THC: To Come Home
Phil, a poet friend of mine, was joking with another poet who had asked if he and I we were related. Phil joked that I was his love child with Hillary Clinton-- hence the following poem.
Back in the day in Little Rock
before Monica and White House
before white water real estate scandals
and lawyers took guns to their head
a wandering bohemian poet caught
between the Memphis blues
and Dallas Cowboys
who had lost his ganja connection
sought to re-establish it in
Little Rock Art openings
on a muggy summer night
in those decadent days of debauchery
white water was what passed between Bill
and his queue of coeds communicating
through oral channels to curry favors for
their fathers and boy friends
so that the fluid of life had lost its viscosity
now no more than white water
Hillary hid his high jinks not out of jealousy
she was after all
one of those women that could have prevented
Katrina's catastrophe if more of her kind
had surrounded low down lying New Orleans
No she was furious his power had made him careless
so she sought revenge against the cosmos
attacking the Ganja Godesses's disciple
in mid munch of bacon rolled sausage h'orderve
she popped the question--
Would he like to get more comfortable?
his drink was drugged
then he was dragged
tied to a bed
so the razor back 1st lady
became a bucking bare back rider
on the poet's pole
while an apple in his mouth prevented
poetic pleas for protection
from this unprovoked bush attack
she later claimed he had written
poems of mass destruction
his secret controversial book of poetry
bears witness her fears were justified
published decades later
behind the protection of his pen name which
protects him still from the ravages of Greality
latex protection failed her that day
a little leak let loose
enough to impregnate
even back then she was a firm believer in
pro-choice
yet conservative in her choice of method
a Hoover canister vacuum
maid service saved him
behind the kitchen in the dumpster
Conchita heard the cries of the prematurely
sucked out infant
he had inherited his father's mouth
which always develops first in poets
so she suckled him to health
as her own child had
days before
in the back of a black unmarked van
along with 12 other illegal immigrants
perished despite surviving
in homemade seacraft
launched from Guantanamo Bay
her motherhood cut short
deported
after a labor strike
demon seed child shipped off
to foster care and later adoption
The Ganja Goddess swore
no razorback whore would walk away
from this defilement
she cursed the lands of white water
foretold of the day when her husband's seed
would betray them both
when a Bush, her weapon of choice
would be turned against her
What of the wandering poet?
for 40 years he wandered the ganja wasteland
persecuted for his herbal helper
driven forth over the land by rising real estate
low rent refuges harder to find
until the Ganja Goddess
gave a home to her believers
in the mile high city
where no prosecution could
touch them as long as the code of commons
share and share alike
the Ganja creed not hoarding greed
was observed
drawn by visions of his full breasted savior
and dormant poetic forces
in the northern nexus of nothingness
his son Paul
was drawn to Milliken
the hub of northern Colorado
momentous moments at Margie's Java Joint
despite gangs of musicians
storming the stage
Paul followed Phil
poetry held sway
resemblance uncanny
Paul's poetry was crippled by
the legal stricture of his mother's egg
perhaps Phil's poetic philosphy
and avant-garde poetry could still
save his son from a life time
of Hallmark card hollowness
intensive investigation
a used Mocha coffee cup
connections to his lab rat buddies
DNA from vacuum bag mementoes
hairs from the burning bush
revealed the long lost secret
Paul Phillary was found
©polarpaul 2006
Back in the day in Little Rock
before Monica and White House
before white water real estate scandals
and lawyers took guns to their head
a wandering bohemian poet caught
between the Memphis blues
and Dallas Cowboys
who had lost his ganja connection
sought to re-establish it in
Little Rock Art openings
on a muggy summer night
in those decadent days of debauchery
white water was what passed between Bill
and his queue of coeds communicating
through oral channels to curry favors for
their fathers and boy friends
so that the fluid of life had lost its viscosity
now no more than white water
Hillary hid his high jinks not out of jealousy
she was after all
one of those women that could have prevented
Katrina's catastrophe if more of her kind
had surrounded low down lying New Orleans
No she was furious his power had made him careless
so she sought revenge against the cosmos
attacking the Ganja Godesses's disciple
in mid munch of bacon rolled sausage h'orderve
she popped the question--
Would he like to get more comfortable?
his drink was drugged
then he was dragged
tied to a bed
so the razor back 1st lady
became a bucking bare back rider
on the poet's pole
while an apple in his mouth prevented
poetic pleas for protection
from this unprovoked bush attack
she later claimed he had written
poems of mass destruction
his secret controversial book of poetry
bears witness her fears were justified
published decades later
behind the protection of his pen name which
protects him still from the ravages of Greality
latex protection failed her that day
a little leak let loose
enough to impregnate
even back then she was a firm believer in
pro-choice
yet conservative in her choice of method
a Hoover canister vacuum
maid service saved him
behind the kitchen in the dumpster
Conchita heard the cries of the prematurely
sucked out infant
he had inherited his father's mouth
which always develops first in poets
so she suckled him to health
as her own child had
days before
in the back of a black unmarked van
along with 12 other illegal immigrants
perished despite surviving
in homemade seacraft
launched from Guantanamo Bay
her motherhood cut short
deported
after a labor strike
demon seed child shipped off
to foster care and later adoption
The Ganja Goddess swore
no razorback whore would walk away
from this defilement
she cursed the lands of white water
foretold of the day when her husband's seed
would betray them both
when a Bush, her weapon of choice
would be turned against her
What of the wandering poet?
for 40 years he wandered the ganja wasteland
persecuted for his herbal helper
driven forth over the land by rising real estate
low rent refuges harder to find
until the Ganja Goddess
gave a home to her believers
in the mile high city
where no prosecution could
touch them as long as the code of commons
share and share alike
the Ganja creed not hoarding greed
was observed
drawn by visions of his full breasted savior
and dormant poetic forces
in the northern nexus of nothingness
his son Paul
was drawn to Milliken
the hub of northern Colorado
momentous moments at Margie's Java Joint
despite gangs of musicians
storming the stage
Paul followed Phil
poetry held sway
resemblance uncanny
Paul's poetry was crippled by
the legal stricture of his mother's egg
perhaps Phil's poetic philosphy
and avant-garde poetry could still
save his son from a life time
of Hallmark card hollowness
intensive investigation
a used Mocha coffee cup
connections to his lab rat buddies
DNA from vacuum bag mementoes
hairs from the burning bush
revealed the long lost secret
Paul Phillary was found
©polarpaul 2006
posted by polarpaul at 11:45 AM
1 Comments:
This is hysterical! (no I didn't mean to pun) You are extremely clever in your twisting of words, making connections that I've never seen, and somehow making a piece of total fantasy 100% believable even as tears of laughter skip down my cheeks. Awesome. Why is it that no one else reads your poetry? (or at least comments)
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