A Mourning Cough & A Shortness Of Death
- Sweet Smiles, Distorted Endings
- The Twelfth and Worst
- Like It Is But Disguise It Some More
- The Divine Just-Us System
- You Can’t Expect The Young To Last
- A Cleaver King
- Symbolism Pre-medicated
- The Scripts Are The Trees
- A Poem For The Children of 2054
- A Moonlit Sunset From The Stars
- Hysterically Speaking
- What We Care For
- Aircraft Carrier
- Ceased On Arrival
- The Commander Destroyer
Sweet Smiles, Distorted Endings
Sitting on the sofa I hear a knock
I forget which,
but for sure something is alerting me
to the presence of someone at the door.
I get up and look through the finder.
Prettier than ever,
is wearing a cute denim skirt,
than any I have ever seen in her
and a rather sexy black blouse
showing a little stomach,
and clavicles - All my favorite parts.
She has worked hard on her make-up,
lips like water,
eye shadow and blush just right.
back, it’s a good start,
she looks at me,
I look at her,
we exchange greetings
“hi there’ you look beautiful today.”
and with the sweetest smile she says,
“I’ve been sleeping with someone else,
I have been with him for some months
now, in fact
it’s hard to believe you never noticed it.”
Everything slows down,
I feel my heart rate speed up;
the accelerator pressed right in
while pressing on the breaks at the same time,
a contrast for no control,
I lose vision as I know it,
my view becomes dark,
and I slowly lose contact with myself.
I am the murdered and the
I am hate.
I am hurt.
The outcome is unclear,
but I’m sure it was a shameful one
The Twelfth and Worst
Burnt and shredded,
eye witnesses say.
animals are already eating
The smell is very strong.
borders and international sources;
Before Condoleezza Rice,
told the people,
"do as I say, or we will keep sending you death from above"
"daddy, why did Israel do this to us?"
yesterday, children heard the jets in the sky.
Yesterday; they will all die.
Hundreds of thousands displaced.
Hundreds of civilians killed, and more.
It’s Monday 24th
the 24th of July
the 12th, and worst day.
health and social centers;
"daddy, why daddy, why daddy, why daddy, why?”
“Hello world, anything fancy to offer today;
any new mega-conglomerates to show?
Strangely spelt fashions to walk?
Fancy talk to talk?
‘Hello, < I thought >
anyone in here know what I’m thinking about?’
“Something about multi-conglomerates!”, < a highly-strung woman > replied.
“No, not multi, it’s moldy.”, < an excited little man >
by her right side.
“Moldy!? Are you sure?”
“I heard multi.”
“Ok, multi-conglomerates, thanks.”
< a man > Whispers, “He’s part of the death squad.”
< another man > “A real hero of his time.” but louder than that.
< his ex-lover > “He sits alone in the room mumbling non-sense all day!”
< man in the chair > “Baseball bat,
< the man who whispers > “Calm him down.”
< the other one > “Come at her again!”
< the ex-lover > “Say something. Try it!”
“What the fuck, what the fuck are you doing!?”
But no one is helping.
Granny you are out of luck.
“my child, my child; what-the-fuck...
...you filthy man,
you shameful worm!”
“What have we done to our women, what have we done?”
500 people, five hundred people in this room.
We’re gonna need an aircraft carrier for this sort of thing.
I was dying down in here,
no air and no food, the place smelled like bad lettuce.
lucky I had my six-gun by-my-side.
“I let the darkness overwhelm me,”
< he says > very dryly,
“I give in to this place and I allow it to overtake me.”
“Where is this place?”
“You know nothing!”
a smirk on his smile.
The damp spot beneath me suggested the bottom of a ditch,
or a puddle of my own piss;
but I know this place is nowhere near as earthly as that.
If it could even exist…
“It’s dark, always dark.” I hear < from within >
‘It’s dark always dark’
< from without > I think.
“I want to go back.”
I hear myself say,
“God loves the foolish, oh yes he does; oh yes he does!”
I hear < him chant >.
“put your phone to my head
and put your pink to your lips
or I’ll rip your lips off
until blood red…”
And that was the last thing, I heard said.
