The Space Helmet Show!: poetry

Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Saturday, April 11, 2015

Man Mountains (He Died Big) -- NaPoWriMo 2015 Poem #4

dudebro jams the needle in his arm
shoots up manjuice like a junkie
gonna make himself a manmountain
bigger & meaner than you
gonna grow big die big gonna
die young die strong dianabol
steroids turning muscles into mountains
shrinking his dick his balls & his brain &
growing his boobs big
& beautiful

big beautiful boobs bouncing bare
he goes fulltilt emo on your wimp ass
beats you up
screaming like a mad bull
calling you faggot mangina
& girl
furious fists flailing free in all directions
roidrage manmountain muscles straining
tries to strangle you with his
sixty inch pythons
tries to smother you between the
mountains on his chest

you land one big blow between his bitchtits
fivefinger deathpunch explodes his heart
he clutches the hole in his mountainous chest
flailing staggering moaning dying
die young die strong dianabol
death in the lockerroom
inert mass on the lockerroom floor with
massive manmountain muscles &
big bare beautiful boobs
epitaph for dudebro
he died big

Sunday, April 5, 2015

Jesus in My Teeth -- NaPoWriMo 2015 Poem #3

I saw Jesus in my teeth
In the X-ray my dentist took
Right there in a wisdom tooth
He can’t take it out now
While Jesus is sanctifying me
Through His presence in the X-ray
of my tooth

I saw Jesus in a pancake
He snuck onto the griddle somehow
At the restaurant where I was having breakfast
Downing a gallon of drip coffee and
Eating my bacon and eggs and bacon
and pancakes
and bacon
(Did I tell you how much I love bacon?)
And there He was,
Jesus, the Lord
appearing to me
in my pancake
And so I ate Him

I’ve got Jesus in my tummy
I ate His flesh and drank His blood
as bread and wine
at Mass
He appeared to me in my pancakes
and I ate Him
He appeared to me in my French toast
and I ate Him
He appeared to me in my hot cross bun
and I ate Him
He tasted oh so heavenly good
Like the Son of God should
And now He sanctifies my tummy
till He’s digested
And I must eat and drink Him
again

Posin' -- NaPoWriMo 2015 Poem #2

please allow me 2 introduce myself im
nonentity drummer pikki pockett
prettyboy poser
sellin out rocknroll 2 the man
sellin my soul 4 big bucks
& bad drugs
brought 2 u by
sponsored by
dont think shut up & buy
xtra special offer
get urs today
i got mine
im lookin @ u
i got all ur money
i know u luv me
clap.
clap.
clap.
clap.
got my invisible blackface on
cuz im playin 4 the man
sellout rocker playin 4 fame
big bucks
& bad drugs
modern minstrel steady posin
for the amusement of the oligarchs.

lookit all the old old rockers
lookin like dear old dad who
smashed ya rekkids
(do u remember?
u put him in a nursing home)
where o where have the
rocknroll rebels gone
from days gone by
gone baby gone
gone far far away
to the nursing home
with the nice white men
in their clean white coats
or the boardrooms of the oligarchs
sellin out
im lookin @ u daltrey & townshend
who sold out
u thats who
i dont believe in who
no mo
never trust anyone over a million
sellin out rocknroll
no more screams & riots only
clap.
clap.
clap.
clap.
sellout rockers steady posin
for the amusement of the oligarchs.

minstrelsy will never die
alive & still dyin
long as there b oligarchs
fashion industrial complex
lookin far & wide 4 the
perfect face & perfect bum 2 sell out
rocknroll &
hiphop too
im lookin @ u
iggy azalea
from australia
pretty-pretty bird
with ur afroamerica ghetto gear
& no bum no brain no clue
wearin ya blackface
inside
pretentious posette steady posin
for the amusement of the
clap.
clap.
clap.
clap.
oligarchs.

