_ _ _ .. //
the flow of spit raging from a mouth so loosed and untamed, the tongue at the helm. A clueless bandana, mind chained to the sinking ship, USS Gomorrah. While the hands, the supposed hands of freedom and liberated creativity, swing and sway forced and controlled a the pupeteer’s whim. Oh but the eyes are open, aren’t they? So wide, so widely they gaze in a blind stupor, a self-sufficient soapbox made of cork, upon the foundation of society’s gelatinous morals. The heat is rising, the heat, the sad and angry heat, and so it goes and so it goes… floating and lost upon the sea of forgetfulness. While the spit still rages on.
\\ .. _ _ _

and all the while
he festers and flits
in his own filth and lice.

oh poor sparrow full of pride and error!
but who cares, when the sparrow flies so high?
arrogant, smiling, eyes and ears closed to wisdom
truth muffled through the cackle and dirt.

fly high sparrow, fly high.
for tomorrow you die.

—-
in response to my’s myspace blog post

a simple smile of surety
and naivete sublime
unphased.

but the ship is sailing
oh mayra dear
unaware.

the gulls swoop and loop
but all away
away from the island of grey sand
and good intentions
unscathed.

the shore slithers and sinks
while your feet buried in the warm sands of leisure
vanity fair
unblemished.

this fog thickens like a stubborn stew
and the waves begin to awake
i’ll jump mayra, i will
the ship will linger and the captain stalls
but mayra, oh dear
you must know and you must show
the unwavering leap of no return.

content and daring
confident and leaping
sure and sorry
but never ever
unreachable.

—-
12:15am 1/27/2008

ups and downs, twirl-arounds
cursing spitting hating weeping
seeing, talking, wiping away the tears
peace, peace where there is understanding

goose feathers and satin robes
nape of neck caressing, breathing, smiling, wondering
peace, peace where there is love

cocoa-sipping, ice-skating wonder-walks
laughing, strolling, singing, eating
this and this forever
ever and ever and that

==============================
i don’t know if this one’s connected because it doesn’t seem to go with the first sections
==============================

toward the light / in the light / for the Light
passed the lustful meadows of emotion
into the active, committing, duty of living
in the garden of toil and bliss
this and that forever
enjoined with a starbright bracelet for two
as the methods of man melt away
into a wading pool of radical thought and action

it depends.

forgetting the failures, the sadness, the pain and the fury;
but remembering the joy, the love, the forgiveness and possibility;
the friends new and old, coming and gone on, bringing to mind old times gone by,

to forward, to onward, to upward and beyond…

to life! to life!
we’ll drink a cup of righteous yet.

~~
feliz año nuevo, que Dios bendiga a todos!

:: efrain

for the Bride of Christ,
sullied and dashed upon the rocks,
lifted her countenance unto the steeple
but the Groom met her eyes
wiped the tears and with His own
washed her raiment to a glistening white
His own blood healed her wounds
His own pain brought her strength
“With my Life I thee wed,
my Bride to be, my Bride forever”.

All hail and power unto the Lamb
the One Who sits on the throne
the God and Father, the Groom forever.

The Bride of Christ is come
the Church has found its Home
She resides in the busom of her Groom
the Christ, the Lover forever more.

booyah,
:: efrain ;)

Brought to you by Your Daily Dose of Meaningless Prose :)

:: efrain

Listen to this poem, [she moves on]
[See post to listen to audio]

she spoke against the fools who schooled
those they deemed inferior
themselves claiming to be superior
she raved for the anti- of their cause;
        and as she paused…
they scrambled in violence to silence
        the protest
        of rage and unrest
against their machine of serene,
double-minded conformity
while a thundering quiet
        voice
        evokes a riot
within the walls of their god’s temple
mortally wounded,
unaware and confounded
yet they walk upright, out of sight
covering their eyes to the bleeding scars
        nose is in the air
        mind in the gutter
        as they flutter by,
deaf and blind with bleeding minds
and holding their nose
to the burning flesh
        of their own
on the altar of an enemy god.
she was silenced for a bit
but never stopped the fight
so with might and no spite
  she moves on

whinded but ever-striving
fatigued but only for a spell
they tried to destroy
the ploy of goodness;
the force that crushes
their stronghold of darkness
singed but triumphant
   she’s moving on
they roar with laughter
and they dance blind
to their self-inflicted demise
        they taunt and
        haunt her
        and try to break her,
flaunt her
weaknesses in her face
they race entering her dreams
at night
blaming accusing cursing
but she doesn’t flinch
she doesn’t falter
she draws her strength
        from the Ultimate Source
never discouraged
she’s pressin’
on
while they messin’
around
she’s runnin’;
no fun an’ games
she’s stayin’
        prayin’
        fightin’
making wrongs right
and she’s
        on
          the
          move
they will see the Power the hour
it manifests from above
she will champion this battle
she lives and moves forth
as they rant and rave immobile
the tears wiped from her eyes
she doesn’t look back
to the fact
of enemied-friends dying behind

the new journey beginning
        no more pretending
life goes on
she prays for them
asking God’s help for them
and His guidance for her
as
 she
  moves on.

