaps I’m a Guru or a sick sociopath
I can’t figure out which
You do the math
But destiny called me and showed me the light
A world full of seekers searching for right
Seekers of faith, seekers of truth
Seekers and preachers of forbidden fruit
Seekers of self and seekers of reason
Seekers of greed caught up in their treason
Seekers of knowledge real or inspired
If you ain’t found it yet guess what, times expired
You’re fired!
Carriers of doom pushing the cart
Lock pickers solving affairs of the heart
Out of work actors seeking a part
Unqualified teachers who aren’t so smart
Lessons to learn are so far off the chart
The teachings of age shoulda known from the start
One simple answer it all falls apart
Some solutions stay naked thrown in the wind
I asked the same question again and again
That’s when Fate called out but I wasn’t ready
Wanted to follow but my movements unsteady
Seems all of my travels have brought me to naught
Midnight comes fast with darkness it brought
The sun bows down in defeat of day
Standing in awe I have nothing to say
A lifetime of pains
Soaked from sorrowful rains
My question remains:
“Why is it easier to say I’m sorry to the ones that have died
During moments of quiet reflection
Than to offer up sincere apologies to those who can hear
Instead of doling out quiet rejection?”

In its solitude evening hung its head and sighed
As darkness broke down in tears as I cried
Sometime wish I’d never been born
But more often I wish I had died

Lost Souls

lost-soul

 

 

In memory of a special friend who saw the needle, and all those who survived the damage done. This is a POV piece written from the perspective of people I know and people I’ve known. Addiction is too often viewed as a habit acquired from weak willed people who are low life’s but few addicts set out to get strung out. There are many types of addictions but one of the meanest and hardest to break is heroin.
(In Stream Of Consciousness beat/street rhyme)
I sold my soul
In a dark back alley
Somewhere over there
The city of despair
Where running water
Remains constant
As the despondent
Hiding in dark corners
Amongst the unwanted
Individual and habitual
Cat and mouse ritual
Looking for release
From a world of strife
A way to erase
An unforgiving life
We just want peace
How I wish this shit would cease
Now everyday I need my fix
Started out just for kicks
Basement window transactions
3AM without distractions
We thought we were Kings of the night
But we were just kids on the run
Looking for fun until we got strung
And now we just can’t seem to get right
Enslaved to the world of dope
Trying to understand the dream
Of promise minus the hope
I was a glassine dope fiend hooked on powder self esteem
Popping tons of Benzedrine smoking and toking green weed
Ripping off a limousine hiding from the blue machine
Be quarantined and unredeemed if I don’t get my doped blood clean
Needed someone to intervene so please find that dopamine
Help me flee this fucking scene
Someone please
Save me from myself
I’m a ghost
A blank eyed phantom
Stagnant and abandoned
Searching for good times
Coping dimes
Scoring bundles
Committing crimes
Shootout in the jungle
It’s a asphalt rumble
This concrete struggle
Galleries full of users nodding
Where rigs boot blood
Poking and prodding
Trying to help me hide myself
Make me into someone else
For at least a few blissful hours

Dirty needles carbon spoon candle wax is melting soon
Arm tied off, red balloon mainline skag, shoot the moon
Milking blood in my harpoon hoping to remain immune
caught in a poppy typhoon getting sick but fixing soon
Someone better hear my tune before I drown in the black lagoon
Or am I doomed
How did I get here? Am I repulsive or simply compulsive?
It started recreational galloping the horse inspirational
Then authority became confrontational
Yet it seemed educational…. Sensational
Shooting the avenue recreational Lower Eastside invitational
Where drugs are inescapable and school was plain incapable
Of teaching even vocational or being motivational
Its reprehensible indefensible and dispensable
Yet there I was insensible
China White incomprehensible
It isn’t easy to break free
The entire culture had a hold on me
The vice no longer remains
Rid myself of the chains
Stopped the pains
Of hating the person I’d become
Desperate and always glum
What ever happened to
That boy in grade school
Who got along well with others
Loved by neighborhood mothers
Followed instruction
Why the destruction
Why the seduction
I was a well behaved child
What set me so wild?
Why was it me who survived
Why am I alive
But Randy took the dive
Why did he get the shot
That ripped through his veins
And stopped his heart
Life’s no fucking fair
Until you care
Live and Love in Peace

