Easter Poems

Honoring Clay January (Lightning Rod) RIP 2/6/2013
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Lightning Rod
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Easter Poems

Post by Lightning Rod » March 26th, 2005, 10:51 pm

"Crown of Thorns"

So far it's a Fair Friday
But Good Friday is on the way
My friend Butch came with a
bald head and a bottle of Crown Royal
LR breaks out the bag--it's gonna be a good Friday
We sit blowing on the bottle and finding
the tone on the piano
Take a sip--down to bout a B-flat
tastes like a smokey version of calvary's vinegar
What's so good about a nail in the hand?

Down to the F# on the Crown Royal
The bottle is in a bag. Purple
like a body bag
I saw the ambulance on the hill
ship him off to Joseph's tomb
I just know God's gonna make a storm
Me an my patnah keep nippin' the bottle
Then blowin' it and matching the notes to the piano
We've taken it down about
an octave to the B-flat gettin' toward the A
Nothin' like a thunderstorm in Texas
God is angry like he would be on Broadway
If Rogers and Hammerstein wrote the Passion
He knows what's gonna happen
when they roll the rock back

Crown Royal is givin' me perfect pitch
didn't need the piano to
tell me I was tootin' E sharp
or C flat
Was He already gone
soon as they rolled the rock in place?
Or did he hang around and listen to the blues
All day Saturday
then erupt in glory on Sunday morning
with all the French horns in the Crystal Cathedral
blastin' for the networks?

sixteen pennies in Jesus' fist killer
on the left robber on the right
Buddha holds his breath with all of his might
Levo calls the meeting to order
Dexter sets his hair alight
they play into the night

Day of Doubt
Day of Doubt

-----------------------
"Cross to Bear"


haul that cross on good friday

ev'rybody has 'dere cross to bear
we drag them through the mocking streets
gall on our brows looking for the release of death
and the hope that maybe, just maybe, we'll walk again
in glory and resurrection shimmering in the face of disbelief

ev'rybody has 'dere cross to bear
a weight in thorns and jeers and cobblestones
slick beneath our feet like superstition nailed in steps
our scorn is bourne on whipped shoulders sweating in streams
and the screams of the lookers on could never match our own scorn.

ev'rybody has 'dere cross to bear
like stoned resentment and judgement rendered
and the clowns of our own fears released like pudding on dreams
vinegar is the sour benediction and testiment to the teas of our desire
let this cup pass by, oh lord, let this cup pass by pass by pass by pass by
"These words don't make me a poet, these Eyes make me a poet."

The Poet's Eye

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judih
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interesting

Post by judih » March 27th, 2005, 12:19 am

I love the first one in true l-rod musical flavour

the second one is an easter blues.

Did both of these come out of the day, clay?

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e_dog
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Post by e_dog » March 27th, 2005, 5:31 am

suffering on the cross --
pain embodied in blood tears --
what is the History of the West
if not
delusions of grandeur
meeting persecution
in unbelievable cruelty
untellable yet told
over and over
again?

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Post by Lightning Rod » March 27th, 2005, 3:13 pm

judih, I wrote both of those on easter in the past few years, but not on the same day

This is a great Easter poem:

----

The Nazz
Richard "Lord" Buckley, 1906-1960

Now, I look at all you cats and kitties out there
a whippin' and a wailin' and a jumpin' up and down
and suckin' up all that juice and pattin' each other on the back
and a hippin' each other who the greatest cat in the world is.

Mr. Malenkov,

Mr. Talenkov,

Mr. Eisenhower,

Mr. Whoozerwheezer,

Mr. Whiserwhooser,

Mr. Woodhill,

Mr. Beachhill,

an' Mr. Churchill,

and all them other hills gonna get you straight,
and if they can't get you straight
they know a cat that knows a cat who'll straighten you.

But I'm gonna put a cat on you
was the coolest, grooviest, swingin'est, wailin'est,
strongest, swingin'est cat that ever stomped on this jumpin' green sphere.

And they called this here cat "The Nazz."

He was a carpenter kittie.

Now, The Nazz was the kind of a cat that come on so cool
and so groovey and so with-it
that when he laid it down,
WHA-BOM, it stayed there.

