ALL THE NEWS YOU CAN'T USE

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads--d'Verse Poets Pub

And now we take you to reporter Bill Williams, on the scene in Katmandu to interview Sven Jorgensenn, who has just returned from the summit of Mount Everest.

REPORTER BILL: Well. Mister Jorgensenn, that's quite a feat you just accomplished! But what do you say to people who look at that and say: He climbed a big rock...what's the freaking point of THAT?

SVEN: Well, when you put it that way, I guess it was about my own self-gratification, you know? Because it was there! I guess you could say my obsession pushed me on to new heights--ha ha!

REPORTER BILL:  Yes, just think of what you could have accomplished had you used that same sort of obsession to do something actually worthwhile...something that would have contributed to the betterment of mankind, or the planet we live on.

SVEN: Well...we did leave a lot of trash up there...not exactly helping things, I guess. But hey, I'll be able to brag about this the rest of my life!

REPORTER BILL: A lot of people died up there..leaving their families to grieve for the rest of their lives..all in the name of something that has no real significance or meaning... except, as you say, one's own selfish pursuits, reckless obsession, and bragging rights.

SVEN: But it proves I've got some BIG ONES, now doesn't it?  No guts, no glory.  Hi mom!!!

REPORTER BILL: Now back to our studios for a report on another truly meaningless topic....the upcoming election! 

LONE WOLF

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

Kinda funny to think of 
how I once submitted myself
for your approval
(you meaning the lot of you)
in the ritual we call
The Dance
to be graded
rated
negated
castrated
or perhaps
sated
but in the end
it's all the same
but now you see
you've nothing I need
so there's no need
to bother
and had I known
how easy it would be to say
FUK TO ALL
(to be brutally honest)
I'd have done it long ago
and saved these tire tracks
across my back 

Never could figure out
the secret
to makin' someone else
happy
till one day it finally hit me...

Goddamn, Sam!
That ain't your job!

HARD RAIN

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads-d'Verse Poets Pub

I'll give you something to dream on
with your dream catcher above the bed
an Indian summer
a band of wild Indians war whooping
and an arrow stuck in your butt
as just desserts for rooting for the
cowboys in those old western movies
when you were a kid

A hard rap on the knuckles
with a ruler
for every time you caught
fireflies in a jar
they died in there 
just so you could see
some twinkly lights
shallow child

There are only stolen moments of joy
(admit that now and you'll be free)
all the rest is just the tedium of life
as seen through rose colored beer glasses

Would you cough your life up
like a hairball
examine it
and swallow it again? 

And I want to see an honest epitaph that says:
Here lies ol' Bob
his life wasn't horrible
but it kinda sucked

I sometimes reflect upon
who and what I might have been
had I gone off to kill people
at the behest of some politicians
I was twisted enough as it was

I can't imagine
I can't imagine

But thank you for your service
thanks for defending our slavery

And the animals are marching
2 by 2
as if they knew
a hard rain's a-gonna fall

ANOTHER APRIL

d'Verse Poets Pub--Imaginary Garden With Real Toads


What is this "growing old gracefully" shit?
Does it mean that you will not bitch
about your aches and pains?
Does it mean you won't wince when
women call you Sir?
And does it mean that you will
no longer be able
to hop up on the table at the dance
and drop your pants?

And if you did 
would they all just snicker
instead of scream?

I like to think of grace
as maintaining my own pace.
Each day the road is filled with
cars
trucks
motor homes
and bulldozers
gunning past me like I'm standing still
just because I'm doing only
ten miles an hour over the speed limit. 
If any of them had been on 
The Hindenburg or
The Titanic
they'd have learned that you 
don't want to always be in 
such a frightful hurry 
to get where you're going to end up.

Another April has come and gone
and I'm in less of a tizzy
more inclined to listen to
music instead of news
rollin' down the road to my man
Jimmy Reed wailing the blues.

So I'll take some time
to take the long way home
and when I run out of pavement
I want the radio to be playing
that same sweet refrain
as I fade into the topaz twilight.