Poetry competition CLOSED 28th July 2014 8:39am
WINNER
LobodeSanPedro
LobodeSanPedro
RUNNER-UP:
snugglebuck
birth of the rebel
Jabber Jaw is stuck in his rap
a fly flapping in speed's syrup
he is staring at the mic like its the ear
capping collective consciousness's funnel
keeps saying
"act like the apocalypse already happened"
and the band believes it
introducing blues chords to dayglo mandalas
while we are splashing in the puddles
because the world's leaking
there is a hand on the tap asking flashflood
and it's too late to dodge obliging
the apocalypse already happened
while we were splashing in the puddles
each around is getting easier to grasp
as the doors of perception are getting powerwashed
leaving the solidity of the streets too slick to not slip
Hey man…I’d be your hippie bad girl…
I’d be just like my mother was, down to the core,
Free love flowing, dope smoking, protesting the war.
Rebellious soul born on Dylan & The Doors.
Tripping through Frisco with flowers in my hair.
Dancing topless in the park without a care.
Just the word LOVE & the symbol for peace painted on my skin so bare.
I would’ve been hanging with Abbie, Kesey, Leary,
Questioning Authority.
Causing trouble across the country.
Acid dropping, Black Beauty popping.
Getting’ beat up in Chicago & chanting ‘The whole world is watching.’
I would have…
Slept next to the ocean.
Lived in a commune.
Gone vegetarian.
Worshipped the moon.
I would’ve been a…
Buddhist. Hippie. Feminist. Yippie.
Civil Rights Supporter. Peaceful Protester.
Morrison Groupie.
Vietnam Detester. LSD Ingester.
Plaster Caster.
GoGo Dancer.
Merry Prankster.
Black Panther Financier.
In the summer of love…in 67,
Would’ve been the mistress of mayhem.
The matriarch of madness.
The mother of Acid Heaven.
Rolling in the grass on Red Mountain Wine & Reefer at a Love In,
Dancing at The Whiskey on the weekends.
Making love, not war…regardless, gender or the color of skin.
I would have hitchhiked to Woodstock in ‘69
And watched every band for 3 days & nights.
I would have lit candles & mourned when the great ones were lost.
Believing the movement, the music, the momentum of change would be worth the cost.
I’d be just like my mother was, down to the core,
Free love flowing, dope smoking, protesting the war.
Rebellious soul born on Dylan & The Doors.
Tripping through Frisco with flowers in my hair.
Dancing topless in the park without a care.
Just the word LOVE & the symbol for peace painted on my skin so bare.
I would’ve been hanging with Abbie, Kesey, Leary,
Questioning Authority.
Causing trouble across the country.
Acid dropping, Black Beauty popping.
Getting’ beat up in Chicago & chanting ‘The whole world is watching.’
I would have…
Slept next to the ocean.
Lived in a commune.
Gone vegetarian.
Worshipped the moon.
I would’ve been a…
Buddhist. Hippie. Feminist. Yippie.
Civil Rights Supporter. Peaceful Protester.
Morrison Groupie.
Vietnam Detester. LSD Ingester.
Plaster Caster.
GoGo Dancer.
Merry Prankster.
Black Panther Financier.
In the summer of love…in 67,
Would’ve been the mistress of mayhem.
The matriarch of madness.
The mother of Acid Heaven.
Rolling in the grass on Red Mountain Wine & Reefer at a Love In,
Dancing at The Whiskey on the weekends.
Making love, not war…regardless, gender or the color of skin.
I would have hitchhiked to Woodstock in ‘69
And watched every band for 3 days & nights.
I would have lit candles & mourned when the great ones were lost.
Believing the movement, the music, the momentum of change would be worth the cost.
This was brought to my attention by the DUP poet Pishashee ... It is truly in the spirit of this competition so I wanted to share it. Cut and paste if the link doesn't work ... https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=U0PjKJ9nHS4
Well worth the time.
Well worth the time.
it was the time of change it was the birth of the rebel
a peaceful creature of this earth with his mind level
the world was different, the only time to spread dirt with the shovel
was to bury herb not some fool who tried to wrestle
no one tryna put you in the hearse; no one always tryna test the mettle
no one tried to rob or even curse and no one ever tryna meddle
the year was sixty-eight,
times of war had our minds obscured with fear worse than today
our leaders they even just outright admitted to killin JFK
for sure it was a time of peace displaced by the muscle
it was times of war and times of struggle
it was times of sleepin' outside and drinking water was a mud puddle
it really was a time of change and no one tried to refuse it
it was times of idols and times of music
it was times for the young and a time to stay lucid
it was a time like today but we just gotta prove that we can still move it.
stay loose and still do shit. say hell yes we still using, still drug abusing. still live like lifes amusing
a peaceful creature of this earth with his mind level
the world was different, the only time to spread dirt with the shovel
was to bury herb not some fool who tried to wrestle
no one tryna put you in the hearse; no one always tryna test the mettle
no one tried to rob or even curse and no one ever tryna meddle
the year was sixty-eight,
times of war had our minds obscured with fear worse than today
our leaders they even just outright admitted to killin JFK
for sure it was a time of peace displaced by the muscle
it was times of war and times of struggle
it was times of sleepin' outside and drinking water was a mud puddle
it really was a time of change and no one tried to refuse it
it was times of idols and times of music
it was times for the young and a time to stay lucid
it was a time like today but we just gotta prove that we can still move it.
stay loose and still do shit. say hell yes we still using, still drug abusing. still live like lifes amusing
LobodeSanPedro said:This was brought to my attention by the DUP poet Pishashee ... It is truly in the spirit of this competition so I wanted to share it. Cut and paste if the link doesn't work ... https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=U0PjKJ9nHS4
Well worth the time.
not exactly og poetry work i was looking fo lsp but from a redbeard drunk mick like myself i fn love it..............
