The Poet's junkyard
CONSISTING MOSTLY OF LEFT-OVER BITS
BY
MARCEL WISSENBURG
I'm a shameless dog
Walking down the lane,
P'rhaps a too proud hog
Crying out my name.
But once I meet some dame
I will dissolve like fog.
If pigs could fly -
How would they die?
There goes a man who's well-to-do:
He's rich - and sober too.
A fly can fly
And neither can I.
What would it be like
there?
Now if I died
I would be fried.
Would a woman eat a man
If he bothered her again?
I lost my head -
I must be dead.
Some like it hot,
Some like it not.
Some dream of dreams, some dream of glory
Some sleep 'til day for fear of morning
Some die in this night, to live no more
Yet others wake and tell a story
The few in trance, on life boarding
The many melt to one great bore
A young man weeps as his soul burns
His neighbour smiles: revenge's sweet
A cool breeze disturbs a dream of greed
And somewhere else three lovers take turns
We loose ourselves in sleep and dread
And know not who by morning's dead.
'Tis stronger than me,
In waves like the sea:
Just the sight of thee.
The Gods, in their wisdom, have decreed
That it's fun to see a man in need.
Man is a wolf at night
And by day dies for fright.
The mirror reflects
My thoughts of you
And then it rejects
My person too.
I hate to tell you all
How sad life is,
Yet out I call
And spoil poems like this.
Justice gives each man his due:
Comfort to me and fairness to you,
Life to unborn and death to the blue.
We're all alike in Justice's eyes,
Born without sin, dying with lies
And, in between, greed in disguise.
A poem about love should bore
For who wants to know anything more
Of the silly ways in which I adore?
Do bees really sting?
Do birds really sing?
There's always this poem at the back of my mind;
Having got paper, the words I can't find.
Social or silk they may be:
Ties are there to strangle me.
If god really wanted us to show our fruits
He wouldn't have invented three-pieced suits.
Would a woodpecker peck wood
If he found a slave who could?
You're a teasing little brat
(I hope you didn't read that).
The greatest poem is a dream;
Like life passing by
It begins with a scream
And ends in a sigh.
Every silver lining surrounds a cloud
As each pregnant woman conceals a sprout.
The rustling of the trees sounds best
When they drop down to eternal rest.
Chances are you die in peace
That is: in one, and well at ease.
Just think of spring, of all the flowers dancing,
Of the wind, the rain, and oxen romancing.
It stands to reason to assume
That rapists will in hiding loom.
There lies a corpse under the train;
It tried to cross but jumped in vain.
The damdest thing about cremation:
One's tan still has a short duration.
The road goes ever on and on
Yet out of sight it may be gone.
The lady there is really fair -
Too bad about her burning hair.
Oh my, oh my, look at the time;
I'm sure in it there is a rhyme.
Holiday, and well away
To some place where you will not stay.
Romance is the sea, a gull,
A wind so quiet,
The sun that dieth
And on the beach you spot a skull.
I never care the least bit
For where I stand or tread - oh shit!
The life of a saint is what I lead:
I suffer, for of sins am freed.
Age makes men thinner than a dime
Like butter spread out over time.
The gap between you and a stiff
Is one breath of air - just a whiff.
The concept of earning
Should include that of yearning.
To love and to care till death do us part
Must certainly take a very kind heart.
What would the world be
If it wasn't for me?
My soul is pure, I cannot die
Except for telling this wee white lie.
The State lives from drinking blood
And who refuses will feel the rod
Lovers are as lovers do:
Mostly absorbed in groups of two.
The essence of death
Is a shortage of breath.
I seem to remember spring -
When I was young, as was my thing.
I think you love to watch, you dirt,
To peep through every key-hole,
'Cause who else, but a pervert,
Would read this and trap my naked soul?
The best thing about loneliness - as today -
Is that I can't play chess anyway.
I develop, therefore I am
But for being I give a damn.
The reason we can as yet not say,
But sure as hell life's not a play.
"Forget me not, even though we're through!"
"All right," she said, "but who are you?"
Brother Tuck is supposed to have said
It's better to kill than be killed instead.
Whoever wants his father destroyed:
Buy the elixer of Dr Freud!
Time cannot change, it is ever NOW
For if it changed, it had a time somehow.
The men in white dissect their sick
And say they cure what they didn't pick.
To sell and lend, to buy and loan;
The difference is just to possess or own.
The army is all about power and might,
And giving civilians a hell of a fright.
Women and children should not go first -
Sexism, ageism, which one is worst?
He burst out in a ghoulish cry,
Killed his old mother and ran off with a pie.
A comfortable chair in a room full of junk
Is either temptation or Hell's hottest funk.
The lord is my shepherd, I shall not want -
And if I do, he'll just reject my demand.
Peculiar thing it is, this past.
It's always there and following fast.
There goes my ex with an ugly baboon.
I hate them both and especially the loon.
A really, really dirty mind
Thinks about simply being kind.
My poems are getting worse and worse;
In the end the doc will screw the nurse.
Where there is love, there is no fear;
Where there are wolves, there are no deer.
