Rant 4

Rant 4

A Poem by John
"

Dedicated to mother and father for their genes they so graciously passed down to me.

"
Life is...
Like spiders skittering on open eyes,
fingers familiarized with ice skates,
or hooked pry bars
trying to bleed my nostrils
--twisting, insisting that--
Life is ...
like cheese graters berating
this thin mask of skin
I call a face,
or trying to face an inquisitive call
from a nail-salon where they
replay the Spanish Inquisition by
eating spoonfuls of toenails
and turtle shells
doused in light fluid
or using lube to shove
a yellow brick up your a*s,
while doing hurtles
on the side of the road
all the while yelling:
"There's no place like Home!"
But if home is where
the heart is then isn't
spending all day
in the same class
with the same desk,
same lecture,
same packet
with the same scribbles and doodles
encrypted like Egyptian hieroglyphic
allergic reactions like
snorting Benadryl
and chewing on
cough drops and tums,
or toiling away
by filing our teeth on tin foil
and washing it down
with glue and rum,
as in sorting rummy cubes
according to the rheumy views
of the thrift store walking dead/
talking heads,
all about "Macklemore, Macklemore!"
rocking beds
and docking lead pencils
in pimples about to burst
with Ryan Louis' pus and
hustling p*****s for their
imitation Gucci wallets
and intimidating wall flowers
into pollenating
and peeling the wall paper
away to show
the bleeding organs beneath,
the pleading orphans underneath
the table
and hidden in the closet,
listening quietly
as robbers plunder
dirty toilet scrubbers
and used plungers,
going dumpster diving
wearing scuba gear
and delving into dungeons
made into hostels,
hospitals,
and harems?
Underground
under-the-table operations
and all over-the-counter
prescription medications
and spilled eye glasses
spelling out that
the doctors and nurses
sitting on their asses
are drinking fluoridated water
from dirty chalices
in their pristine palaces,
getting drunk off
the leftover treasure,
another man's junk
deciding whether or not
to turn the music up
and the noise down
while we're
going through town
crowded with clowns
and brown-nosers
and hipster posers
posing
for their picture
to be featured
on the new cover
of Life magazine.
Now we've gone full circle
and the effect's still the same
but the cause is still as futile
as this fertile resistance
of milk and honey
that we revere,
the non-existing revolution
as Paul Revere
keeps revolving around
screaming "The British Are Coming!"
but the victims are running
to the hills as soundlessly
as in "The Hills are Alive with--",
The Hills Have Eyes,
but the plains in Spain
still get rain mainly
like ring around the rosy,
a pocket full of posy,
ashes to ashes,
dust to dust,
I will fear no evil,
hear no evil,
seek no evil
as I walk through
the Valley of Death
naked
and I don't fear the Reaper
but am still stuck on the couch
smoking the reefer
madness
still believing in Easter,
Frank the Bunny,
and Christian values,
battling pacifist cannibals
that value life like
carnivorous coniferous
forests filled with Ewoks
smoking crack rocks
and cracking rock and roll codes
left behind by
The Empire and cloud 9!
(Be sure to smile!)
Almost done now, 
it'll only be a minute,
time's all we got
and the sky is still the limit,
because I was put on HOLD
by the SUICIDE HOTLINE
and this room's a little too dark,
too cold,
as I'm telling Dr. Seuss
about my red hands
and how I'm feeling blue,
but I'm sure so are you,
so why don't we just get to
the point and stop
beating around the bush?
Light that b***h on fire
and say I I.M.d Zeus
or Neptune
and continue on this odyssey,
not 2001, more like
"O' Brother Where Art Thou?"
Worshipping American Idol,
the biggest golden cow
since the dollar bill
that keeps dipping,
but I still got to pay the bills,
but the banks keep trying to get Richie Rich
until I scream "I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!"
And my dad says to quit bitching,
my boss says to quit ditching out
on work, on bullshit
I shouldn't even consider
wasting my time on,
but the kids need to eat dinner
and I was never much of a winner,
so I post it on twitter,
but,
I'm used to being a loser,
so I've been loving on a pole dancer
ever since 
I found myself on the bottom
of the totem
but I never quit preaching,
never quit reaching out
and speaking out
against the injustice league,
not the pros or big ballers,
just the recreational players,
the ones who can still hear my cries
as that spider lays eggs in my eyes
because I had a thousand yard stare
as he skittered across my universe,
he got lost
when he couldn't decide what to wear
and my compass only points to Out There
and 
In Nowhere,
Kansas,
where my childhood could manifest.
Destiny's a b***h
and fate's a lying w***e,
and God's sitting back,
drinking beer
in an old, faded lawn chair
with his feet up on the desk,
but what does that have to do with a raven?
But I think I've been ravin'
for too long by now,
thank you if you made it this far,
because I got lost
looking for Him/him in myself
but
I was just trying to tell you:
how 
Life is like...

© 2013 John


Author's Note

John
Got to say... this one turned out a lot longer than I originally planned. But... it may very well be my best. This single-spaced words are clues :D

My Review

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Reviews

interesting...and definatly a "Rant"
You had me in the first two lines, after that I could'nt hang in there with you.

Posted 10 Years Ago


John

10 Years Ago

It got better towards the end, I promise :)
With my rants come reason, sometimes rhymes, but a.. read more
All I can think to say is "wow." This was just amazing. Wonderful job, as always. x

Posted 11 Years Ago


The feelings speak. This poem has real depth, 20,000 leagues under the sea depth.

Posted 11 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

John

11 Years Ago

Thank you so much. That was probably one of the best compliments I've ever received from one of my .. read more
Cecilia Marie

11 Years Ago

Thanks.
Definatly sobered me up... Good job

Posted 11 Years Ago



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Added on May 22, 2013
Last Updated on May 22, 2013

Author

John
John

Richmond, VA



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