————————–
:: efrain :: 2000

Listen to this poem, “Casey at the Bat (Road Game)”, recited by efrain
[See post to listen to audio]

Okay, so today i’m supposed to be working on someone’s website and i saw my brother’s digital voice recording thing and i got distracted. this thing is totally cool! so i decided to record something. i’m a fan of Garrison Keillor and other radio-type stories, so I thought it’d be fun to record a poem i once heard him perform. This poem is originally entitled “Casey at the Bat (Road Game)”, written by Garrison Keillor wrote it in 1994.

If you know the poem “Casey at the Bat” by Ernest Lawrence Thayer, then you might get a kick out of this one, cuz it’s like the same one, but from the other team’s perspective. I think I might start doing this more often, if I can find cool stuff to record.

Long story longer: i posted it online to see if any of you fine gentlepeople had some free time to kill.

**********************************************
“Casey at the Bat(Road Game)” written by Garrison Keillor, 1994

It was looking rather hopeful for our Dustburg team that day:
We were leading Mudville four to two with an inning left to play.
We got Cooney on a grounder and Muldoon on the same,
Two down, none on, top of the ninth - we thought we’d won the game.

Mudville was despairing, and we grinned and cheered and clapped.
It looked like after all these years our losing streak had snapped.
And we only wished that Casey, the big fat ugly lout,
Could be the patsy who would make the final, shameful out.

Oh how we hated Casey, he was a blot upon the game.
Every dog in Dustburg barked at the mention of his name.
A bully and a braggart, a cretin and a swine-
If Casey came to bat, we’d stick it where the moon don’t shine!

Two out and up came Flynn to bat, with Jimmy Blake on deck,
And the former was a loser and the latter was a wreck;
Though the game was in the bag, the Dustburg fans were hurt
To think that Casey would not come and get his just dessert.

But Flynn he got a single, a most unlikely sight,
And Blake swung like a lady but he parked it deep to right,
And when the dust had lifted, and fickle fate had beckoned,
There was Flynn on third base and Jimmy safe at second.

Then from every Dustburg throat, there rose a lusty cry:
“Bring up the slimy greaseball and let him stand and die.
Throw the mighty slider and let him hear it whiz
And let him hit a pop-up like the pansy that he is.”

There was pride in Casey’s visage as he strode onto the grass,
There was scorn in his demeanor as he calmly scratched his ass.
Ten thousand people booed him when he stepped into the box,
And they made the sound of farting when he bent to fix his socks.

And the fabled slider came spinning toward the mitt,
And Casey watched it sliding and he did not go for it.
And the umpire jerked his arm like he was hauling down the sun,
And his cry rang from the box seats to the bleachers: Stee-rike One!

Ten thousand Dustburg partisans raised such a mighty cheer,
The pigeons in the rafters crapped and ruined all the beer.
“You filthy ignorant rotten bastard slimy son of a bitch,”
We screamed at mighty Casey, and then came the second pitch.

It was our hero’s fastball, it came across the plate,
And according to the radar, it was going ninety-eight,
And according to the umpire, it came in straight and true,
And the cry rang from the toilets to the bullpen: Stee-rike Two.

Ten thousand Dustburg fans arose in joyful loud derision
To question Casey’s salary, his manhood, and his vision.
Then while the Dustburg pitcher put the resin on the ball,
Ten thousand people hooted to think of Casey’s fall.

Oh the fury in his visage as he spat tobacco juice
And heard the little children screaming violent abuse.
He knocked the dirt from off his spikes, reached down and eased his pants
“What’s the matter? Did ya lose ‘em?” cried a lady in the stands.

And then the Dustburg pitcher stood majestic on the hill,
And leaned in toward the plate, and then the crowd was still,
And he went into his windup, and he kicked, and let it go,
And then the air was shattered by the force of Casey’s blow.

He swung so hard his hair fell off and he toppled in disgrace
And the Dustburg catcher held the ball and the crowd tore up the place,
With Casey prostrate in the dirt amid the screams and jeers
We threw wieners down at him and other souvenirs.

We pounded on the dugout roof as they helped him to the bench,
Then we ran out to the parking lot and got a monkey wrench
And found the Mudville bus and took the lug nuts off the tires,
And attached some firecrackers to the alternator wires.

We rubbed the doors and windows with a special kind of cheese
That smells like something died from an intestinal disease.
Old Casey took his sweet time, but we were glad to wait
And we showered him with garbage as the team came out the gate.

So happy were the Dustburg fans that grand and glorious day,
It took a dozen cops to help poor Casey away,
But we grabbed hold of the bumpers and we rocked him to and fro
And he cursed us from inside the bus, and gosh, we loved it so!

Oh sometimes in America the sun is shining bright,
Life is joyful sometimes, and all the world seems right,
But there is no joy in Dustburg, no joy so pure and sweet
As when the mighty Casey fell, demolished, at our feet.
————————

[See post to listen to audio]

Direct link to the MP3 of “Casey at the Bat (Road Game)” by Garrison Keillor, recited by efrain