Like It Is But Disguise It Some More
For _______; the three legged girl,
you’ll see what chemicals do to our world.
And they’ll cry on TV, until
we feel bad and donate to charity
because no one wants to see;
what man is doing to a little girl.
So, they tell you the whole story;
like it is...
and, still, they’ll use ways to disguise it.
But it’s OK.
Everyone suffers in the mind
they know; what they’ve done,
to _______; the three legged
The Divine Just-Us System
And of course God didn’t expect the world to be like this
but since when could anyone, ever really, really actually,
actually really, ever; expect anything at all?
You can’t let a ball roll, down a hill
and expect it to roll in a straight line.
You can only expect it to; hopefully,
get to the bottom, when it’s done
bumping and bouncing and rolling
And so what; if a bunch of people don’t care
about continuing their bloodline?
Why can’t some people just live and die?
You can’t offer diversity and expect it;
to do as it’s told.
Because freedom should just mean: being free.
Freedom should mean: the right to do as you please.
A few better examples;
people just doing things,
with no one to help them sway;
no jealousy to get in the path, of what should,
could, and can go the right way.
And if you believe; that the divine justice system isn’t just as flawed,
then you’d believe that justice; is fair for all,
and that people hung deserve it;
even if just to say,
“Look at them sway.”
because, if you seriously believe; that an innocent man has never hung
then you probably believed that Lennon deserved the gun
and Martin Luther King and so on;
and so on. Knowing only
what you know.
Because knowing what we know;
doesn’t really mean we know anything at all
because “FREEDOM” should just mean: being free.
Not taking because we were taken from.
Not shooting because we were shot by gun.
Not pointing out why others are lesser than we are.
Not being elevated; no matter who we are, or what we do,
or what was done.
today, tomorrow, next year
the year after that, and;
You Can’t Expect The Young To Last
You can’t expect it,
they are easy with it all,
they are easy to get to; easy to tell.
You can’t expect the young to last,
they are easy to get to; easy to tell.
They are easy with it all,
but you can’t expect it
You can’t expect the young to last,
they are easy to buy; easy to sell.
Easy to induct, easy to conclude,
easy to condition, easy to elude,
easy to punish & easy to expel.
You just can’t expect it to last,
you just can’t, that is all.
If you’re not a hypocrite,
then, you must be a liar.
If you’re not a false-profit,
then, you must be in self-denial.
And if you are not being used,
you honestly could not exist.
And if a thought does not create a reality
then, you have no mind; simply a brain:
a grey, dead, detached lump; all matter aside.
And if your feelings didn’t do damage,
you could use them, or perhaps would,
yet, most correctly should.
Poor human, poor humans’ being.
a leaf falls,
floats gently to the ground,
and back it goes.
some of it oil;
was built to spoil.
A Cleaver King
A story gets told,
children, by adults;
about a cleaver king;
to cut a mere baby in-half...
Finally some real drama, all the kids think.
And as it goes:
one of the women,
she sobs and throws
herself to the ground, and cries;
“Give her the child, give her the child.”
The other woman, of course; screamed
“Kut that baby in half!” not half-a-moment before.
The King hands the baby to the weeping woman at his feat;
takes the child,
And all the humans,
they listen to this story;
“We’re smarter these days,”
“I’d have lain down, cried
and screamed louder than
any living being alive,
because, now days,
they put you in jail,
for having done that sort of thing...
I’d have lied through my teeth!”
And then, they all,
get a glazed look in their eyes,
and disappear, with a clue, a message;
another way to the top.
because, now days,
they put you in jail,
for having done
If you turned the wolf
down at the door
over; to play,
let him fix your cable,
let him maintain your countryside telephone line?
Let him play with your kids,
from the TV, instead?
Like one of those strange comedies
that you know are truth
but for the life of you,
you just can’t stop
Your sides ache
but if it feels so good-
to laugh at yourself.
Your belly aches,
your cheeks a-swell.
You have to relax,
you know if you don’t;
But you can’t.
All you can do
is ask yourself,
Did I really turn the wolf
down, at the door
By shutting my mouth for a
and trying to look at things
I have come to
why animals find it best
Leave them to their high thrones;
leave them to their mess.