rocknroll & hiphop b dead dead dead
mergered & assassinated by the
fashion industrial complex
givin the people the finger & the
clap.
clap.
clap.
clap.
for the amusement of the oligarchs
in the name of
free enterprise
intellectual property
infinite cheap profit
& absolute power
dollin u up in hifashion bluesuede
concrete galoshes
serenaded 2 the bottom of the hudson
under landscraper wallstreet view
or london thames cuttin thru airstrip 1
kingdom of lord murdoch
lord branson lord saatchi &
big brother who b
watchin watchin u

please allow me 2 introduce myself im
nonentity drummer pikki pockett
prettyboy poser
watch me pose
pretty 4 u

over the rotten stinkin corpse of

rocknroll

Saturday, April 4, 2015

Foosball Riot -- NaPoWriMo 2015 Poem #1

The weird kid is
not popular
not cool
not a thing at all in the eyes of the popular and the cool
But he plays a mean game of foosball.
He sees the holes you don’t
He shoots with uncanny precision
He scores before you even notice
He wins.

Riot in the cafeteria
Fake food flying in the air
Tables overturned, chairs thrown
Hair pulled, punches thrown
The faculty can’t handle it
They call in the cops.

The chaos spreads into the streets
Dumpsters on fire, flaming trash thrown
Cars turned on their sides and rolled over
Whole cases of empty beer bottles thrown
At riot cops firing tear gas back

It’s all over the news all night
These cute white kids all throwing a collective tizzy
so cute, so charming
this lily-white riot
they’re only having fun
Being dragged off to jail drunk and
foaming at the mouth
screaming at the cops
smashing news cameras
beating up reporters
looking like utter fools
Broadcast on live television to the whole world

And the whole world’s watching

All because the weird kid
Played a mean game of foosball.

Sunday, April 20, 2014

Puzzle Game -- NaPoWriMo Poem #14

You don’t smoke snort or inject it
you play it with a mouse
more addictive than drugs
hijacks your brain and
makes you dream it

I remember when it cost quarters to play at
your local video arcade
next to the beat-em-ups
platformers pinball and shmups
everybody watching

It’s a puzzle why people play it
this puzzle game
it puzzles the brain
pocket size insanity
on only a quarter

Peepfighters -- NaPoWriMo Poem #13

marshmallowy sugary inedible yellow
weapons of squishy warfare candy destruction
brand name: peeps
raging teenagers overdosed on sugar
stock up on ammo half-off post-easter
load up their weapons to go to war
peepfighters
i have a machine gun made to fire peeps
he’s got a slingshot she shoots her potato gun
peeps fly around hit everyone in range
until they’re gone

in the vacuum of space peeps bloat with trapped air
back in the airlock they collapse flatter than roadkill
yum

Equinox -- NaPoWriMo Poem #12

The snake of cosmic darkness swallows the invincible sun
Three days three nights the sun languishes eclipsed under the earth
On the third day he rises from the dead to shine again
The goddess of the dawn
Her ancient name: Easter
Rolls away the stone
To bid him rise again

By the hand she raises him from the loamy tomb
He shakes the black earth off his flaming hair
On the holy day of the dawn
Night shrinks away, day grows long
She manifests herself by northern lights in the night sky
Invoked by another of her ancient holy names: Aurora
Daring the bright sun to outshine her nocturnal glory
On this her holiest day
When the night and the day are equal

Friday, April 18, 2014

Doom and Gloom -- NaPoWriMo Poem #11

Society’s going to the dogs, don’t tell me otherwise
The world’s going to hell in a handbasket, don’t deceive me with facts
People suck, so do you, I don’t believe a single word you’re saying

Doom and gloom
Doom and gloom
Doom and gloom

Society’s always going to the dogs
The world’s always going to hell in a handbasket
People always suck even when they don’t
Always did, always will

But my life sucks, always did, always will
I think I’ll go bury my head in the sand

Windows Update -- NaPoWriMo Poem #10

oh no my windows just got discontinued
i’ll have to pay through the nose for an update
they’ll have to come to my house install the new ones
take out the old ones before they get hacked

damn you microsoft why do you always have to
make my windows obsolete just when i get used to them
don't worry says customer service you’ll see better
ha i reply just wait till the next big rainstorm hits

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Burning His Bridges -- NaPoWriMo Poem #9

