The day before yesterday, something interesting on Reddit, about female power, which was taken down by the moderation pansies, reminded me of a poem that fell out of me moments before a monthly Key West Poetry Guild reading began in maybe 2017.
Bi Polar
the world's favorite
mood disorder
the cause of all
human ails,
including wars,
if the demons aren't counted
bi polar disorder,
the destruction of the
south pole,
the feminine,
the north pole,
he ain't been
right in the head
since she's been gone
As I observe current and high-ranking elected and former elected officials pretend it is perfectly normal for them to have classified documents in their homes ...
As I observe President Biden and former President Trump and the US Military try to explain and excuse foreign objects flying over America unhindered, and they shot down two small ones they cannot explain what they are ...
As I observe the American right claim they are closer to God than Jesus ...
As I observe the American left gather in circles and sit down and hold hands, chanting, "Where in the fuck are we? Where in the fuck are we?"
As I observe World War III developing all around Chernobyl ...
As I observe the North Pole and Earth's axis have shifted ...
As I watch glaciers melt...
This is in Poetic Outlaws today
I am signaling you through the flames.
The North Pole is not where it used to be.
Manifest Destiny is no longer manifest.
Civilization self-destructs.
Nemesis is knocking at the door.
What are poets for, in such an age?
What is the use of poetry?
The state of the world calls out for poetry to save it.
If you would be a poet, create works capable of answering the challenge of apocalyptic times, even if this meaning sounds apocalyptic.
You are Whitman, you are Poe, you are Mark Twain, you are Emily Dickinson and Edna St. Vincent Millay, you are Neruda and Mayakovsky and Pasolini, you are an American or a non-American, you can conquer the conquerors with words...
As my mind rummaged this post,
I wondered if SNAFU without notice became FUBAR?
II it matters anymore what poets, songwriters, musicians and painters express?
So what?
The Muse must not be hushed,
She must not be hushed.
I also thought about two poets, whose musings I had put onto my blog a few years ago:
This existence must be enthralling to the types who'd trade nature for shiny beads, time for things and stuff that which they could use to make their neighbor jealous. I feel horribly if I FEEL someone envious of any aspect of my life, it hurts me for them. Jesus having a despairing moment was not that he would be delivered from this penance but that it would require such pain for release. Unwavering but entirely every bit as bored as Bowie had to have been when the Five Years had come and gone and wretched,small-hearted humans littered the planet, still. Life On Mars. "Well who are you to pronounce your fellow man as small minded, looking only for others to tell them how to live, what is acceptable, admirable, to be held in high esteem?" A person with a brain and a heart, too "pretty" to work in any field where there would be any human interaction as that causes both envy and harassment, glory be, one day I'll be plain enough to get on at Wal Mart, then can know a semblance of security in this existence called a life. Yay.
Why do I not write and share? Because I am full of rage and hurt. FULL OF IT. And not even slightly in the mood to be told that I am full of it, need to get over myself, have a chip on my shoulder and yadda, yadda, yadda.
If I am wrong, no one has ever even come close to convincing me, this life is hell and I'm to make it out with as much integrity as possible. A sentence.
I understand you derive a genuine sense of having helped people who so desperately need it, in dedicating so much of your life to the homeless. I respect it, I am clearly not nearly as GOOD as you. While most sins don't tempt me, I feel energies and it's too much for me to be around. I left my husband and stayed at a women's shelter when pregnant with our daughter, decades ago. I had as much in common with those women as I do a talking slab of meat, it felt. How to help others when I myself have never been helped and could use aplenty. Upon rising to a station of being able to help, how would this best be accomplished as feeding methheads and giving them a roof over their heads is not going to fix that they are spiritually broken and looking to work no harder on themselves than "finding Jesus" and praising him, amen.
I'll hush now. Rant mode activated.
This plank in my eye, I can barely see.
Jesus, Empress - did you train under Kali, who likes to collect men's heads?
After publishing at my blog your, “Pigs in mud”,
All want the security of the well fed pig.
Horror at the baseness unrecognized.
A lifetime spent in shirt stuffing.
Is truth more palatable when honeyed?
Is a stark soulscape less so with the eyes of Monet?
May my affectations always be known and understood.
Most curious. I wrote this a few days ago. There is more, but I do not care to share, this was my reaction to the 3yr old boy that ICE let die in "custody". I have that in quotations marks as it is custody in name only, custody implies responsibility for the party incarcerated. But no news media organization is going to say that, they'll say custody. I guess I'm a fuckin' idiot #1 for expecting words mean something.
Mountain Wisdom (Stanza 1)
Mountain Wisdom Says While experience proves Hogs well fed Demand shucked corn and sweet feed While hogs and their shoats New to the lot Will be eaten alive by Hogs well fed
(PART of Stanza 2)The hog lot is marked PIG PEN But the sign should probably read Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here That's all
I desire neither to be a well fed pig, nor to eat them, and simply want off the goddamned farm. Kali was nicer and less destructive than my Mother.
It's a mood. It never goes away but usually is bearable to where I can keep it to myself.
The other pig poet said, when he wrote his poem, it was "well bred pig," and then something told him to change it to "well fed pig." Same day you sent your poem to me. Has to be some kind of conspiracy. My take on Kali: she's kinda a female Jesus type, don't tolerate well, stupid thinking.
Maybe she's help you with your moods.
Lopping heads and wearing them would help. Sadly, none recognize my need to rule.
Where to start, then there's the mess. So irritated with my celebrity crush I could lop heads? Not quite. The authorities frown on murder as "therapy". On second thought, I'll stick to gardening.
It's a shaman killing, spiritual lightning, rewires tangled brains, hearts, guts, gonads, etc.
sloanbashinsky@yahoo.com
