soupaphiliac

 

campbells soup
can red white wrapped
filled with inconsequence
chicken creamed white pulse
tomato scarlet flow
twisting opener
pressure and urge
scot towel to mop up
each dribble from serrated
edge of can.
there is no prehistory in these
objects on a supermarket shelf
conditional lifespan,
to be consumed
or immortalized ,
maybe when it is emptied
my heart will be placed
inside a broth of pain
and societies torture,
so different and will not yield
my mind
my art
my love
drip upon my lips
down my chin
i will yearn for more

Namdeo Dhasal- Man You Should Explode (1972)

Man, You Should Explode
Man, you should explode
Yourself to bits to start with
Jive to a savage drum beat
Smoke hash, smoke ganja
Chew opium, bite lalpari
Guzzle country booze—if too broke,
Down a pint of the cheapest dalda
Stay tipsy day and night, stay tight round the clock
Cuss at one and all; swear by his mom’s twat, his sister’s cunt
Abuse him, slap him in the cheek, and pummel him…
Man, you should keep handy a Rampuri knife
A dagger, an axe, a sword, an iron rod, a hockey stick, a bamboo
You should carry acid bulbs and such things on you
You should be ready to carve out anybody’s innards without batting an eyelid
Commit murders and kill the sleeping ones
Turn humans into slaves; whip their arses with a lash
Cook your beans on their bleeding backsides
Rob your next-door neighbours, bust banks
Fuck the mothers of moneylenders and the stinking rich
Cut the throat of your own kith and kin by conning them; poison them, jinx
them
You should hump anyone’s mother or sister anywhere you can
Engage your dick with every missy you can find, call nobody too old to be
screwed
Call nobody too young, nobody too green to shag, lay them one and all
Perform gang rapes on stage in the public
Make whorehouses grow: live on a pimp’s cut: cut the women’s noses, tits
Make them ride naked on a donkey through the streets to shame them
Man, one should dig up roads, yank off bridges
One should topple down streetlights
Smash up police stations and railway stations
One should hurl grenades; one should drop hydrogen bombs to raze
Literary societies, schools, colleges, hospitals, airports
One should open the manholes of sewers and throw into them
Plato, Einstein, Archimedes, Socrates,
Marx, Ashoka, Hitler, Camus, Sartre, Kafka,
Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Ezra Pound, Hopkins, Goethe,
Dostoevsky, Mayakovsky, Maxim Gorky,
Edison, Madison, Kalidasa, Tukaram, Vyasa, Shakespeare, Jnaneshvar,
And keep them rotting there with all their words

One should hang to death the descendents of Jesus, the Paighamber, the
Buddha, and Vishnu
One should crumble up temples, churches, mosques, sculptures, museums
One should blow with cannonballs all priests
And inscribe epigraphs with cloth soaked in their blood
Man, one should tear off all the pages of all the sacred books in the world
And give them to people for wiping shit off their arses when done
Remove sticks from anybody’s fence and go in there to shit and piss, and
muck it up
Menstruate there, cough out phlegm, sneeze out goo
Choose what offends one’s sense of odour to wind up the show
Raise hell all over the place from up to down and in between
Man, you should drink human blood, eat spit roast human flesh, melt human
fat and drink it
Smash the bones of your critics’ shanks on hard stone blocks to get their
marrow
Wage class wars, caste wars, communal wars, party wars, crusades, world
wars
One should become totally savage, ferocious, and primitive
One should become devil-may-care and create anarchy
Launch a campaign for not growing food, kill people all and sundry by
starving them to death
Kill oneself too, let disease thrive, make all trees leafless
Take care that no bird ever sings, man, one should plan to die groaning and
screaming in pain
Let all this grow into a tumour to fill the universe, balloon up
And burst at a nameless time to shrink
After this all those who survive should stop robbing anyone or making others
their slaves
After this they should stop calling one another names white or black,
Brahmin, Kshatriya, Vaishya, or Shudra;
Stop creating political parties, stop building property, stop committing
The crime of not recognising one’s kin, not recognising one’s mother or sister
One should regard the sky as one’s grandpa, the earth as one’s grandma
And coddled by them everybody should bask in mutual love
Man, one should act so bright as to make the Sun and the Moon seem pale
One should share each morsel of food with everyone else, one should compose
a hymn
To humanity itself, man, man should sing only the song of man.