He burned his first bridge back when he was a little boy

He stole his sister’s toys broke them when she told mom

He beat her up like a playground bully

he was older
he was bigger
it was his sovereign right
so he said

She never forgave him gave his reputation its first black mark

she locked him out of his life
sister no more forever
he was alone

That was only the first bridge:

he had only begun to burn

Year after year over and over he burnt bridge after bridge

robbing his relatives

backstabbing coworkers

turning friends into enemies

He thought he was all-sufficient unto himself

He thought the only friend he needed was God above

He dismissed the concept of karma as mere superstition

denying his own superstitions

dismissing his personal delusions

Looking out for number one was the whole of the law

He looked out for himself only, screw the other guy

From the burning sky above a burning bridge descended

He tried to escape it but it always adjusted its aim

It was made of all his hatreds resentments and fears

His double his shadow in monstrous form burning like an angel

Always it increased its speed in its mission to destroy him

it found him—
it landed—
impact:
his reputation ruined
his life destroyed

All he could do now was sit down and weep for himself

All the milk he spilt on everybody else

had come back to drown him

Saturday, April 12, 2014

Hero for Sale -- NaPoWriMo Poem #8

He had amazing superpowers and a personality cult

All the companies in America fell over themselves begging his endorsement

He could pick and choose, he just wanted exposure and beaucoup bucks

His face was plastered all over on posters magazine ads television screens

He was a hero for sale

Every person has their price, some just don't sell out

Our hero sold his soul for peanuts expecting millions

Superpower and vanity are a volatile cocktail

Watch him at every cocktail party toadying the rich

Who thinking they're superheroes buy personality cults of their own

Trading heroism for celebrity riches playboy mansions with blonde harems

Ladies and gentlemen:
our hero.

Friday, April 11, 2014

Rational Anthem -- NaPoWriMo Poem #7

[Note: my first poem this NaPoWriMo intended to be "songified" come 50 Songs in 90 Days.]

Rational man
Standing alone
Against an irrational world
Transcending
Condemning
Try to get out of it
You crusade against it
You stand alone

Radical man
Standing alone
Against the whole human race
Dispassion
No compassion
What did they do to you
Their lifeblood’s delicious
You stand alone

Thought into man
Standing alone
Against your prison of flesh
You thought it
You bought it
You will must triumph over
The desert of the real
And stand alone

God that was man
Standing alone
Against the material world
Transcend it
Destroy it
Judge and find it wanting
Jealous shall be your name
You stand alone

It Bleeds, It Leads -- NaPoWriMo Poem #6

[Note: Originally written 4/7/14.]

Booyah booyah booyah boom:

the terrorist shoots up the cocktail party with his boomstick

murderous buckshot making hedge fund billionaires bleed money

vapid socialites trophy wives last-gasping soap-operatically

celebrities entering the ideal death-state of infinite profitability

chinaware fixtures bodies drapes all ruined in photogenic ways

white wine red blood stream together into delicious new cocktails

security agents with black blood steel muscles bulletproof skin

swarm into the ruined room fire a leaden hailstorm into his body

red gushers fountain beautifully from the heroic corpse before it crumples

the dying face forms a smug grin as he drifts off to Valhalla

First Law Of Media:
It Bleeds, It Leads

The dead killer’s defiant mugshot front-page plastered on all editions

newsbabbling talking heads breathlessly gush over his dastardly feat

nobody cares what he stood for, he’s the hot new criminal celebrity

up there with Carlos the jackal Green River Gary and Scarface Al

and the Twenty-Seven Club of rockers dead from willful self-destruction

what was his cause again? nobody even bothers to remember

all we care to know is he burned out to keep from fading away

his humanity a fading memory, now deified into tabloid celebrity

a growth industry, a boom stock, he and all his opulent victims

their heirs now suing each other, we cry out hurry up and shoot already

smugly we bask in the glamourous heroic aura of his brave exit

our excuse to remain passive complacent conformist in our decay

This is how you lose by winning.

Rugged individual heroism: the true occult secret to all true villainy

Make yourself a badass name to echo through the stony chambers of Valhalla

Beat the Man, crown yourself emperor, proclaim yourself a god, become the Man

Fail to beat the Man, die a superstar, a profit center for decades to come

The demigods who rule the world are not like you and me

All complete unto themselves, no need for society

What humans see as mortal sin, they call morality

The demigods care nothing for nature and humanity:

let them bleed.

