Marching to the Poetry Wars

 

Oh Atlantic is swell and New Yorker is gay
and the Times remains solid, a trusted mainstay—
but the greatest of all, and eclipsing these bores
is the valiant field-marshall of InfoWars.

When the dinosaur media die in the flood,
and our nation is thirsting for globalist blood
and what’s news is left leaning towards formula-fake
every patriot knows: there’s a vaccine to take !

Yes, there’s Time for a Newsweek or Washington Post
and a glib documentary from CNN’s host;
there’s a Fox for your hen-house, there’s Anderson C.
with a wink for the pretty-boys on your TV—

And of course there is Megyn (forgot her last name)
who lined up a hot date to accuse and to blame
but our wily commander escaped from the fray
with the evidence taped and the hounds still at bay.

We love Rachel Maddow. She’s pert and she’s quick
as she bludgeons the foe with that MSN shtick
but our Alex is scourging these media-whores:
the intrepid commander of InfoWars.

With his supplements ready, he’s up for the fight.
He’s the heart of God’s own anti-globalist Right.
He’s enraging the tyrants. He’s on to their tricks
(just like seventeen-hundred and seventy-six).

You can love him or hate him, support or berate
at your peril (our own Alexander the Great),
but please—do not misunderestimate.
He is less a George Bush and much more a Tom Paine
whose pure diatribes render the traitors insane.

So we love him. He’s right. He has answered the call,
and we are the resistance. Let wickedness fall.
He possesses their gates. He’s unhinging their doors;
the untouchable captain of InfoWars.

Yes, he’s hoarse and abrasive—a cowboy with grace
as he spits it right back in the globalist’s face.
He’s got millions of hits for each hundred of yours
not to mention his elixirs, ammo, and cures.

He’s the lion of Austin, renowned for his roar
that empowers the zoo while he’s upping the score.
An attempt to suppress him will bring on the worst
and his beasts will defend what his enemies cursed.

Transnational sociopaths, bankers and thugs
and the globalist criminals pushing their drugs
when the dust finally clears will be scrubbing his floors:
he’s king of the castle of InfoWars.

If his martyrdom happens, he’ll rise from the dead
and then multiply YouTubes like fishes and bread.
Resurrected, revived, he’ll ignite civil war
till you wish you had known what the Lord had in store.

If you hate him you’re merely a traitor at heart.
Don’t belittle his gifting, his talent, his art.
If you cannot discern what is writ on your wall
then get out of the way. Let your empire fall.

Should you act cavalierly, he’ll Cromwell your town;
it can only blow up if you take the man down.
He’s our knight; come the day and the laurels are ready—
hold back; keep your wit and your armaments steady.

My words bestow honor where honor is due:
on the crown of each head of the InfoWars crew—
till his voice, with a vengeance, shall break on far shores;
the tsunami (and swami) of InfoWars.

 

 

NaPoWriMo Ghost-Blogs

Fake blog fronts
( Tumblr the worst )
must think I’m a dunce—
though I am . . .  well-versed.

The door is ajar.
I click on “about”—
but there’s no one home
and the candle goes out.

Have you ever wondered why some of the blogs at the NaPoWriMo reader are fake?
For reasons known only to the number-cruncher bots at WordPress, Tumblr, Blogger, etc. there are phantom blogs created just for National Poetry Writing Month. Perhaps to generate more buzz, or to test out new strategies for imitating human behavior through AI ?  I am unsure of the intention, but I find it spooky in an annoying sort of way. I am getting better at spotting them. They usually have no past, no archives, the poetry is either nonexistent or else nondescript and random, and when you click on “about” to find out who it is you get:

This is an example of an about page”.

(And the English usually reads as if it was dictated by a Chinese ESL Bot.)

 

logo-napowrimo

Marching Toward the Simian Front

I am re-posting previous work during March.
Since 2014, I’ve published 30 original poems
for National Poetry Writing Month every April.

You can read more by clicking the NaPoWriMo widgets to the right

 

Aping Our Apologist
darwin-monkey-2

Jane of the Jungle (she’s all good)
charmed our world as Darwin’s daughter.
Anglican primates notwithstood,
her leaky theories held some water.

Streams of ngombe, sacred cows
were celebrated. What were these
to which the simian cosmos bows?
Irrelevant hypotheses.

Selecting great apes (naturally)
Miss Misanthrope researched, with love;
her theories, stated factually,
were hailed as truth from God above.

Hoping for reason, shadowing Man
the graybeards came for tempting fruit
unaware of their part in the plan:
to be used, like tools (but more hirsute).

Termites on a slender stalk
delighted hungry primate souls.
Her ripe bananas were the talk
of primatological controls.

Peeling off; mzungu starkness
starred the Tanzanian night.
Chimping out, she lit the darkness
claiming scientific right.

Sweating out the Tarzan fever,
naming names while hugging apes,
let us, laughing, love and leave her
to her anthropoid escapes.

chechimp

King Kong was to film
as bananas are to fruit:
not yet deemed racist.

 

March of the Smart Simian

I am re-posting previous work during March.
Since 2014, I’ve published 30 original poems
for National Poetry Writing Month every April.

You can read more by clicking the NaPoWriMo widgets to the right

 

Planet of the Smartphones
funny-monkey-1

A signifying monkey grunted
(keyboard-clever, morals stunted)

from his perch in a digital tree.
And next, did text, quite rapidly:

Courtship rituals won’t suffice.
Face-to-face can’t break the ice.

Instagram me! Tweet me up . . .
friend me, like me, buttercup.

Sentences are so outmoded—
take too long to get decoded;

primate sexting hits me faster,
steers me towards your hot disaster.

Female monkeys: send an image.
(Ain’t got time for useless verbiage.)

if your snout just might unseat me,
tweet me, greet me—don’t delete me.

Then, unpeeling fresh banana,
searched his screen for Vox Humana . . .

banana-phone