'One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star'- Nietzsche
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Poetry

Poetry

DJ and Cepi Share a Joint

 

“I like oil. They got oil. We want their oil,”

Smirked DJ over at Cepi Tayyip.

“But what about the Kurds, who were so loyal?”

Came a hostile, high-pitched Fourth Estate quip.

 

“I promised Cepi he can have his way,

If we can have the oil.” Cepi smiled up.

The Pressman looked at Trump with such dismay,

and then he saw Cepi — all buttercup.

 

“But, sir, what you’re talking is a war crime,

And, frankly, it smells of more quid pro quo,”

Quoth our Camelot, another press corp mime.

To which DJ snapped, “Why, that’s a low blow!”

 

Cepi T snickered, he’d seen this stuff before —

The press all ruffled by such minor things,

War and oil and crime — and those Kurds what’s more!

After all, it’s what real politiks brings.

 

He recalled Donald’s invasion letter:

“Don’t be a tough guy” and “Don’t be a fool.”

The Press had turned it into a fetter

When Cepi replied, “I won’t be your fool.”

 

“Yo, Apprentice prez, what about the Daesh bizz,”

Snarked some intrepid “turd” from NBC.

“Depends on what you def of ISIS is,”

Retortled DJ Trump, without mercy.

 

Cepi moons, “There’s nothing wrong with DJ

That a steamy hamamin’ wouldn’t fix.”

Though an old poet, I felt oy vey!

(I thought of Midnight Express and Hands Blix.)

 

In a reverie, Cepi thought he heard,

“A Trump Tower along the Bosphorus,

between the two grand mosques preferred,

and just catering to the prosperous.”

 

The press keeps pressing for lit’ral meaning

(something they never bothered ‘bout before)

like asking a rooster why he’s preening,

A totally worthless thankless chore.

 

-John Kendall Hawkins

 

SOURCES

https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2019/nov/13/donald-trump-syria-oil-us-troops-isis-turkey

https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2019/nov/08/secure-the-oil-trumps-syria-strategy-leaves-pentagon-perplexed

 

Do I Dare to Eat an Impeachment?

 

O, this is “a massive fucking shitshow,”

starting with the blather of Devin Nunes.

We’ve no way of knowing where it may go.

 

The vast Left conspiracy is so low,

they want nudies of DJ Trump — such goons!

O, this is “a massive fucking shitshow.”

 

The Schiff-faced “cult” smirked at the google-eyed shmo,

as if he’d howled at one too many moons.

We’ve no way of knowing where it may go.

 

Nunes cries, “Russian hoax! Look out below!”

and an unknown Repub operative swoons,

“O, this is ‘a massive fucking shitshow.’”

 

Kent and Taylor talked up Trump’s quid pro quo.

“To do what he did was just looney tunes.”

We’ve no way of knowing where it may go.

 

Them Dems and Repubs going toe-to-toe,

like a battle of spooning silver spoons.

O, this is “a massive fucking shitshow.”

We’ve no way of knowing where it may go.

 

  • John Kendall Hawkins

 

Sources

https://tinyurl.com/tm75xym

https://tinyurl.com/yx6xk24l

https://tinyurl.com/vzors9d

 

 

Daesh Dash to Death (a villainelle)

 

The day ol’ ISIS went WASWAS

DJ Trump moped up to the dais

Much golly good news for USUS

 

O! such a media buzzbuzz —

al-Bagdadi in a dishdash chase

On the day ISIS went WASWAS

 

Ululations! Ditch it! Fuzz-Fuzz!

Dogs of TerrorWar in his face

Much golly good news for USUS

 

Our caliph cornered all cuzzcuzz

There was no tunnel in the place

O, the day ISIS went WASWAS

 

Heard a mother-grievin’ huzzhuzz

Holler of cowardly disgrace

Much golly good news for USUS

 

He looked the dog in the muzzmuzz

And saw an anti-semite’s face

The day ISIS went WASWAS

 

The kids in his arms cried, cuzzcuzz

They on they way to outerspace

Much golly good news for USUS.

 

At that, the Press went all guzzguzz

(maybe they were going through a phase)

The day ISIS went WASWAS

 

Headline: Al-B brought to juzzjuzz

(His hole blowed up, just in case)

Much golly good news for USUS

 

They’ve caliph-crowned the next luzzluzz

And even have a hound dog trace

O, the day ISIS went WASWAS

Such golly good news for USUS

 

  • John Kendall Hawkins

 

Abu Bakr al-Bagdadi killed in US raid, Trump confirms

 

The day ISIS went WASWAS

There was such a media buzzbuzz —

Much golly good news for USUS.

 

DJ Trump moped up to the dais

Featuring that rosy Apprentice face

The day ISIS went WASWAS

 

Standing there, thinkin

I might just spontaneously combust today:

a strung-out cellist’s crazed thrumming, smoky resin riffs

or a firefly flossing, light between the teeth of night

standing there, them sayin:

You can’t bring other people in   *ribbid*  

Just another sturm und drang mourning

in the lack of concentration camp, pacing

barbed wire eyes all around me, shower stall walls broken, graffiti  

The horse-fire screams barn up in smoke    the vanity of bonfires

Is it Guernica or “Guernica?”

