Join us every Monday evening for drinks at the new Kos community political poetry club. Drop by and speak your mind in rhyme or blank verse. Let’s use language to scream our passion to the world. Bongos, berets and turtle neck sweaters are optional. The keypad is mightier than the sword.
Poetry often tackles some heavy issues. Political poetry doubly so. There's so much longing in the human heart; the unrequited love, the feelings of hopelessness and frustration, the inevitable conclusion bearing down, "I'm so... damned... small in the face of all this." Poetry is a great outlet for that longing, enabling you to take wholly unpleasant feelings and weave them into something beautiful. You turn a negative into a positive, and it's just awesome!
But I'm not going to talk about that today. Since most of the work I've done (I'm very new at this) has been somewhat dark and tragic and cynical, I would like to explore the lighter side of poetry, and instead weave something a bit more... well, whimsical. I hope you'll join me.
I'd like to begin with some more mundane subject matter than you'd normally find in Indigo Kalliope. After channeling the muse through oppression, death, destruction, and tragedy, I began to wonder if she could squeeze through more everyday life sort of things. Here's what I came up with:
Farm Laundry
Dirt accumulates through the course of the week
on my clothes from harvesting carrots and beets
So I throw 'em in the bin with detergent and bleach
And I hit the start button and the washer speaks
Slish slosh splish splosh as it tumbles and rocks
Till the buzzer goes off and I pop the top
And I move the wet clothes to my laundry box
And howcome there's always odd numbers of socks?
Machines are thieves and they're stealing our souls
This one prevents me from protecting the soles
Of both feet. Now I've gotta pick just five toes!
Left or Right? I think you know how it goes.
Robbed, Heavy hearted, I begin to advance
Down the quarter mile path past chickens and plants
To the line where I find the sock wrapped in my pants.
Hallelujah! Hang 'em up with the wind to dance!
I mentioned that I was new at this poetry thing. A child who's picked up a ball without knowing the game. Naturally, once I found a comfortable pattern, I became stuck in it. Here's a little ditty I wrote, making good clean fun of myself:
Light-Hearted Self-Flagellation
I want to write poems, whatever about
Like an ode to a wanting to scream and to shout
when you're stuck in a meter and just can't get out
How could I write if I'm writing without...
AAAA.
BBBB.
CCCC--I feel like I'm stuttering
words are stopping and starting and sputtering
Try as i might I can't seem to stop uttering
rhymes as familiar as breading and--
Holy Cow! Almost did it again
It's like a lasso pulled tight
around my pen
it's a sin
round and round and here I go--
A gin, and tonic
would be just the thing to change up my sonic
rhythm. And rhyme. The time has arrived
but I'm too busy being Ironic.
AABA you see?
it's a slight demarcation from similar sounding preceding
Words.
Joy! Elation!
Look Ma, It seems I've accomplished
syncapation.
It's kind of silly
I'm so insecure
I'm writing a verse
that doesn't rhythmically compute
and I absolutely
Unequivocally
Refuse to make it rhyme.
Can you relate?
is it too late?
Can I ever change?
or Increase my range?
Hey... wait, look and see!
That last one was AABB
Here comes the ending, now can I be free
Of the meter that's haunting me?
It would be impossible to explore the lighter side of poetry without a limerick or two. Bear with me--they are limericks after all.
Autobiographical Limerick
There once was a dude from Kentucky
Whose rhymes were all corny and shucky
He told everyone
Always pun after pun
That he still lives is really quite lucky.
Now he's residing in Florida
and hoping to Christ he's not borin' ya
He probably is;
Not much of a whiz,
only came up with one rhyme for Florida.
Smug Limerick
A limerick won't be surprised
If it catches you rolling your eyes
It knows in its heart
That its wit is a part
Of profundity's skillful disguise.
Snarky Limerick
A beautiful thing that is laughter
as it rises and rings from the rafters
You can't find a flaw
In a hearty guffaw
If you can then you're kind of a bastard.
Oh, good, you're still here. Most people run away from limericks, but I'm sadistic like that. I hope your injuries are minor. My closing piece draws on controversial subject matter, so i invite you to take a deep breath before proceeding, and to cultivate a healthy ability to laugh at yourself. Do keep in mind that this is a forum for poetry, not debate, and structure any comments accordingly. Thank you.
And now, our feature presentation, such as it is...
Dkos Meta Rap Battle: Ruff Pony Ryder v Flowbamabot
Ruff Pony Ryder
Yo!
I'm Ruff Pony Ryder and I'm here to say
that the president sucks in every way
He's always punching hippies and bashing gays
and continuing the torture in gitmo bay.
All high and all mighty with his arrogant attitude
Never making waves, only speaking in platitudes
Bowing to corporatists, and then while he's at it, dude,
Treating real progressives with a fat lack of gratitude.
