Past Life, Was It Really So Long Ago? (0-16 Futility Mix)

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Here is a poem that had to written under the theme of “What I Am”.  Seeming kinda scattered and slightly off-topic, it represents the jumping around my mind does.  Synapses fire, words appear and things don’t always have to make sense.

What I Am

Under the influence of the FUNK
Shot by Starchild’s Bop Gun
Follower of Sir Nose D’Voidoffunk, aka the Establishment, no more
Now a member of Uncle Jam’s army
Not falling for the Placebo Syndrome
Funkentelechy realized with Dr. Funkenstein’s help
Funk
Cause of creation, source of all energy and life
Think it ain’t illegal yet
I want to scream at people
Ignorant of what the ruling 1% is up to
Perpetual war seeking illusive peace
Profane profits
Pointless
It feels
To fight back
By slaying fake jacks with my intellect
Instead I sit back
Kick it with Dr, Greenthumb and a chopped up Premier track
The Cosmic Slop returning me to the Maggot Brain state
Battling the forces of the Pleasure Principle and pimpafication
with Lord Quasimoto
Free your mind and your ass will follow

Here are some haikus concerning my beloved Detroit Lions.  Spectacularly and perpetually mediocre, the Lions dazzle with inventing new ways of losing while showcasing ineptitude.  More than a football team, the Detroit Lions represent the striving, trying but never successful.  Sometimes one just has to accept one’s fate as a doormat.  0-16 I believe!  Wonderfully awful is better than plain Jane mediocrity.

Bobby Ross

I don’t give a damn
screamed the coach as spittle flew
I don’t couch that stuff

Steve Maruicci

Entered a winner
We’re building something good here
underachievement personified

Barry Sanders

Spin, Juke, Crash, Cutback
Stop on a dime, jitterbug
How did he do that

Wayne Fontes

I crashed a golf cart
then I sued the Detroit Lions
now I have no job

Marty Morninghweg

Two wins Fourteen losses
Zero wins on road; took the wind
Three wins Thirteen losses

This poem was influenced by a couple of months of reading eastern religion texts.

Prashanti

Rough ridged white walls & ceiling
transformed in the growing darkness
On a typical fall day
I bypassed the reducing valve of the medulla oblongata.
Atoms pulsated and swirled
as stars awoke for their daily duty.
Flickering, the TV operated without sound,
the soothing strings of Shankar
sending out vibrations capable of shattering any psychicality.
Mind and universe linked as one,
the Mind at Large lost,
as the illuminating darkness
turned into blinding light

I am glad to be out of Kalamazoo.  As nice a place it can be, it is too small for me.

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