The pond is at peace but for the rings
Made by a fish, picked up by wings.
The greatest thing that can be thought -
It isn't God but rather nought.
One harsh voice is the crowd
Always empty, e'er loud.
Through wind and waves struggled a ship,
Drank the sea and drowned: SIP, sip, sip.
A baby on a cliff dropped down, got squashed
And, spread out on the beach, away t'was washed.
An artist must suffer, a poet be sick
And even then the mem'ry won't stick.
A monad is lonely, and empty, and small -
Yet takes in the rest and is conscious of all.
Of all the worlds that can be this one's best
- So hell, how awful must be the rest.
Bataille is not a sovereign man:
To break taboos is all he can.
If it's better to be than not be at all
We must on the whole be having a ball.
Marriage moves often from better to worse:
It starts with a cradle and ends in a hearse.
What would love be if we felt no guilt
About desires unexpressed yet willed?
Oh hell I'm tired
And uninspired.
The bourgeois calls it theft,
The anarchist taking what's left.
The beauty speaks -
Her breath reeks.
The sheriff shot, the crooks were dead,
And the screen faded to a pleasant red.
They were skinny, ugly, and grey -
And a loving couple in the hay.
What's on a man's mind?
Often just a gorgeous behind.
They had much fun and many mates,
And then one day along came Aids.
Ice on the rivers, snow in the streets;
Rather than work, I'd cuddle in 'tween the sheets.
'Pon my honour, said the MP,
I'll stand to my word, you'll certainly see.
The free-rider in a pool is defined
As the one who left the turd behind.
Friedrich Nietzsche wore a whip
And a pair of handcuffs on his hip.
The Amazons' idea of fun:
Attack, take the manny, and run.
The stripper stripped, the preacher ceased to preach,
And both were one on the nudist beach.
Those bloody poets with their broken hearts
Pretend they're hurt but sleep with tarts.
A scarecrow left to freeze in the field
Argued with the wind, but for its chill had to yield.
The more you stand behind in the Q
The less they care what happens to U.
Rabbit, rabbit, hoppin' in the sun,
Oh what pleasure to try a new gun.
Oxford Reggae
If it walks like a don and quacks like one -
It most certainly is a KGB mon.
His master's voice spoke up: "I say!
Get out of my bed; I can't be gay?!"
Early one summer's morning I woke
To touch the earth and have a smoke.
The squeeling, squirming, roaring sea -
Biting, hitting, wrestling free.
Breathing deeply, slowly, calmly in and out
I feel I am, beyond all doubt.
The priest fancied a fair-haired boy,
And after mass - oh what a joy.
There is no progress, and if there were
It should be stopped - 'tis an erreur.
The hots
Bring spots.
I wanted your virtue at any cost -
But found it was already lost.
Why don't politicians have a heart -
And why, still worse, are the rich never smart?
Sharks need claws
Like angels need laws.
The government is much like God:
Complaints it hears, but listen 't will not.
Don't make love, make war.
You'll feel safer by far.
Civil rights are for the brave,
Advantages create the slave.
I'd kill myself if it wasn't for you,
And with the same ease I'd kill for you.
Behind the window stood I, one hand free,
the other busy watching thee.
In a minute the sun will set
Forth on its course from white to red.
(For W.H. Auden)
What's a day
Without a lay?
Beer, wine, or vodka -
You drink 'm, they gotcha.
The Devil Drink seduced me
And to impotence reduced me.
Thank God for tennis skirts,
Young girls and love's little hurts.
I pray to God my soul to keep
And guard my purse while I'm asleep.
A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do
I.e., take it for a walk down to the loo.
She said, oh sure, kiss my ass,
And so I did. Next time I'll pass.
Now is the winter of our discontent.
We barely touched the TV and blank it went.
If only I knew
What to think of you.
I'd let the Song of Songs
Echo 'gainst this wall
But oh wonder, your breasts
Aren't furry at all.
I'm absolutely stunned
By the sight of your c---
Four inches small and down you bow
Oh Superman, where are you now?
Oh yes, she said, oh yes, yes, yes!
And guess who next day cleaned the mess...
I'll kiss her lips, sweet warm wet lips,
And taste her soul in all my sips.
We live in the margin of humanity,
Breathe to the centre -
But there's no one there.
Dig, dig deep, dig deep in your head.
All you'll find are wet spots in the bed.
The rope's at hand: she broke my heart.
I'll swing in the wind and go with a fart.
Now the ev'ning bears the night
And the choice again is mine:
To be alone or to be tight,
To drown in vinegar or wine.
There is no more,
There's nothing more.
The elevator girl, the thrill of the town:
How I love to go up with you, up, up and down.
All you'd let me taste was the softness of your cheek.
Oh God, what am I doing in this body of a freak?
There once was this liberal floating about:
Being free, he just couldn't get out.
Here I stand
Move I can't.
(Not mine)
Oh my God
He's been shot.
Here's one for you: I touch your skin,
You look at me and see my sin.
The horror of it took my breath:
Ockham's razor, known as -----.