To Each His Own

To Each His Dada | by Jay L. Schwartz @jschwartz63

To Each His Own

Why do we cast our eyes from one to another …
but only to those who nod in kind …
with eyes averted …
from what is common among us?

To each his own …
Oh, what a world …
Oh, what a world …

Hate finds objectivity …
an equal opportunity pervades all.
Tears are subjective …
seeking comfort in the cognate.

To each his own …
Oh, what a world …
Oh, what a world …

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For The Record And Pete’s Sake

For The Record And Pete’s Sake:

Age slips a purgative into our reality …
The mindset manifests in spasms of release …
But we are never really free …
until our existentialism is resolved …
and then we are still left forced to deal with one another.

My sister bought the first Monkees album.
We listened to it repeatedly.
We seemed to know all the songs,
cause we had heard them all on the radio and the TV,
our mainlines to all things Pop. Continue reading

Exercise Your Right To Tune Out

Is there some statement to be made?
A statement on what, exactly?
A social statement?
An artistic statement?
A fashion statement?
Some say that what’s needed is “perspective”.
More perspective … or more perspectives?
Hmm …
Perspectives are like opinions …
and opinions are like assholes;
everyone has got one.
If you don’t like the message,
exercise your right to tune out.
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My Modicum Of Free Sentiment

“My Modicum Of Free Sentiment”

Where is America, you white devil?
Down in old glory, in a helluva
blinding blitzkrieg of bling.
And you, my flaming sullen Greece,
not so far behind,
with nothing to the table
did you bring?
Ah yes, democracy,
in which all votes go to the usual swine,
and to their constituents
trickle down the usual piss, vinegar and aftershave-cum-wine.

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Dada Free Beach

"Dada Free Beach" by Jay Schwartz @Jschwartz

“Dada Free Beach”

Wind crab – breaking waves.
Sun dried tomatoes lay …
Where do we go from here?
– To the ship of fools, my dear!
To the buffet of souls, I fear!
And you with the flippers, a beach belly flop!
– Breakfast is served at 10 to never o’clock.
See the reclusive infant reclining in the lounge chair;
less than hyper is he,
for he’s got plenty to play with in his diaper, you see.
Such was the day, panting in the yellow tide,
with two menstrual mermaids, a Buddha and I.
All down the drain we fell,
with a parade of spandex wearing hippos,
paddling like hell.
Now the moral of this beach tale you know must be foul:
always remember to throw in your beach towel!

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