Fugs Ra

[revolutionrabbit]

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.

[stilltrucking]

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.

[revolutionrabbit]

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]

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