Rug Burns and Grecian Urns all them Dylan Turn
Turn
Turns, them cheek a cheeks in Donovan weeks,
coming through a cartoon hole door in a Warhol soup can
floating down the river of rave ups and punk roots
sitting in the space ship living rooms with lava lamps
bubblin...them Fugs can be troubling to the one
dimensional man...this land is your land this land is ours
and if i had a Hammer id learn two chords
if i can remember the early psychedelic punk bands
before Punk was the new wave id ring my ding-a-ling
id wear my Rat fink Decals and my Hell's Angel
levi originals to the orgy of Brave New World clubs
down the street on dark sides of the shades of grays
Everything is permitted, everything is not, Nothing is
Sacred, everything is holy, Patti Smith in Babylon
G L O R I A.....G...L...O O O....R...I I I....Aaaaa
Psycho killer....what you say? Take me to the river...
take me to the masked ball....take down to the cross
roads and let the Devil write that song..let it happen
be a happening be a Fug a long wear your album cover
on your sleeve Sun Ra rising and Miles said Ornette was
crazy...man...them crazy cat poets form a chain down
through the changes from Cubistic structures through
undergrounds in sounds sights and color the music
drifts down from on high and then hippie flower children
with folk songs goin around in their heads from Beatnik
cafes sigh when gathered in Plato's Cave to wear
cool too cool sunglasses and them bongos play cry
walk right in sit right down daddy let your mind roll on...
all taking about a new way of walkin...let it all hang down
and snap fingers to the existential vacuums in the corners
and listen to protest poems and just abstract words flowin
from mouths and other oriface we arrive at the birth of
Punk on a very drunken boat night got to get this right
got to step out of the ruins of Rock and Roll and find
that feelin again from that first lyric black experience
to The Experience to the Trill is gone but bebop
revolution is on a neverending loop de loop
and we still can say shoop shoop be bop a luba
and later baby i wanna be an ANARCHIST!!!
or...i wanna be a Bliss Kissed.
Fugs Ra
- revolutionrabbit
- Posts: 729
- Joined: March 29th, 2009, 8:55 pm
- Contact:
- stilltrucking
- Posts: 20607
- Joined: October 24th, 2004, 12:29 pm
- Location: Oz or somepLace like Kansas
I was a bitter old man by the time punk came round.
for me it was maybeline why can't you be true
and blue berry hill
blue suede shoes
and good golly miss molly
that music died my senior year in high school.
I may be too old to be an anachist
But I feel like one in my heart
Talking to a punk
Childhood wasted
on the streets
coming to terms with being a man
when we speak about punk
when he tells me about what it is for him
almost sounds mystical.
Best advice I ever got
Listen to the music.
for me it was maybeline why can't you be true
and blue berry hill
blue suede shoes
and good golly miss molly
that music died my senior year in high school.
I may be too old to be an anachist
But I feel like one in my heart
Talking to a punk
Childhood wasted
on the streets
coming to terms with being a man
when we speak about punk
when he tells me about what it is for him
almost sounds mystical.
Best advice I ever got
Listen to the music.
- revolutionrabbit
- Posts: 729
- Joined: March 29th, 2009, 8:55 pm
- Contact:
punky
wrote this a few months ago, as a response on another site, to a article, from some guy that played music with Allen Ginsberg.I don't know what he thought of my poemy response.I did that a lot on that site, and i gots a lot of peoms to get off there.But as a meditation on the, influences of poetry on music and lyrics, and the music we got that plays in the poems.The words that we got dancin in our mosh pit heads, even like Gabba Gabba Hey.
- stilltrucking
- Posts: 20607
- Joined: October 24th, 2004, 12:29 pm
- Location: Oz or somepLace like Kansas
The Birth of Tragedy from the Spirit of Music
Loved that book
and I liked your poem a lot
I could hear it
I am crossed wired brain wise
Tone deaf and tune deaf
The music fades with the last note
The poem with the last line
I can remember the words
the music is gone till I hear it again
I can not recall the melody
I am left in silence
Deafening silence
sincerely
a desperate reader in Texas
keep them coming poet cat
I need all I can hear.
sorry about the personal ramble
the clinical details
people assume that red is red
black is white
they make no allowance for the vicissitudes of perception of sound and light.
some are color blind
others are tune deaf.
freaky
Loved that book
and I liked your poem a lot
I could hear it
I am crossed wired brain wise
Tone deaf and tune deaf
The music fades with the last note
The poem with the last line
I can remember the words
the music is gone till I hear it again
I can not recall the melody
I am left in silence
Deafening silence
sincerely
a desperate reader in Texas
keep them coming poet cat
I need all I can hear.
sorry about the personal ramble
the clinical details
people assume that red is red
black is white
they make no allowance for the vicissitudes of perception of sound and light.
some are color blind
others are tune deaf.
freaky
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