Namdeo an activist poet passed away on Wednesday 15th January 2014 , a man who broke the rules of traditional poetry

and you know how to bake

around the mouth

cakemix stolen from the bowl

a taste of the unbaked

sweeter than expected,

holding back the urge

to lick lips noisily ,

washed it away

as a drunkard would

bottle sloshed whiskey

turned burnt caramel,

bowl slipped from edge

of table with enormous shatter,

pieces glazed

spread as his foot got cut

spilled as a sacrifice

for he was a prophet

born in anticipation

growing to expectation,

the world full of paraphernalia

that only a poet mends,

blood painted in circles,

scratching balls in shorts,

where was the thunder

to his profanity,

his stem to water

those fragrant vaginal daisies

errors and promises,

love had entered an interval,

trumps inflated cotton,

she came to see

shaking head

ash fell from her cigarette,

they had binds

beyond gold bands

and a chapel promise,

no atomic desolation would separate

leave it she would say

taking his hand

led to another room

more doors away from

the violent splatter on the walls

best to ignore

her voice sleepy not unsound

sat limply hung out to dry,

she stood adjusted nightgown,

it would be clean,

and wounds heal

maybe the interval was over

dVersePoets

Sunday Whirl

A poem for dVersePoets and Sunday Whirl , dVerse needed a beat sound and i hope i hit the notes

 

 

no more clapboard storehouse

seasons merchant brings the harvest

flesh ripened berries and firm apples

john deere’s wander fields

barns fill with crop,

barricades still out against winter

last flush of heat clinging on

birds on the cusp of migration

still hold a note in song,

and i face my execution

she had wanted me for years

now i was disposable,

unable to plow fields

and seed a decent crop

inverted hearts adorn the page,

and i find the porch

for sleeping some more,

i wish the merchant did not

expect so much,

being a simple man

i was now to be abandoned

she could make her heart autonomous

it had to turn inside

beneath her maiden outlines

no flesh expanded as she expected,

evicted to the car

its vinyl bench with no pillow

woke one morning and drove

leaving her and her field

to be sown by another

in spring

concupiscence

he fled those vicissitudes

and hid in the parables

that spread like marmalade

over his life,

as an intrinsic alchemist

transforming the jewels

that drew light into her eyes

nymphlike was not always,

she kissed his lyre

and lingered on the notes

crouched mouth to mouth

the dust of longness

passed between them

hands often released

and time again became frail

his tremors sounded as trumpets

with impossible sobbing

a deep reconciliation

a finger of saffron stained

the tongue

and wafted in embrace

yet he could no more

and neither she

amazed at speech carnivals

that wound words over

rolling track

pirouetting horses dance

to an inconvenient truth,

he listened to the stars

and read long passages

delirious now that it was

divisible,

tomorrow became perpetual

sinuous flow

http://dversepoets.com/

 

word of the day your favorite word i got carried away again so i hope it works as i have not been functioning so well recently , all the best

 

99% fractured glass

letterman taught liberal arts

bukowski master of the open portal

that caught flies and dirty blondes ,

there where no country estates

or manicured ladies in crinolene,

too much hubbub

and relentless spiral of those

who live in such an octopus town,

that solar flares light the street

and guide those whose frail stories

stumble over awkward words

and metaphor,

master of bliss

with shimmering teeth

and boiling stench caught on

warmer breeze

vigilant for kisses and erotic

composure,

severed happiness from tears

and kept each separate,

behind the doors of our octopus

town the withered languish

robbed of enchanted loins

and their tears now crystallized

as rings for deaths fingers,

clotted souls clogged

as choked diaphragms coughed and

hacked sluices of phlegm,

the doors opened for a moment each day

quick enough for a shadow to be

flung out,

madness was a bomb on every street corner,

diffused as she appeared,

her deceit to entice

and enchant,

womb of silken flotsam

carried nothing hopeful,

yet her heart once orphaned

brought a rising sun

that closed the portal

to bukowski’s dismay

letterman fell aside victim

to iron skies and sanities rent,

heal deep she called

finding it broken

and lambs put together the pieces

with a well chewed glue

incredible saboteur

bones where our fathers sleep

forgotten beneath the stairs,

theater of the virgin daughter has begun

left the abyss

rode naked beneath a harvest sky,

flowers once cast upon the river

caught by rising fishes

their illiterate world

tensed and sure,

this has to be the darkest season

of blood not drawn by knife

but fear of the morning hill,

normal day without monsters

forged on sleeping mental despair,

no amount of her is aimless,

violets had been crushed on the lawn

buzzards had become trapped in

rivers sediment,

wrapped in fabric woven with

delusion and anagrams of what

love should of brought,

bands of gold encircle retinas flourish,

she has found a new way

more than chromosomes shared with

other mammals,

she raises a visible alarm,

society dissected under assured touch

and found the moon wanting,

no more to be buried side by side

eternal would be joy and dance,

then we sleep

http://dversepoets.com/