Is Man Done In?
Copyright 2007, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
Is man done in?
Is man done in?
Killin' his brother over one lousy dollar
Rippin' down interstates, swimmin' through squalor
Beggin' God for a new car, or a full pardon
Kickin' and clawin' his way back to the garden
Is man done in?
Is man done in?
Is man done in?
Fightin' the same war down decades' long corridor
Thinks he's a toreador, hooray for the picador
Roses become trash rainin' out of the stands
Desperate for high ground in these filth-laden lands
Is man done in?
Is man done in?
Is man done in?
Skulls' grins on bankers boardin' up broken glass
Keep hoppin' freighters and keep off the grass
If T.R. was here he'd smile and roll up his sleeves
Rubber girl's cryin' as she rakes up dead leaves
Is man done in?
Is man done in?
Is man done in?
The Angels are weepin', wings all a-tatter
The blind man on Main Street cries "What is the matter"
While the usual golf carts rattle all down the green
The show must go on though the host's not been seen
Is man done in?
Is man done in?
Is man done in?
Hoisted on meat hooks, roasted in green flame
A man breaks down his neighbor, thinks it's all just a game
But it never was about good or evil or original sin
'Til you learn to be kind you must go round again
Is man done in?
Is man done in?
Is man done in?
Missiles rain down with a sulfurous stench
America's favorite charioteer is down in a ditch
They smashed out the headlights and stole all the chrome
Sixteen souls in the scupper are startin' to moan
Is man done in?
Is man done in?
Is man done in?
Frankenstein's creature could be your best friend
The Parent-Teacher Organization is hot to molest him
Accusations come cheap and now loyalty's for hire
Salvation Army's contracted a mercenary choir
Is man done in?
Is man done in?
Is man done in?
Waitin' around for the new Babel to fall down
And a king to rise up and claim his burnished crown
Dogs rippin' the meat from old gutter bones
Hedgin' our bets on horror and precious stones
Is man done in?
Crocodile Tears
Copyright 2007, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
It is shaped, sir,
Like itself
And it is as broad as
It hath breadth
It is just so high
As it is
And it moves with
Its own organs
It lives by that which
Nourisheth it
And the elements once
Out of it,
It transmigrates
What color is it of?
Of its own color too
'Tis a strange serpent
'Tis so
And the tears of it
Are wet
I Wish I Was a Pirate
Copyright 2007, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
I wish I was a pirate, me son
Far away at sea
Sinking Spanish galleys
'Fore they could sink me
An' I would ne'er brush me teeth
Nor ne'er take a bath
Strikin' terror into sailors' hearts, me son
Is always good for a pirate laugh
Under me black pirate flag, me son
I'd pose out on the deck
In purple coat an' matchin' eye-patch
I'd demand the world's respect
'Til one day sure as the sun is yeller
I'd go down wi' me ship, me son
I'd meet that Davy Jones feller
An' we'd share a sip o' rum
I wish I was a pirate, me son
Far away at sea
Sinking Spanish galleys
'Fore they could sink me
Moon
Copyright 2007, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
Rays cut across tidal, dusty seas
Circular pools rimed in murky stains
This eternal silence, how lonely made
Among gray craters and silvered plains
Amidst the pits and knobby hillocks
Under the zodiac's unremitting trains
Covered over in pristine velvety night
Among gray craters and silvered plains
This supple desolation's no treachery known
Unblemished by men's intemperate brains
Dyed by no blood, nor propped up mortal throne
Among gray craters and silvered plains
The Lurking Beast
Copyright 2007, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
'Gainst the rattle of the buggy's wheels
And dull retort of hooves clopping in bracing air,
The steamy snorts from flaring nostrils of my mare,
And the new moon freshly set in a darkling, bruiséd sky
Came I.
Down a serpentine, wending, winding, diving trail
Through pressing woods, whose gaping meadows croak open
Under frosty, star-littered night,
Rose whiffs of bracken and nettles crushed under-wheel.
The mind's sensitive underside we seldom broach;
Therein I sensed the lurking beast's approach.
Weird terror slowly chilled mine own senses, now alerted,
Ebon blackness blotting phalangic bones of tree and bush,
Drifting, shredded, shapeless shapes stalked my much-vexed vision
Like wind-ravaged cloud, or stirring spectre secretly marking my course.
