 |
Web Hosting by Netfirms | Free Domain Names by Netfirms |
|
|
|
How Will the World End? This is the best poem I feel I've written; clearly I was influenced by what I was reading at the time. |
Mir Logic I wrote this when I heard that Russia was going to send the MIR space station plunging into the Pacific. Sadly I didn't have time to send it out for publication. |
|
How will the world end?
Frost says there will first be fire
As continents are torn asunder,
Wrenched plate from plate,
Lava roiling up,
Boiling the seas
Scarring the land.
Killing and destroying allFrost then says there will be ice
As the poles expand like spilled milk,
Freezing the highlands solid,
Icing the lowlands hard.
Transforming everything
Into a piece of frozen artHow will the world end?
Eliot says: Not with a bang
But with a whimper
There will not be atomic explosions
There will not be earthquakes of mass destruction
There will not be tsunamis of flooding carnage
There will not be ravaging diseases and plagueNot with a bang, but a whimper
No atomic explosions,
Just the slow extinction of organisms
No earthquakes,
Just the end of all life as we know it
No tsunamis,
Just the dying of an average star
No ravaging disease,
Just the dawning of eternal night
On a dead planet
Specks of gold in the sky
Blanket of blackness in support:
Shooting star on the fly.
Man looks, man sees,
Gem of fire flying toward the trees
Closer, closer it comes
A fantastic wish to be madeCosmonauts and Ruskies at work,
Planning and trajectoring,
So MIR will not hurt.
The colossus falls, the world’s heaviest stone,
Fishermen below tremble in fear.
Closer and closer it comes,
While people hide and wait,
Keeping far from near
A lot in this world is taken
For granted.
And often the best thing to do is
Just sit.
Just sit, relax, and listen to
The world.
Because it has a lot to say.
And while you spend your
Everyday talking,
(About utter crap I might add),
The world is whispering breaths of truth
Insight, and appreciation
For this appreciation no longer exists.
It died with the dodo,
And in that time two things
Took over:
Greed
And
Selfishness
So your life is now running at
100 miles/hour,
What with your lightspeed e-mails and
Cellphone rings,
What with your fast-paced job and
Explosive sex-life,
What with your lack of love and lack
Of passion
Passion for your job, in your sex and for
Your existence
It’s all worthless really, because
One day
You’re just going to be hidden beneath
The earth
Or burned to ashes and to remain upon
The earth.
So every once in a while just stop
And relax.
The end of the day is a good time to
Just sit
Breathe
And
Listen
Listen to the people talking, the
People walking
From place to place (“Gotta
Get there;
Gotta get where I’m going and do what
I’m doing”)
Listen to the cars shooting by at that
100 m/h speed
Just like you were this morning.
But now you are not. You
Have slowed,
To a crawl and now you have stopped.
You have stopped and you are now sitting
And relaxing
And listening.
They come in all shapes and sizes
Short and fat like a suitcase
Tall and thin like a coat rack
Long black nails on each digit
Two dead souls where eyes should be
A skull for a face
A blade for a mouth
The Daimonio come from the south.Children are best: more crunch less gristle
But adults are okay for meat and gorge
Predators are plentiful, as prey dwindle
And soon they will have to search netherwhereThe Daimonio will have to lead them
On to the next town, country, continent,
Or planet
Satiation will never rise
Famine is almost inexistent
The Daimonio know exactly what they want
And they will hunger forever
She stares into nothingness
Not seeming to care
I know she has one friend
One acquaintance
He only said hi
And she noddedAnd now she stares
At the world
And it just stares
Back
Is it smiling?
Laughing and/or crying?She sneaks a peak
At a man walking by
Not out of interest
Not out of any sexual yearning
Not out of emotion or reaction
She just peaksShe looks a bit like
Yoko Ono
But that is my failure
In recognition and appreciation
She doesn’t look a thing like
Yoko OnoAnd now she blots out her
Eyes with index fingers
To hide a world that
Doesn’t even know she exists
Or cares
But she continues to
Look upon
A world without a
Reflection
A one-way mirror
He only comes out at night
The man who casts no shadow
The man who has no face
The man who chases death
And never loses
LaMorte is his nameDressed like silver teardrop
A drop of unicorn blood
His face hangs like a torn curtain
His legs and arms spindly as cracked twigs
His torso like that of a coffin
Empty and smelling of death
LaMorte is his nameOne day LaMorte will come after you
On a dark night when you are all alone
When every one of your friends has gone
The way of the dodo
You will be alone in your house
Outside will be a storm placing a symphony
For your own demise
You will feel an icy hand on your shoulder
Then another wrapped around your neck
LaMorte is his name
Some are brilliant,
Some are useless;
Some have as much talent and skill
As Whitman,
Others know jack but profess
To be Whitman;
Some can write,
Some cannot.
But what it all boils down to:
They all have something to say.
Some can say it well,
And others not so good.
But they all have something to say,
So listen!
You might learn something.
I sit here in a
Well-to-do city
Santa Rosa
Sipping my hot chocolate
And wondering:
Who cares?This town/city functions
Just like any other
Cars shooting by
People hurrying along
Places to go
People to seeI sit in a coffee shop
Attached to the local bookstore,
Copperfields, because the Starbucks
Of Barnes and Noble is
Full and overcrowded
And yet does it matter?One middle-aged woman
Gets her coffee fix
Another Asian woman just
Sits
Drinking nothing, looking at nothing,
Doing nothing
And the thing is,
It doesn’t matterThey know each other:
The clerk and the Asian lady
Black and white
Dead and lifeless