Breakfast Rapture à la Mode
All hail the new religion!
Anything goes …
Nobody cares …
What’s on the menu?
Poetry & Prose
Jay’s Poetry, Lyrics & Prose
The Scream Of The Reader
The Scream Of The Reader
The demands of others are paramount …
Relentless, they are – in sickness and in health.
Unyielding in their vying for your attention.
Be warned …
Yes! Yes! A story!
A story of infinite glory!
Have you ever met a spineless wonder?
How about a spec of thunder?
“To each his own”, says the needy,
mainly to brave the trickling pity.
But wait for the punchline; it will come in time.
Continue reading
To Each His Own
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 …
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.
Continue reading
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.
Full Stop
Full stop.
Beyond what you feel
you can sense,
but you refuse to see.
Pause.
Too much thoughtlessness,
– the usual behavior
concerning progress.
Freeze.
Continue reading
Canned Love
Canned love;
open at your own risk.
Contains vacuum packed soul;
all air has been removed to ensure freshness.
Nutritional benefits may vary according to serving size.
Warning! Love is a perishable item.
To retain the composure of your composition,
conserve your passion and keep your heart refrigerated.
Dada Free Beach
“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!
#Dadaism #Dada #Collage #DigitalArt #Summer #Resistance #BeachParty #Trump #CollageArt #Art #BeachLife #Absurd
#SpilledInk #WordPorn #AmWriting #Poetry #Prose
Snakeskins
This old snake has shed many skins.
He can not take them back.
In fact, he has no desire to.
Was the old snake comfortable in his old skins?
Yes, sometimes for a while,
but in time they grew old,
lost their vitality and betrayed him.
And so, he slithered away from them naked.
Old acquaintances still ask,
“Where have you gone?” and
“What is this new look of yours?”
They spit “We hardly recognize you anymore!”
They grew so comfortable with this or that old skin of his
that they took it for granted.
But this old snake understands all too well;
it is just his old skin they want, not him.
And so he answers “That was just an old skin.
It is gone and I am born anew, again.”
Some say the snake is just a trickster and a fake!
The snake says “No. You mistook me for my skin.
But it was just my skin not my nature.
I have always been just a snake.”
The lesson:
Never chew over dead skin; you will get skinned.
For skin, like clothes, makes neither the man, nor the snake.
In fact, this old snake isn’t even a snake!
He is, after all, just a cool cat and a Dadaist-cum-Sartrist!
Loitering Words 