Music of the Amazons

Amazonas2

I, Francisco ORELLANA, conquistador of New Spain and faithful servant soldier of my King and Queen, having been stranded near the sources of the River of Darkness flowing through the jungles of Greater QUITO, bear faithful testimony of the marvelous sights and wonders my troops and I have beheld, by Grace of the Holy Trinity, here in the recently established Colony of Imperial Spain among the lands of the savage OMAGUAS. Tribes of women, living without need of men, do both sing and dance and play diverse instruments in their villages and we have been most entertained by their arts and courtesies. Therefore we do seal and inscribe with the authority vested in us by Our Royal Benefactors Ferdinand and Isabela, sovereign regents of Castile and Leon this day of August two-thousand thirteen a most blessed YouTube – and we proclaim: that this flowing river should be rightly named AMAZON in light of the fact that such cities of independent women as mentioned by the philosophers of antiquity do flourish in this NEW WORLD:

It’s the Bee’s Knees

On the box of Midwest Butter,
in the verdant dairy pastures,
sat the smiling Indian maiden,
daughter of her tribe, the maiden.
Holding forth a golden offering;
from the box her yellow treasure
for the yet unbuttered buyer.
Gently her sweet knees protruded
from her humble beaded buckskin,
from her beaded buckskin garment
each supported by a letter;
full twin globes upon an altar.
As mammalians, when they’re nursing
seek the rounded gifts of nature
while their hands, abreast and lifted
grasping, find the source of plenty,
swallow fast that milky manna
swallow down that flowing liquid
with a smile upon their features,
so my soul rejoiced to meet her
in the grasslands of a daydream
in the pastures of my daydream,
holding forth divine recurrence:
gift within a gift forever
churning, and imploding inwards
infinite, receding backwards
into endless Indian maidens
spreading myth upon my table
on my toast upon my table
till her tribe returns in glory . . .

(etc, etc, with apologies to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

MORE cool stuff about the Land O Lakes maiden here
(but THIS GUY is peeved)

Still want MORE ?

4 Easy Pieces: conceptual poem/quiz

1) womb worker / moon mama rising from the sista circle / warrior of ebony ujamaa dreams / afreakan priestess of night-goddess humanity / blood-flower of the ancestors / my noble violated self /my people / my poems SUCK

2) Workers of Aztlan / peones of capitalismo / we don’t need no stinkin’ gringo badges to sweat bullets in your fields of oppression / pachuco rising in the barrios of the frijole future / nahuatl rose Azteca princesa tortilla vendor / return oh sons of Cuautemotitlan / Tio Sam is having a coronary tú sabes but our espangleesh poetry still SUCKS

3) revaluate revolutionary solutions in revolt / occupy the exploitation / up against the m—-er f—-in’ Walmart credit slaves / kickin’ it on multiple fronts ’cause the game is going down and we getting our war on / greenly sustainable future arise immaculate in the smoke of your shopping malls when our molotov poetry stops SUCKING

4) queer = queenly / we are your fears / winking at transgendered repression in tears / a butch-booted army mascaras toward your dead tradition so flaunt this, breeders / our collective diversity pierced only by fascist family values / skinning your hate alive / undressed in the day-glo San Fran fact / that we write SUCKY SUCKY POETRY

NOW –

MATCH THE MILITANT POEMS ABOVE
TO THEIR INTENDED TARGET AUDIENCE (20 points)

A. Drunken Rethuglican plutocrats in a gay bar

B. Undocumented indigenous sex-workers who play lacrosse at Duke

C. The evil racist Nazi fascist dead white CEO of Chick Fil-A, bless his soul…

D. Tenured North Korean sympathizers teaching World Lit @ Virginia Tech

It’s YOUR TURN now.

Go write some sucky militant poetry.

POWER to the PEOPLE. Unh – huh…

IMAGE CREDIT: http://pochp.files.wordpress.com

Owed to a Caulk Gun

LiquidNails girl

STICK’EM UP with LIQUID NAILS

DANGER ! EXTREMELY FLAMMABLE
See Other Caution on Back Panel:

I’m hot for you Cowgirl – you’re so flammable my glue-gun starts to melt; my screwdriver starts twisting when you loosen that low-slung belt. You make me feel like laying re-bar in a freshly-poured foundation. Shoot me up with that caulk gun baby – I need you like salvation. Ten and one-half fluid ounces – pull off your top, pop a love-cap in me. Fingerin’ your trigger while the job is gettin’ bigger so take me for a ride to the hardware store, honey, cause I’m seeing red and feeling white on your golden background’s sheer delight. Hammer me a heart-full, spike me on a cross of blonde, I’m hanging ten, surfing the tube of your magic wand. I’ve been in love ever since I first waterproofed my seamy undersides with you… stand over me in those red, red boots, you Liquid Nails Girl – and from your pure white Stetson let righteousness unfurl. You won the shoot-out long before you even drew, my dear. Lost hope of the Wild West, Final Frontal Feminine Frontier – there’s only one side of you… your GOOD side. Just one look and your fearless gaze silences the foes, my blooming prairie rose.
YEE – HAW ! Be my angel, be my dream, my valentine rodeo queen, be my bodyguard, my therapist, long & tall & hard & wet – be my Liquid Nails Girl forever and I’ll ride right into your sunset…

NEXT IDEA: the Land O’ Lakes Squaw…

Prairie Rose lyrics

IMAGE CREDIT: radargeek @ flickriver.com