I try talking
to God sometimes,
but unfortunately for me;
like the animals,
God doesn't seem able
When the servicemen
entered the building, there he sat.
Reading; to a child.
A beautiful scene
just like you’d imagine it
Hollywood’s Big Screen:
beams of light catching dust, celestially in the clean air,
wind lightly blows his hair,
and the child turns and looks at the servicemen:
blonde hair spirals, strand for strand, perfectly as he turns around,
water glimmering off of baby-blue-wide-eyes,
wavering slightly due to the breeze.
Mother Teresa herself was said to have wept christalline tears.
Excuse me sir,
(then whispers into ear)
< A moment of silence, sylense, slyness >
Now where were we kid,
back to this here book
good fook, I mean... look.
The Scripts Are The Trees
Now, the editor, he’s the farmer,
sometimes he actually does some work;
mostly he throws a few seeds here and there and complains a lot about punctuation.
The story writer, he’s like the farm.
“Oh, I see, the scripts are the trees and the director?”
The director you ask? Well, the director is the dope-head.
“Oh I see, what are the leaves?”
The leaves are the trees.
“What are these, what are these?”
These, are flees.
“…and what’s that stuff on his back?”
Wool, is the stuff you learn in school,
here we learn about look and see and a little bit of memory.
We take all we can.
ALL, WE CAN!
We see all we can see.
ALL, WE CAN SEE!
We fly up high and look and we never have any use for
machines, we learn.
We learn, and then we return to the world and wait
“Wait for what?”
Wait for what? Wait for someone who calls him,
or herself a teacher to simply point something out
that we knew all along.
“But what should we call it in our heads if we knew it all along?”
Oh these, my boy, are not our heads as you so humbly put it,
these are all joined, so put it under whatever you like
and file it any which way you please.
“What about the others? They will never understand.”
That young one is something we’ve planned;
you see nothing makes you madder than seeing some poor
It drives them mad, and gets them all madder and madder;
there will come beatings before you are half-way home.
“But this was my problem, my problem sir, that’s why I came up here,
put myself in danger,
buggery and or death by hammer,
you could push me down a hill or leave me in a well…”
Wait boy! What did you say?
No, about coming here
“Oh yes, I came from afar.”
“I keep getting beaten; half-way home.”
Well, there is nothing we can do about that son,
you deserve it for simply having
Now, let’s carry on.
Because all of your
(even though, grammatically correct)
with some poor man’s toes,
swinging left to right,
straddle to the front,
struggle, left; facial jerk,
And because they always grab
at the tie, they always go
straight for the throat.
Because of all your
when those words, and
floods; are at the gate,
your sentences with blood,
your sentences for controlling,
silencing, shutting up.
All those sentences we speak,
so meaningless, so soap,
so show-esk, will soon
The advertiser, the consortium
the men at the top,
there is a sentence
coming your way.
A Poem For The Children of 2054
Hide sweet Starkovski,
the first storyteller:
the stars, pinholes;
the dope a burning tree.
Hide sweet Starkovski,
they’ll come for you soon,
go, sweet Starkovski;
Stories to tell:
of a father and his son
and the day it all, but went wrong;
a natural lament.
sweet children can play in the sun,
burning, is only something you do by the shore
you’ll never ask for any more than a candy
because you know that there is such a thing.
We need the hope once again,
that the lullaby
will be sung in truth once again.
That yes, will mean it,
and we will
run once again; outdoors,
because we have doors to run from.
But what was that place?
In that story,
about the father and his son,
day it all went wrong.
once again; we have
done no wrong,
to our fellow animals,
our fellow sand,
our fellow plants and shores; that fellow did land.
