Worms, Apes and Worms (a poem with a commentary)
Worms, Apes and Worms
Why on this planet, great world called earth, has man divorced
Himself?
The atomic mind, of man, keeps spinning words, round and round
The planet’s core!
Too many words, cars, rules and doors, we are all dizzy from
Tumbling over rocks and moors.
A million years have passed, populations have interchanged from
Sick to insane!
From worms to apes, and back to worms again—but his time
With legs…
Faces like vases, full of water and dreams, where everyone has a
Plan, a scheme for himself.
(Not too brainy, not too sanely.)
#2314 (3-11-2008) Written at Starbucks, in Circle, Lima, Peru
Commentary on Life ungrateful grown up kids:
I am sad to say but I must, for pretense and truth, lay on top of one another, and sometimes one cannot tell the difference, so I shall lay it on the table for all to see, before we get into this new poem (about the corruption on earth, for in every family it is perhaps the same, it is in my past families, little earthly disasters): I have children (all grown up, in which I paid dearly for, for 27-years of support, money taken out of my checks (from multiple marriages), deals made with county’s to reduce child support at times; money and effort and so forth and on—thrown in the garbage can; and for me to have had children it was a waste of time (they give little back if anything, but somehow expect that you owe them something for giving them life, life in itself is a gift, they’ve yet to learn) they all turned out to be arrogant, thinking the world owes them a hand out, to include me, so when I crock, I hope they are not standing in line again as they did last time to collect what they feel they have coming to them, simply because they got a few blood clots of mine in them) (I am not complaining, I did what I had to do, and held my smirk in the process, even in front of my resentful kids), I’m sorry to have to leave this world worse off than when I arrived—but it will turn out that way I expect, partly because of this. Perhaps my grandchildren will pick up the slack where their parents left off and failed; and me. So I dedicated this to the new arriving generation, of the 21st century—and with this poem I shall bring you up to date:
Why on this planet, great world called earth, has man divorced
Himself?
The atomic mind, of man, keeps spinning words, round and round
The planet’s core!
Too many words, cars, rules and doors, we are all dizzy from
Tumbling over rocks and moors.
A million years have passed, populations have interchanged from
Sick to insane!
From worms to apes, and back to worms again—but his time
With legs…
Faces like vases, full of water and dreams, where everyone has a
Plan, a scheme for himself.
(Not too brainy, not too sanely.)
#2314 (3-11-2008) Written at Starbucks, in Circle, Lima, Peru
Commentary on Life ungrateful grown up kids:
I am sad to say but I must, for pretense and truth, lay on top of one another, and sometimes one cannot tell the difference, so I shall lay it on the table for all to see, before we get into this new poem (about the corruption on earth, for in every family it is perhaps the same, it is in my past families, little earthly disasters): I have children (all grown up, in which I paid dearly for, for 27-years of support, money taken out of my checks (from multiple marriages), deals made with county’s to reduce child support at times; money and effort and so forth and on—thrown in the garbage can; and for me to have had children it was a waste of time (they give little back if anything, but somehow expect that you owe them something for giving them life, life in itself is a gift, they’ve yet to learn) they all turned out to be arrogant, thinking the world owes them a hand out, to include me, so when I crock, I hope they are not standing in line again as they did last time to collect what they feel they have coming to them, simply because they got a few blood clots of mine in them) (I am not complaining, I did what I had to do, and held my smirk in the process, even in front of my resentful kids), I’m sorry to have to leave this world worse off than when I arrived—but it will turn out that way I expect, partly because of this. Perhaps my grandchildren will pick up the slack where their parents left off and failed; and me. So I dedicated this to the new arriving generation, of the 21st century—and with this poem I shall bring you up to date:
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 7:37 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home