Lotus -- NaPoWriMo Poem #5

[Note: Originally written 4/6/14. The second of my Buddhist-themed poems.]

the wind catches a petal off a lotus blossom

carries it gently in its invisible currents

deposits it with softest touch onto the still pond surface

the floating petal generates softest ripples

travelling invisibly, touching everything around it

lilypad reed insect fish other lotus and the distant shore

the flower attracts the bee who inseminates it with pollen

then falls petal by petal to make way for fruit and seed

but the lotus blossom unfolds to reveal the simultaneous seed

the seed slowly descends the whole depth of the pond water

settles at the bottom into soft mud where it sends out its roots

and raises its stalk the full height to the surface

to unfold new flower and new seed

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

The Transparent Eye -- NaPoWriMo Poem #4

[Note: Originally written 4/5/2014. The first of my Buddhist-themed poems.]

The Ideal suspended before us like the apple of Tantalus,

unreachable: we reach, and it recedes into the distance or fades away,

or worse, lead on corrupted minds ever deeper into burning hells,

collecting hellfire to cast onto earth: sweetest daughter of Māra,

weaving her veil of illusion to distract from the cries of a suffering world.

Close your eyes: quiet the mind: observe the commotion fade to silence:

become a transparent eye penetrating the veil to the true reality of things:

dissolve the confusion that clouds vision and distorts consciousness:

perceive the connections among all things from beginning to end of time:

rediscover that what is real and that what is not is not.

Go, bodhisattva, return to the suffering world with clear vision and pure heart:

countless living beings cry for relief from incessant suffering: reconnect:

leave behind the lesser self, distortion of self, moulted like snake's skin:

your self is not the outer shell or inner layers but the center:

as you walk further down the path, show them where it begins:

but they must choose to walk it
for some are blinded by shining ideals
and others by midnight-black despair
confusion clouds their eyes and makes them think
that what is not real is real
and what is real is not real:

clarity reveals the path, and the cosmic currents

that flow through you and me and all beings and all reality,

and the true nature of reality unclouded by faulty vision

and by the three afflictions, addiction repulsion confusion,

and by the lesser self that divides self from self and self from others.

Siddhārtha meditated under a pipal tree
when Māra spied him and panicked:
first he unleashed all the terrors of infinite hells:
failing that, he tried to seduce the prince
with carnal pleasures and illusory ideals:

Siddhārtha endured,
achieved extinction,
and woke up a Buddha.

Monday, April 7, 2014

The Twilight of the New Gods -- NaPoWriMo Poem #2

[Note: Originally written 4/2/2014.]

America the Midas kingdom turning everything it touches into gold

Acquired collected competed-over turning base men into gods

Turning against the people, building impregnable castles in the sky

Thundering over and over at all times the word from on high: obey

Turning on each other for all gods are jealous and there can only be one

The will of the gods
Is written on stone
The name of the poet
Is carved into water

The new generation of gods, overthrowing the previous one,

Throwing them off Olympus, casting them into the abyss,

erasing their names:

Carving their own names into palimpsest temple walls

Carving their commandments with lightning into the air

Carving their emblems out of nightmare into the human mind

demanding sacrifice:

You will be organized
Your soul converted to money
All resistance is futile
They call you by a number
And take away your name

Another heaven destroyed, a new one raised against the chaos of earth

Old hierarchy destroyed, a new one built to tame traitor humankind with faith

Everything good confiscated by heaven to turn earth once again into hell

New aliens invade
To conquer and subdue
The humans they once were
And make the world their zoo

High above them, looking down, standing taller than the sky

The new Titan generation bearing corporate conglomerate names

Emanating terror commandment police from eyes brighter than the sun

Speaking the word of the profits: buy sell acquire steal nyah

Too much can never be enough, stab your neighbour in the back

Make their life nasty brutish and short, for all must war against all

For the magic the power and the ecstasy of gold

Hark! commotion below—
Lo! rebellion, it grows—
Behold! the threat from below!