What is that, there! What agitation betwixt yon oaks?
As light glances from blade's edge or flickering dew,
Stars illume and flash from distant wide-set globular orbs!
Is it the scraping rustle of twigs askance or
Talons like horns a-swing through grassy tassels tossing?
I click-clicked up my steed to a light trot, set my eyes fixed
To a singular point dead-ahead, and strove
To refrain from contemplation of my undefended back-
Or of revolutionary deserters who once haunted these woods,
They who faithlessly their brothers at Valley Forge abandoned,
Bloody feet rag-wrapt, creeping through bitter snow and ice.
They did not all find their way back home.
The light is gloaming yellow up ahead.
Welcome acrid smoke wafts from the cottage chimney.
The lurking beast retreats, into the deeps of memory submerges,
Mine own fidelity justly fortified.
Too Close in Time
Copyright 2007, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
I bought you a bracelet to
Brighten your wrist
I heard not one word that
Passed through your lips
In some parallel universe your
Footsteps follow mine
But we're too many worlds distant and
Too close in time
Your voice just sounds like
Some cruel kind of joke
But seeing you fills up my eyes with
Burning cities and smoke
Any word I might utter could only
Lead us to crime
We're too many worlds apart, dear, and
Too close in time
High-wire performers risk their
Lives for the circus
I left no message with God's
Answering service
His hands are too busy
Untangling human deception
And this kind of trouble warrants no
Immaculate conception
I don't have to be Bogey to know
What has to happen
If you're playing Patti Boyd then
I'm a miscast Clapton
And though it stretches our souls thin as
Nanotube lines
We're riding separate worlds pushed
Too close in time
Call Call Me
Copyright 2007, 2008, 2011 Ernest Bloom.
Though the ages weigh you down
And you find you can't get around
Nightmares pursue you and you can't break free
You can always call on me
Call call me
Everything's broke down you learned by heart
No street boys shootin' marbles or building a go-kart
Your old preacher's pushin' papers on 12th Street and Vine
Is there still time for you to change your mind?
Call call me
Call call me
Call call me
Even though this world is broken
Never mind the words unspoken
Call call me
Your whole life's shattered past recovery
Your blinders are slippin', it's a nasty discovery
Those true things they taught you have turned into lies
There's no money to be made bringin' back the blue skies
Call call me
Someone higher up shoulda prevented the train wreck
But when your paycheck's at risk you don't stick out your neck
I got nothin' to give you but some sympathy
If you can't find it elsewhere you can always call me
Call call me
Call call me
Call call me
Even though this world is broken
Never mind the words unspoken
Call call me
These new additions or imports from FP? Can't recall them anyways...Totally different from your latest output. Dylan lurking behind every second verse or so. Entertaining and yet not shallow, or I would like to believe so. Haven't time to delve into deep analysis, sadly. I've sold my soul to the Devil (work) and am currently trying to wriggle my way out of his claws. Just saying hello.
ReplyDeleteIs Man Done In?: This reads like a song, I mean, it has to be one, I mean, I wish it was. Personally, I hear Tom Waits rasping this out, b/c the lines are savage and sacredly honest. The rhymes aren't forced but achingly fitting, the lines aren't soggy under the influence of some regrettably dripping pathos-agenda. This poem has guts, some muscle that's constantly flexing and giving its all, that can counter all the acrid disaster it details, or at least die tryin'.
ReplyDeleteStill not sure on "T.R.", but I have a weak theory.
"decades' long corridor"- a phrase i particularly liked.
Seriously: just read Call Call Me and you are a folk singer, you just have to be. I haven't read/heard anything that clean and proper since I don't know how long.
thanks for the kindnesses, cab. i used to write this sort of thing all the time cos it came like breathing and it's tiny and focused and has a definite end in sight before it's begun; now i write a single novel that extends somewhere way beyond an event horizon; but i continue to write and write and write more madly than ever. tr of course is teddy roosevelt. started working on the "lines, 2008" compilation a few months ago but it's so VAST.........someday it'll appear here. btw, don't know whether i've mentioned it, but the novel site, such as it is, is here: http://brbogle.blogspot.com/ anyway thanks again........made my day.
ReplyDelete