Gang up on us, i bet,
as they always did
run sweet Starkovski,
hide in the hills
before blood spills.
baby, god gave you big eyes
it wants you to feel,
wants you to see;
everything they have done;
baby, god gave you legs and that
but never mind;
baby, fingers were made to touch;
if you see,
it’s obvious enough;
and its touch, cause you always knew this much
but thought it was wrong.
damn them for what they teach; what they dictate.
baby, god gave you son
and god gave you sun
and lips to kiss
and to want to say:
I love you
you just can’t.
let’s thank them,
for every little ache,
every little attack,
every little pain;
because they teach us to feel
and as a result, they feel nothing at all.
we will rise, we will rise above them; soon.
scream and shout
fist against tank; fist against tank
the small; against them all
a harvest, is nigh.
kneel is down,
the heel; ready to kick,
when we hear; the gnashing of teeth.
baby, god gave you eyes to see right into
my soul, right to my inner part
together, I could never fail, never fall apart
while fist rushing at a tank
always wanting your lips;
waiting, to love you, love you, love you...
in the next life.
A Moonlit Sunset From The Stars
Brad Pitt mini commercials,
It’s like an old movie on steroids
and, his father is the son of Chaplin;
his mother, the Queen of Hearts;
wading, round and round;
in a toilet from the stars.
you know that guy, Tom
did such a great job
playing that man,
preached and still
turned over men's hearts
who cut down buildings
who would have guessed
that he truly wasn’t really
blessed; or divine?
Just a perfect acting machine.
He’s faced death,
The Titans, the Beast
cruse missile attacks.
And still, even though
his father is the son of Chaplin;
even though, his mother’s; the Queen of Hearts
and even though, it’s like an old movie on steroids;
he still wades, round and round
in a toilet from the stars.
And one day when he dies,
they will sell his toilet,
they will auction it out.
Because, his father was the son of Chaplin;
and his mother was the Queen of Hearts;
because, his movies were all on steroids;
and because, this toilet; was from the stars.
I wonder if prehistoric
get all depressed;
because, he hadn’t
on shaking head,
long before cigarette;
It was only a matter of time,
to get us on the hook
now that we’ve all,
thunder called voices;
the children of Israel.
Kids are goats,
we have lamb
Even if you could
change the world, even if
the governments agreed
the mafia, would have
you down on your knees;
machete and baseball bat
golden bullet for Kennedy
tire iron for Rodney King;
dragon kick, for Bruce Lee!
Cause one way or another: you’ll be broke
like everything they make
every word they speak,
washed in cepcis
grown in cepcis
lived in cepcis;
as though it were a summer wonderland
of nothing much,
a ceptic tank;
just like mafia;
just like us.
What We Care For
The human does not care about the state of the world,
only that this heat is upsetting his mood.
The human does not care about his body at all,
Only that it’s obvious; he’s aging,
For if what we have done, it had no physical obvious form;
we’d go on, regardless,
We do nothing at all.
Fly over the sea
stars, fly over
Mars. Arks and spirals
and lands, safely.
The skies cloud over;
Hope for the the rich man,
he’d better work you while
you’ve no clue,
when you have not a dime,
So they can float, float, float
out of here,
to a better world,
cleaner love and hope.
Paying to see; what happens,
when you take evil and sail it away.
To float on and do exactly the same.
Leaving while they still can.
Ceased On Arrival
Let’s grow room together
let’s grow factories
Ceased on arrival.
Ceased in the year,
of our fullest day.
Ceased on the
4th; of Gods first
It’s now all,
up to July.
Up to the mountain tops,
rivers, damns; tidal waves.
We never ever sailed away,
only waited for the horizon
to swallow the ship
The Commander Destroyer
Commander destroyer, where are you going?
Where are you off to now?
Why do you have to be off again?
Stay with me as cliché as we could be.
Stay with me.
Vernon Stew, what’s that all about?
All that stuff about you
Why not come to ask,
if you care.
Ask if you care.
October, October you big white bear,
what are you doing sitting over there?
Come here, to where we be sit.
Come over here and chew the shit.
And so, if you might care, it’s nice to see you.
It’s nice to see you are still there.
I remember a time,
I remember a time when;
we could do this more often than we can in present tense.
When we could be together for days
and hours on end.
I miss that,
no matter what,
no matter at all
And not just matter of fact.
I miss those times.
I miss those times;
all matters aside.
A MOURNING COUGH AND A SHORTNESS OF DEATH. Copyright © 2010 by Kent Dylan. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and/or reviews.