Naturally all the rest of the cats said, "Man, look at that cat wail!
He's wailin' up a storm up there. Hey, I'm tellin' ya,
he layin' it down right, he..."

"Get off my back, Jack! What's the matter with you?
I'm tryin' to dig what the cat's puttin' down!"

They're pushin' The Nazz to dig his miracle lick.

And The Nazz say, "Cool, babies.
Tell ya' what I'm gonna do.
I ain't gonna take two, four six, eight of you cats,
but I'm gonna take all twelve of you studs
and straighten you all at the same time."

Say, "You cats look like you pretty hip."

He say, "You buddy with me."

So The Nazz and his buddies was goofin' off down the boulevard one day
and they run into a little cat with a bent frame.

So The Nazz look at this little cat with the bent frame
and he say, "What's the matter wit' you, baby?"

Little cat with the bent frame he said, "My frame is bent, Nazz."
Say, "It's been bent from in front."

So The Nazz look at the little cat with a bent frame
and he put the golden eyes of love on this here little kittie
and he look right down into the window of the little cat's soul
and he say to the little cat, he say, "Straighten!"

Rooom - Boom!

Unbent that little cat like an arrow.

And everybody's jumpin' up and down
sayin' "Look what The Nazz put on that boy!"

"You dug him before. Redig him now!"

Everyone's talkin' about The Nazz.
What a great cat he was.
How he swung with the glory of love.
How he straighten out the squares.

How he stomp into the money changin' carts
and kicked the short change all over the place
and knockin' the corners off the squares.

How he put it down to the one cat, dug it.
Didn't dig it.
Put it down twice, dug it.
Didn't dig it.
Put it down a third time, dug it.
Boom!
Walked away with his eyes buggin out in the air bumpin' into everybody.

And they're pullin' on The Nazz's coat tail.
They want him to sign the autograph.
They want him to do a gig here, do a gig there,
play the radio, play the video.
He can't make all that jazz!

Like I 'splained to you he's a carpenter kitty, got his own lick.

But when he know he should go and show and blow,
and can't go cause he got too much strain on him,
straightenin' out the squares,
he sends a couple of these cats that he's hippin'.

So came a little sixty-cent gig one day,
and The Nazz was in a bind,
and he put it on a couple of his boys.
He say, "Boys, take care of that for me, would ya?"

And they say, "You take it off your wig, Nazz, we'll cool it."

And they started out to straighten it out for The Nazz.

And they got about half way to where they were goin'
and they came to a little old twenty-cent pool of water
and they got right in the pool of water with the boat
and all of a sudden, Blam!,
the lightnin' flashin' and the thunder roarin'
and the boat is goin' up and down
and these poor cats figured every minute gonna be their last
and one cat look up and.... here come The Nazz!

Cool as anyone you see.
Right across the water.

Stompin'

And there was a little cat on board, I think his name was Jude.

He say, "Hey, Nazz, can I make it out there witcha?"

And The Nazz say, "Make it, Jude!"

Old Jude went stompin' off that boat,
took four steps,
dropped his whole cart,
and the Nazz had to stash him back on board.

So The Nazz say, "Say, what seem to be troublin' you boys?"

He say, "You hittin' on that S.O.S.in' bell pretty hard.
You gonna bend that bell, knockin' on it like that."

One of the cats say, " 'What seems to be troublin' ya?!?!'
Can't ya see the storm's goin'
and the lightnin' flashin'
and the thunder roarin'...?"

And The Nazz say, "I told you to stay cool, didn't I, babies?"

To the people who don't know what it means to believe,
to "stay cool" is to be,
to have the sweet fragrance of serenity rock ya' away.

So now everybody's talkin' about The Nazz.

Oh, this beautiful, swingin' man.

How he's settin' the country on fire with great sparks of great love
like a swingin' non-stop satellite goin' through all the lands
and valleys and puttin' down the scene with such beauty
and such power and such charm
that there are now sparks seventy-five feet long shootin' out of the grapevine
and they now got five thousand of these little cats and kitties
in The Nazz's home town, where the cat live, lookin' to get straight.

Well, he knows he can't straighten them there.
It's too small a place to want to hang everybody up.

So The Nazz backed away a little bit
and he look at these cats and these kitties
and he say, "Come on, babies. Let's cut on out down the pike."

