Poetry Corner: “Optical Illusion Oasis”

Optical Illusion Oasis

People sitting under the great Canadian fright
drinking heavily in the village of neon light
pretensions of affairs being outtasight
really nothing more than a heard of uptight
matters really aren’t all right

Such a pathetic sight
it’s strongest on a Saturday night
people with nothing to do
except play acting cool fools
floundering in the human cesspool

Death should be superior
come join me now or tomorrow
for you’re already dead
what really can you ever do in life
I tell you that you are needless and superfluous
like the pieces of gum
the black suited monsters
crush without pity on their way to paper colonies
refusing to hear the cries of the crushed innocent

come join me in the land of the insane
where every day does not end like some futile game
soulless butchered minds craving dead maggots
that’s what we are
no schools of respectability
only dens of perverse sadistic crazed nobility
souls of the living cry to join us
yes I’m Lucifer but which hell is better
yours or mine
you may find out in due course of time

Robert K. Stephen

Poetry Corner: “Ode to donald trump”

Ode to donald trump

Dear me it wasn’t such a shock
when donald trump was ousted from the flock
his picture everywhere
even where one had to go
but he fell so low
where did your friends the fascists go
most of America has woken up and hates you now
you’ve got the popularity of a turbuculean cow

But not all is doomed as you sit in your cell
for in 23 Hitler didn’t do so well
your type still abounds
and not even “democracy” chases them off the grounds

But in the end Hitler, Nixon, Samoza and Mussolini couldn’t withstand the frost
so donald get lost
did you direct the mob to put Vice President Pence in a noose?
if so donald be prepared to be trampled by a moose

Poetry Corner: “Downtown Treblinka”

Downtown Treblinka

hemmed into hamlets by the awesome guardposts
the weary beaten stagger
into black Calcuttian holes
to be transported to prosperous futility
whisked by gleaming publicly funded expense
only marred by the spots of the unhappily assimilated
broken only by their black boots
stomped through lack of humanity
or lined up on the wall of advanced humility
or
cutthroat bestiality
experimented on by clever wizards
soothed by taxed juices and coloured flashes
that numb
and bring “round the clock relief”
to the voluntary prisoners
and arthritic stricken

Robert K. Stephen

Poetry Corner: “A junkie of sorts”

A junkie of sorts

up the highway flows the citrus juice
from Florida
celebrity Anita Bryant (who is she anyways?)
the pusher
scores a hit
and all are satiated
except the Orange Bird
who weeps in lament
for she can’t talk
and
is forced to sing
at gunpoint

Robert K. Stephen

Poetry Corner: “Empty Ballad”

Empty Ballad

he basks in the spotlight
an angel
and
the throngs surround
calling for more
the critics rave
only time knows that he is nothing
but words and music of an era
a face on an album cover

They hate him for he is nothing like them
more than they know they will ever be
his reality crushes their dreams
his words their fantasy

He is nothing
they are nothing
his words are nothing
but for one moment they
believe

Poetry Corner: “Honeymoon at Saratoga Springs (Circa 1961)”

Honeymoon at Saratoga Springs (circa 1961)

Well it was certainly quite a day
let’s go to bed
Wait!
I have to brush my teeth

You already did

Come on let’s go for a walk

But it is two o’clock in the morning

Oh all right
turn off the light and look the other way

o.k.

Robert K. Stephen

Poetry Corner: “All we get are the coffee grinds”

All we get are the coffee grinds

The mighty converge in golden dimensions
crouched behind Cornish hens and brut
forging the new world for the exclusive benefit of all

charades for fools and the scribbling bloodsuckers
fantasizing
vomiting steams of foulness
the be lapped up ignorant optimists

applauded from the blackrobed rotunda
let it be known he did not die in vain
but let it wait if it must
there is a better world beyond
no rush here
chapter and verse are cheap
let no new Sheppards arise
lest they upset the flock
or the Index

Rules of Production
need not be disturbed
Red or White
you know it never changes
raise rise peak
new breakthroughs
new hopes
a new world
a new man
self glorification at a cheap price
the infinite birthday party drags on
with infinite toasts to the
snappy suited apostles of shit

Robert K. Stephen


Poetry Corner: “Prostitutes of a kind”

Prostitutes of a kind

beautiful people
bought and sold on the auction block
cash by the hour

clean whoring
begging for the big break
but another photograph away
but
for now
snapping, clicking whirring
anemic furiousity
all for the NEW FALL LINE
fabricating
THE NEW LIFESTYLE
for all to enjoy or suffer

Robert K. Stephen

Poetry Corner : “The religious convention”

The religious convention

The identical airwaves
not even blushingly
majestically christianically present
36,000 starving Ethiopians
sickly beg
bibles hidden
struggling with the desire to brandish
meanwhile
the political arena presents
chinless wonders
cheered on by fat funeral supplier salesmen
with mistresses in mink
ex-wifes in trailer camps
all guzzling pilsner
dancing the wrong WASP beat
and bare breasted skeletons sway
emaciated and ready to collapse

with too many diet Cokes
the sun gleams off the bones
white as miracle toothpaste here in our own tropical destitution
the cat ravaged pigeon limps
in 30 below temperatures
the cancer nibbled janitor
tosses in his urine soaked bed
the woman twitches uncontrollably
people attempting not to gawk
while the Bible failed all of them
so export it
and you tell me it is time to be an optimist
well
at least the cockroaches agree
with a grin
you don’t even require a microscope
to view

Robert K. Stephen



Poetry Corner: “Back in the reincarnation cycle”

Back in the reincarnation cycle

Slapped on the ass
wrenched out with latex gloves
spotlight blinds the primary vision
a warm welcome to life
horrid formula milk
and the accursed Pablum
shitting all over the place
the Big Ones pat our heads”
so cute
but so obnoxious and get rid of them quicks
thrust into the gulags of kindergarten barricades
angry ones
yell at us
discipline, morals
and response to the command
tolerated and patronized
parental riot after the first joint
the women you have been taught to hate
frustration equals the 10 p.m. rape
or
suburban
to the factories and office towers of imaginary consumption
politely work for the son of a jerk
the son in law
punks or respectable 45 year old jacketed man
the jacket being from high school
losers crowd the stadium
whilst university students
seek paper tiger degrees
suited to a paper mache world
the continued struggle for survival
choking onset of the crematorium
companions fall by the wayside
life vanishes
to be bashed on the ass again
the cry

incessant