Punny You Should Say That (An Owed To Joy)

funny-pun-photos-9

I heard someone say that puns are the slowest form of humor yet it takes a remarkably quick wit. Actually I think I may have heard slowest wrong but after being stalked by corny jokes for so long my ears hear colonel when its really kernel. I get it, they really said it’s the lowest form of humor but I’m still in limbo as to how low to set that bar. At any rate, puns are a play on words that can make a kid kid another kid or make a grown man groan so I want to pay my respect. I normally write in my boxers but I’ll try to keep this in brief.
When I was all of six years old I discovered the power of a pun. We had a gas station named Citgo and one day in the car, with Dad driving, Mom in the front, my little sister between them in babyseat and me squished in between my four older brothers and I made a bold statement. I said “Hmmm, Citgo, where you can sit and go.” Meaning getting gas I raised my arms to pantomime driving. Apparently my driving imitation looked more like someone moving their bowels and the family roared with laughter. That’s when I realized I could use English language to get noticed by pretending to have irritable vowel syndrome if I really pumped up the the puns I could keep them giggling consonantly. I had discovered the lowest form of humor and it lifted me up.
If puns are low its because they are the foundation of clever of humor. They’re black and white and read all over, they’re the reason the chicken crossed the road having its intentions come into question, It’s why it takes three pole dancers to erect a light bulb, and the basis of the omnipresent schoolyard knock knock jokes. All great comedians are pun practioners and are adept at sailing double entendres at triple warped mind speed leaving us land lubbers rolling in the Isles. Whether it’s a three act play on words, a homophone, which as it turns out is not a gay cellular device, or just a simple unmarried Miss direction puns take sharp and fast tongues to verbalize a stream of consciousness quick as a lick. Many punsters, myself included become almost obsessed, trying to twist everything they hear. Someone introduces me to Isabelle and I hear is a bell and feel combelled to chime in with a ringing endorsement about jingle jangling word association. A Pavlonian response that has me salivating at the a peal of making someone smile. If there is a low form of puns it cums from the perverse endless sexual innuendo punster. Those who chuckle and plan at the mention of such easy target words like woody, erect, hole, or the mention of Master Bates. It’s a favorite of that uncle who continues to play pull my finger well past its age appropriateness. For me sexual in your endo jokes are just too easy, like your mom was last night. But it will always have a place in punditry because like splinter religions, sects sells. A truly great pun takes an extraordinary amount of cleverness and thought using one ability to instantly see verbal connections where others see mere words and plugging the pun in before it sinks in. Great puns are like hand grenades because you pull the pin and wait for it to blow up. That’s why I pay homage. That and the fact that I still owe Homage a lot of money. I’m a self proclaimed lover of all things punny. Puns are a part of everyone’s daily life these days and no news story is complete without slinging some puntastic zingers.. Here’s a somewhat exaggerated example:
This just in from Know News is Good noose:
FRUIT LOOPY
A cereal killer is believed on the loose in General Mills campgrounds and campers experiencing in tents fear. Police canvassing their tented community in search of the frosted wheat whacker who is making the campers snap, crackle, and pop. They believe the perp is Cuckoo for Cocoa puffs so The Cap’n is putting the crunch on by running background Chex on all adults using hare brained tricks because every bunny knows that Trix are for kids….

But news stations really do use puns to make their point as in headlines such as “Chickens Cry Fowl” or “Locksmith Plays Key Roll In Bakery Break In.” Another area often engaging in punnery is just about every TV show and movie ever made. The best bantering between actors are scripted with artistic puns. It takes an artist to draw laughs from sketches. Without puns the artist draws a blank but looking around in a room packed with punsters the artist can draw a crowd. So much for a low form, it takes a highly evolved mind to come up with such clever comedy. Dimwitted humor pales in comparison. Slap stick falls flat, bathroom humor smells, and I suck at self deprecation. Sarcasm can be a little bitter, but not much better.

Today puns are significantly more evolved than the early days. I grew up with lines like “Take my wife. Please!” or “I just flew in from Baltimore and boy are my arms tired.” Today it takes much deeper thought because once jokes are use they become less funny. Ten years ago we had Bob Hope, Johnny Cash, Eddie Money, and Steve Jobs, and today all we have this worn out and tired old joke format. Take my wife is now I married Miss right, but I didn’t know at the time her first name was always, and flying in from Baltimore gets morphed to I can’t leave because I was on the third floor of the airport with someone else’s stuff and came down with something. There are a lot of people in the airport so I hope its not terminal or the only thing flying out of here will be rumors. Anyway, IMHO, like rock and roll the puns colors are true so punnery will never dye.
Thanks for taking the time to read this pun praising piece. This thoroughly enjoyable (for me) excursion was inspired by a high school English teacher of mine whom I have had the fortune of reconnecting with on social media. Professor Jim Zeitler shares my profound love of the English Language and our abilities to twist, invert, dissect, misdirect, turn inside out or upside down the words that make up our language to make others smile, laugh, or most important, to think. Jim sent me a book by John Pollack called “The Pun Also Rises” which delves into the history of puns and its impressive how deep and rich the history of witty wordplay is and how long it has been an art form. I dedicate this post to him because while my high school daze are way behind me his dedication to instructing and constructing minds is still going strong and I assume he will forever teach many of us new things. He has once again taught me things dispelling the age old cliché “You can’t teach and old dog new tricks.” And trust me, this old hound dog learned things he can sink his canines in and I’m not peeling the bark off the wrong tree. Okay no more, I’ll stop, I’m bushed anyway! Thank you Jim Zeitler, your wit an wisdom continues to reach out and inspire minds both young and old. … PEACE