You have 15 seconds to decide, beneath rohrschach skies

In this Auschwitz of the mind   *ribbid*

Rosencrantz and Goldstar pluck pizzicato at “Love,” 

waiting to be hoiked into their own spittoons

Outside the fence, outside where a fence still stands,

you see the thought-locust swarms develop the night,

clearing the koan fields, all ears shucking

It’s dark abyssmal dark in that Nietzschean way: 

(the black winks back)

Inside

we circle ourselves, eternal recurrences, and wait

for the Visigoths to descend  

Inside

Nero whistles at Dixie, the gypsy strumpet 

blowing a trumpet   the bulldozer man  

tumbles one naked idea after another

into an enormous wormhole, where futures generate

Inside

the minotaur is the maze

Inside

a cathedral made of gargoyles, its glass ceiling painted:

Adam exchanges fingers with the Abdicator

Ahab doesn’t have a leg to stand on *ribbid*

Smug-faced clouds spit out fallen angels, dancing algorithms

Ophelia finally opens a nunnery, she’s that ghost   just over there

And there by the latrine, Icarus does a header 

into a field full of uplifted sunflowers with Buddha-faced smirks

Overwhelmed 

*ribbid*

I shirk under the bed, Jim Bowie at the Alamo, repeating

Is that a noif?  Is that a noif? Is that a noif?

and count sheepish grins 

until I’m filled with wolfish grief

And now back to our regularly scheduled pogrom:

*ribbid*

-John Kendall Hawkins

Now voyeurs   keyboard jungling   tappy toe

gargoogles   down and qwerty   in the Dell

slashburning   by gaslight as they go

New World    Nazis phishin’  in Auschwitz Bay

(one jew killed   each second for years): don’t tell 

Charles Boyers   keyboard jungling   tippy toe

Dancing algorythms  of human clay

The imprismed light   Dante’s data hell

Gargoogles light ass-gas and watch it glow

Space between your ears   the last frontier gray

Colonial convergence:  it will sell

Slashing keyboard jungle   tippy toe

Fascist entropy   digital decay

In the big black man hole   rings Pavlov’s bell

Gargoylin’ and gaslightnin’ as they go

We know it didn’t have to be this way

It’s just the way all the dominoes fell

Through the keyboard jungle on tippy toe

Gargoyling and gaslighting as they go

–  John Kendall Hawkins

for Kerry

Out back in the garden, knee-deep in kale, 

her eyes seed baroque — old coffee stones

swirled around beds of composted worlds:

new grannies, wild herbs, and potato plants;

chicken bones (dog-gnawed); bees at pink roses;

crows carry on, a blue tongue flits at flies;

figs sway behind the dervishing hills hoist;

quince and blueberries, a dead brown dugite;

quacks, croaking, and throaty song birds; Hermes

toys a bandy in the shade of a blue

jacaranda; then the sun fades away

and rain plops down like paunchy Buddha bellies.

O, it’s a peaceable enough kingdom.

Through a spring miasma, her eyes kindle

fresh hope, a celestial prescience —

star fields in the black cathedral plasma:

no garden would exist without her mind

churning the raw green grist of the sublime.

  • John Kendall Hawkins

I will love you mercilessly and will beat

my frantic wings against the pane

until something breaks inside.  I will flame

like a solar fire filled with fugal heat,

and then press, press — a wild insurgency

of barbarians crazed by inner joy —

no matter if I create or destroy,

pushed on by existential urgency.

For whether driven by Donne’s tripart God,

Poe’s Bells, or the stark Stravinsky’s Firebird,

you move me until I am absurd 

with desire — like some burned out lightning rod —

a bird of paradise in a living hell

salivating metaphors at the knell.

  • John Kendall Hawkins 

Tacking, the square rig tense, and each bending

breeze a rapturous suspension; tall smiles

all around, leaning in toward isles

torn by tornadoes, almost lamenting;

blues on blues, the wild mast a metronome,

hoisting waves that roll and roar and riot,

with all voices deafened in the pilot

house, as we haul squid jigs and head for home.

All is lost, amidst laughter and the squall;

lost Dave pitzing his high-strung violin,

Michael’s cello thrums; lost skipper’s brass grin

at Jerry’s jazzy, sliding keyboard sprawl.

Dark first stars light the giddy levity

above the gushing black hole’s gravity.                                     

  • John Kendall Hawkins

Hero? anonymous bosh tacking luffing gulls
Ophelia swims up the river in a swoon
Hades moonsick Hamlet laments captainless coup
reflections sun buttered breasts glutt’nous mutineers
Leander hoiked into his own spittoon sees Light
Old Queen Margot plucks glockenspiel, and albatross
tone characters in search of the phosphorous straits
persimmon masks stretched tight as shaky chandeliers
Karl snaps selfies flush full of Facebook likes
Mary counts voices the origin of consciousness?
days numbers Shostakovitch the archduke trio?
riddles monuments to fear toccata fugue state
And thus thou art my love the Lesser Fool
A swim many one river fishing school