Well worth the time.
not exactly og poetry work i was looking fo lsp but from a redbeard drunk mick like myself i fn love it..............
The Dying Cockroaches
The filthy little fuckers woke me up
from my medicated Bundy rum coma.
I could hear them in my nightmares
climbing up the fibro walls
shooting shit like throwing flames
thru an air of khaki haze
writing in brown meaningless
Chu Nom dribble
dripping from my ceiling
crawling 'round on claws
crossfire over my black and white
checkerboard lino floors
scavenging in the mess
piling up in my kitchen sink
shadow hunting
hiding in secret tunnels
like bullets
in gun barrels
loaded
patient
messengers
of everlasting death.
Killing them means nothing to me
I'll rain fire on their colonies
crush them with full force
listen to their bodies crack
under my boots
then burn the corpses
while they're still twitching with life.
Killing roaches didn't break me
that's not why I deserted my mates.
From a distance
I followed orders
I was good at my job
I was dependable
accurate
senseless
detached from the violence
we inflicted from the seas
they fired on us
and we shot back
at specks of brown and black
on green shores
the jungle
alive with insects
grubs and roaches.
I gather up the bodies
put them in the fireplace
along with the newspapers
my uniform and medals
passport and license
my birth certificate, photos
bills and bank statements
I burn it all
even the mailbox
I won't need any of it no more
all I need is my Zeppelin, Mary Jane
my combi and surfboards
and the view of Jervis Bay from my window.
And when I see HMAS Hobart is back from Nam
the battleship ablaze on a napalm sunrise
home safe in Aussie waters from her second tour
I'll stand in front of my kitchen window
with the filth crawling over my feet and hands
while I watch the nightmares unravel
back to 03:15 hours
hearing my mates get ripped apart
watching them die
like roaches
we were hit by a sparrow
from a phantom
in the dark
under friendly fire.
Written by Alexander Case, based on actual events during the Vietnam war in 1968.
The filthy little fuckers woke me up
from my medicated Bundy rum coma.
I could hear them in my nightmares
climbing up the fibro walls
shooting shit like throwing flames
thru an air of khaki haze
writing in brown meaningless
Chu Nom dribble
dripping from my ceiling
crawling 'round on claws
crossfire over my black and white
checkerboard lino floors
scavenging in the mess
piling up in my kitchen sink
shadow hunting
hiding in secret tunnels
like bullets
in gun barrels
loaded
patient
messengers
of everlasting death.
Killing them means nothing to me
I'll rain fire on their colonies
crush them with full force
listen to their bodies crack
under my boots
then burn the corpses
while they're still twitching with life.
Killing roaches didn't break me
that's not why I deserted my mates.
From a distance
I followed orders
I was good at my job
I was dependable
accurate
senseless
detached from the violence
we inflicted from the seas
they fired on us
and we shot back
at specks of brown and black
on green shores
the jungle
alive with insects
grubs and roaches.
I gather up the bodies
put them in the fireplace
along with the newspapers
my uniform and medals
passport and license
my birth certificate, photos
bills and bank statements
I burn it all
even the mailbox
I won't need any of it no more
all I need is my Zeppelin, Mary Jane
my combi and surfboards
and the view of Jervis Bay from my window.
And when I see HMAS Hobart is back from Nam
the battleship ablaze on a napalm sunrise
home safe in Aussie waters from her second tour
I'll stand in front of my kitchen window
with the filth crawling over my feet and hands
while I watch the nightmares unravel
back to 03:15 hours
hearing my mates get ripped apart
watching them die
like roaches
we were hit by a sparrow
from a phantom
in the dark
under friendly fire.
Written by Alexander Case, based on actual events during the Vietnam war in 1968.
I'm very humbled by the recognition on this johnrot bc this was one of the deepest if not deepest writes for me ever ... it cast a light on the demons that haunted my father and that light reborn in his oldest granddaughter. I was also very grateful to present this piece at the Nuyorican in NYC with the support of my one & only Lena.
Some incredible work in this thread ... keep fighting to all who wrote.
Salud
Some incredible work in this thread ... keep fighting to all who wrote.
Salud
Congrats to brotha LSP for the very deserving win and to Mr S.Buck for runners up. There were a lot of solid entries, with ML one of my favourites with the Italian connection thing happening for me. Well done to all poets.
And Brotha John Rot, thanks for the very inspiring period comp. Awesome idea!
And Brotha John Rot, thanks for the very inspiring period comp. Awesome idea!