Taking our money, giving us the finger
Accepting our vote, then putting us through the ringer
Performing for the rethugs like an opera singer
Our rights still fade away, yet B.O. lingers
His song's all wrong like he's hitting the bong
The right fights mighty and he's singin' along
and their side rides high like an ill fitting thong
It's like a 70's game show and I'm hitting the gong.
On the stump, he's a lump, waxing like a chump
And he is what he does, like Forrest Gump
And his rump bump bumps, tax cuts to Trump
Squeezin' money from the poor like he's taking a dump
Now you've heard a few words from an angry American
So get ready to doze like a tired librarian
For some circular tripe, orbiting like Gagarin
Round the mind of a slimy authoritarian.
What?
Flowbamabot
I'm sorry to say you've run out your clock
and I come from the top to drop some hip hop
Calling all dancers, stop, pop, and lock
you're now in the presence of Flowbamabot.
Yo, check, one two, yo, is this microphone on on?
I'll use the PA to drop my lyrical bomb bombs
To light the path, to navigate like tom tom,
To praise the President like an automatobamaton
Listen. Up. Cause. He's.
Done more for gays than all the other presidents
And Lilly Ledbetter set feminine precedents
His wisdom shines hard with fluorescent prescience
He's Barack H. Christ and he's our White house resident.
He's a smooth operator and he governs so well
Puttin' Cracks in haters like the Liberty Bell
Your kind seems to think he was spawned in hell
Like, OMFG, WTF? LOL!
Your material's lame, cause you're lacking a brain
You're a traitor to the cause, it's a crying shame
The same lame brained game, I'm calling out by name
A droll troll who'd rather roll with John McCain
Your logic is failin'
Mental ship is sailin'
round the bend, off the end
of your bitchin' and wailin'
Here is what I'm regailin'
All the letters you're mailin'
Are a tote full of votes
for Sara Palin!
Yeah... step to this, you weak ass naderite...
Ruff Pony Ryder
Naderite,
Schmaderite,
OFA has paid ya, right?
Praising Him
Bulb is Dim
All you've got's Ad homenim
Fallin' back
Personal Attack
You're an asshole and your flow is whack
Hypocrite
Throw a fit
Pot that calls the kettle black!
Flowbamabot
If you're not with us you're against us
Vote for Obama, say Yes We Can!
If you don't like him you're a racist
God you sound like a Republican
Why you gotta knock him from the left?
Don't criticize cause it's a sin.
Poor True progressive so bereft.
That the right that you like ain't gonna win.
A vote for Nader is a vote for Palin
A word from a hater is a vote for Palin
Every debater is a vote for Palin
Say see you later you just voted for PALIN!!!
Ruff Pony Ryder
I don't want Palin
You're the one actin' like her
Ranting and wailin
authoritarian counterstriker
Just leave it up to Daddy, he'll fix it all
robbing from poor, giving it to wall
Street--
Flowbamabot
--You're getting beat.
I've got more mojo than a bear can eat.
RPR: Hey, Let's just call a spade a spade
F: HR'd for that racist comment you made.
RPR: hey, wait, no, not that kind of spade!
Both: Fuck You! I'm reporting you to Meteor Blades!
The Record Screeches to a halt, and the rappers' mikes cut out. The DJ comes out from behind the turntables looking exasperated.
DJ Silent Majority
Hang on, Hold up, would you pardon me?
My name's DJ Silent Majority
I don't normally speak, but I can't help but see
The emptiness within your comments and diaries.
Obamabots, pony riders, True progressives
Talking past each other, not getting the message
You're so damn smart and so damn dismissive
What hope have I you'll even hear my missive?
You won't give an inch, you dig deeper and deeper,
Each one convinced that the other's a freeper.
Stroking your own egos while the stakes get steeper,
Collaboratin' in a hatin' that could summon the reaper.
It shoots pain to my brain like an abscessed tooth
All you Dr. Freuds channeling Dr. Ruth
It's more than mildly childish like a kissing booth
So please sit tight and let me tell you the truth
It's not black and white, not supportive or pure
You're not even real people, just caricatures
And I can't be sure that the source of your words
Aren't the same orifices that are the sources of turds
Oh! Some potty talk, now do i have your attention?
It's not like civility is worthy of mention
In a place under the rule of vitriolic contention.
Both you false MCs are worthy of reprehension.
Nunya fake rappers can handle this.
Venting frustration like you're takin' a piss.
Now it's time for my rhymes to drop and diss
Ignorant Motherfu@#ers like Oedipus
Woah, i'll slow the flow, yo, to keep you alert
Blow for blow is no go, leaving everyone hurt
Your low show, apropos, digging into the dirt
Below, mojo flows from the same color shirt
Yo' whole troll roll call needs to invert
Yo' po' flo's no' mo' than a stroke and a spurt
That's right, it's all the same, and it's masturbatory.
Ten million comments only tell one story.
It's vapid, it's banal, it's retaliatory.
Now I'm dropping the mike because your lyrics have bored me.
Peace!
All preceding works are (c) Mike Davis, March-April 2011. Permission to re-post granted; permission to take credit denied.