Alone one human cannot stand against the pettiest god;

Together as one they can stand against pantheons and storm heaven!

“The black-headed ones' voices have become deafening.”

“Let us unleash the flood and drown them with water!”

“Let us unleash the sun and burn them with fire!”

“Let us unleash the whirlwind and blast them with air!”

“Let us unleash the earthquake and bury them in earth!”

“So mote it be.”

The new gods build giant new bodies out of swarms of angry machines

They dig their snouts deep and eat the earth from deep within

They organize their cults into crusader armies screaming to wreak jihad

Their will: to destroy the mind of man, initiate him back into the earth

Their word: seek and destroy—

By terror and power they overdo
But we are many and they are few

The gods are bodied in flesh and steel
The people pull together for survival
The final battle is on!

Believe in a god and he will assimilate
Fight him alone and he will annihilate
Withdraw your sanction, end his game
Erase the memory of his name
The system is not for human use
The system was made for gods by gods

“Why is the river of heaven going dry?”

“It can't be! Our blood is the real, matter but a flickering shadow.”

“Look down, you fools! The black-headed ones have ceased to believe!”

The masses below vow to produce for their need not the profits of gods

The gods enraged send angels and demons of vengeance to ravage the earth

The word of chaos is implanted into the heavenly horde, they crash inert

Nations, corporations, tyrants, tycoons, all titans fall to mass deicide

The names of the last generation of gods,

like those of all generations of gods come before,

dissolve into nothing:

Empire is no more:
and now the dragons' reign
has ceased!

Humanity their own master at last, they start to rebuild:

Life blooms again, restored to the wasteland of the real:

and life goes on.

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

Dead Rocker Song -- NaPoWriMo Poem #1

He was a legend to himself, obscure to everyone else,
all ambition, no talent, and twenty-seven.
Membership in the Twenty-Seven Club was still open.
Nobody cared about him. He'd show them all.

You saw him on stage. You booed him from the audience.
There he was, guitar and voice out of tune,
imaginary target on his face as you cocked back your arm
and let loose the rotten tomato that hovered
and arced a pretty parabola on its way to his face.
Impact: face reddened by tomato and rage,
he stage-dived into the seething audience
and hit only floor. It was three months
before they let him out of the hospital.

Now he was twenty-seven. Club membership was open.
High on dexedrine and oxycodone,
more alcohol than blood in his veins,
he slipped behind the wheel to speed like a freak
to Dead Man's Curve with bomb in his trunk
and camera behind to watch him die live on YouTube.
He slammed foot to pedal, the car lurched and jerked,
he sped down the highway wobbling and weaving,
an army of cops in hot pursuit of a mad suicide
to the place of a million car crashes to crash and burn.
Impact: the exploding car sent shrapnel into cop
and bystander, made a pretty sight on live video.
Ten million viewers were amused. What a way to go.

Only three people came to his funeral,
mother and sister and widow catfighting over
the insurance policy they took out on him
and cashed in knowing how he wanted to go.
He was lowered in the ground under a generic tombstone.
A priest said pretty words that did not apply,
heaven and eternal life and the resurrection and all that,
denying that everything left of him was
the formaldehyded and formally dressed corpse
destined to decay into dirt and fade from memory.
Impact: he achieved his Twenty-Seven Club ambition but
everybody knew him as a short story far back in the paper,
yesterday's birdcage liner, recycled tomorrow.
Membership in the Rock Hall of Fame forever closed,
he ended as he began, a footnote to a footnote,
and nobody cared.

Monday, March 31, 2014

NaPoWriMo 2014: Now That Script Frenzy's Dead... Poems!

Two years ago, NaNoWriMo discontinued their April scriptwriting spinoff Script Frenzy and replaced it with an April CampNaNo. As I'm not writing another new novel until next NaNo in November or I finish editing Chaos Angel Spanner book 1, whichever comes first, I've decided to do the next best thing until it became the best thing: NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Writing Month. Basically, you write a poem a day for 30 days, or just 30 poems this month. Considering my typical FAWM song output (28 songs this year, 14 of them in just the last two days), that should be easy. And my NaPoWriMo will be happening right here in this blog! Brace yourselves!

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