And there went The Nazz.

And these five thousand cats and kitties are stompin' up a storm.

Behind them there's a great love river of joy.
It's goin' like a great chain through these gorgeous cats and kitties
as they're swingin' along on the beat of the Nazz
and the birds are flyin' on one side
and singin' love songs to these cats and kitties
and there's a great jubilee of love.

And The Nazz talkin' about how pretty the hour, how pretty the flower,
how pretty you, how pretty me, how pretty the tree.
Nazz had them pretty eyes.
He wanted everybody to see with pretty eyes and see how pretty it was.

And they're havin' such a glorious swingin' time
that before you know it they were forty-two miles out of town
and ain't nobody got the foist biscuit.

So The Nazz look at them cats and kitties
and he say, "You hungry, ain't ya, babies?"

And the cats say, "Yea, Nazz."
Say, "We was diggin' so hard on what you was puttin' down
we didn't pre-pare." Say, "We goofed."

So The Nazz say, "Well we gotta take it easy here.
We wouldn't want to go ahead and order up something
you might not like, would we."

And they said, "Sweet double hipness, you put it down and we'll pick it up."

And the Nazz step away a little bit. And he put a glorious sound of love on.

He said, "Oh, sweet swingin' flowers of the field."

And they said, "Oh, great non-stop singular song to beauty."

And he said, "Stomp upon the terra." They did.

He said, "Lift your miracle the body." The body went up.

He said, "Lift your arms." The arms went up.

He said, "Higher." They went higher.

He said, "DIG INFINITY!" And they dug it!

And when they did, Whap!, there was a flash of thunder
and they looked in one hand was a great, big, stuffed, sweet, swingin', smoked fish.

And in the other a long, gone, crazy loaf
of that southern, home-made, honey-tastin', sweet bread.

Why, these poor cats flipped!

The Nazz never did nothin' simple.

When He laid it,
He laid it.

[Sings:] When the saints......Sweet Lord.

Let me hip you to something!

When you make Love make it!

Oh! Some of you brothers and sisters.

Hold outs!
"These words don't make me a poet, these Eyes make me a poet."

The Poet's Eye

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mnaz
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Post by mnaz » March 29th, 2005, 5:36 pm

The Nazz....

I can relate. Did you know my mnaz family owns a chain of
profitable churches?

I refuse to talk about Jesus.

Jesus was a radical.
There is never a suitable time for radical,
until he is crucified and properly marketed...

Jesus had a message.
There is never a suitable time for a message,
until it is trampled by its messengers.

I refuse to talk about Jesus
Last edited by mnaz on March 31st, 2005, 7:59 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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stilltrucking
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Post by stilltrucking » March 30th, 2005, 7:31 am

a good poem for a long dark night. dark as only mercury vapor lamps can make it. I walk around my shack looking for one star to wish on.

"Fucx Jesus", right after he said that he hit me upside my head with a three foot piece of four by four. I figured it was just karma. An accident of birth. I don't practice the religion it is more of a cultural thing for me, my world view as a child, a prejudice to over come. The rotting corpse of christian values, even if george changes his underwear everyday he still stinks. I got a guilty conscience about christianity as a Jewish plot to enslave the men who hold out, who rise above it, Just a sleepless night I don't get many, I stayed up to watch a public television show about Red Emma, ever the sophomore I even took notes.
he lover the suicide bomber, Lenin telling her that "free speech" is a bourgeois notion.

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mnaz
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Post by mnaz » March 31st, 2005, 7:48 pm

I suppose I'm guilty of trashing "The Church", or "religion", perhaps a little too often, and with not enough clarification.

Religion can be a powerful spiritual path.... a connection with divine energy.... a "zen" type of experience..... But it cannot be if it exists primarily to serve itself and offer a "special ticket to heaven", which only serves to isolate it from the whole. The Christian faith has inspired much beautiful art and philanthropy, which is often obscured by its history of considerable intolerance, greed, and violence, at times. I periodically remind myself of this.

Well, that's my take on it, at least.

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dadio
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Re: Easter Poems

Post by dadio » December 16th, 2013, 3:26 am

Miss this guy. Brill capture. 8)

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