http://satirist.org/poetry/ Mostly short, mostly funny, mostly formalist poems, updated occasionally. en Copyright 2012 by Jay J.P. Scott http://satirist.org/poetry/text/me/story.html carborundum
silicosis
lemonade]]> Tue, 01 May 2012 00:00:00 GMT http://satirist.org/poetry/text/me/story.html http://satirist.org/poetry/text/me/darwin.html
They tucked in drinks and hashed it out,
That monkey business, see?
That Darwin stuff, what an affront
To human dignity!

They drank a bunch of tankards down,
They stumbled out the doors,
They grunted and scratched and made it home
Scrabbling on all fours.]]> Thu, 19 Apr 2012 00:00:00 GMT http://satirist.org/poetry/text/me/darwin.html http://satirist.org/poetry/text/me/courtesan.html
Here in my hair the sun of Venice toils
to make its gold: Immortal alchemy’s
illustrious issue. And my eyebrows, see
how they, arched like bridges, silently

carry you past the danger of my coiled
eyes, which have covertly ratified
traffic with the canals, so that the tide
rises and falls and changes there. To slide

a glance my way is to detest my small
dog, because my hand, untouched by flames,
invulnerable, glittering, is said

to rest in absent moments on his head.
And youths who bear the hopes of ancient names
taste the poison of my lips and fall.]]> Sat, 24 Mar 2012 00:00:00 GMT http://satirist.org/poetry/text/me/courtesan.html http://satirist.org/poetry/text/me/antichrist.html
“There—from the mountain! there—in the wood!
We saw it ourselves • he speaks with the dead
And changes water to wine.”

Oh if you could hear how I laugh in the night:
My hour has struck • my grain is piled high.
The fish come to me to be taken.

The wise and the foolish—the people run mad •
The trees are uprooted • the fields laid flat •
Make way for the Savior’s procession!

There’s no work of heaven I do not produce.
It’s off by a hair’s breadth, but you are all fooled.
Your senses have been overmastered.

In return for what’s rare and what’s hard I create
The simple • a semblance of gold from the clay •
Of the tang and the juice and the perfume.

And the art the great prophet did not dare to touch:
Without clearing or planting or building, to suck
Vitality stored over seasons.

The Prince of Vermin now tightens his grasp •
He is missing no treasure • he misses no chance •
To hell with the rest of the rebels!

Caught up in the devilish fake, you rejoice •
You squander the fruits of your ancestors’ toil
And only at last do you suffer.

Your tongues will hang down as the water trough dries •
You’ll wander bewildered like sheep through the fires ..
And the terrible blast of the trumpet.]]> Sun, 04 Mar 2012 00:00:00 GMT http://satirist.org/poetry/text/me/antichrist.html http://satirist.org/poetry/text/me/neutron-bomb.html Improve its fission yield,
And pour the waters of its heart
Across the killing field.

How brilliantly it scores the sky,
How neatly fells the thrush,
As if it heard our hopelessness
And tried to beat the rush.]]> Wed, 29 Feb 2012 00:00:00 GMT http://satirist.org/poetry/text/me/neutron-bomb.html http://satirist.org/poetry/text/me/emily-dickinson.html A Paragraph beyond -
Step Lightly - to the threshhold -
And out, and easy on -]]> Sat, 25 Feb 2012 00:00:00 GMT http://satirist.org/poetry/text/me/emily-dickinson.html http://satirist.org/poetry/text/me/susan-lynn-elliott.html Susan Lynn Elliott
Lives on a diet of
Chocolate and tea,

Thereby refuting her
Antireductionist
Views on the nature of
People and me.]]> Sat, 14 Jan 2012 00:00:00 GMT http://satirist.org/poetry/text/me/susan-lynn-elliott.html http://satirist.org/poetry/text/me/creation-myth.html In the first light it stood again.
Now smoke strides daily above the town
And if a spark strikes, then
Take it as you must
And in a gust of days
Raise a blaze of dust
To a dusty day.]]> Thu, 29 Dec 2011 00:00:00 GMT http://satirist.org/poetry/text/me/creation-myth.html http://satirist.org/poetry/text/me/barnacle-bake.html Of the Bailiwick’s Barnacle Bake.
They run to the sea and they call as they flee,
“We will hide in the great salt lake!”

The guests at the fest had ingested the rest
Of unescaped barnaclekind,
So the Bailiwick’s hands were out searching the lands
To find out the things they could find.

The barnacles looked, but the ocean was cooked
And had run far away from the sands.
They went back to partake of the Barnacle Bake,
Avoiding the Bailiwick’s hands.]]> Thu, 29 Dec 2011 00:00:00 GMT http://satirist.org/poetry/text/me/barnacle-bake.html http://satirist.org/poetry/text/me/for-whom-the-thunder-rolls.html And oozes through the pores of lovers;
The dark rot bleeds into desperate needs
That Alzheimer’s undiscovers.
Roll, thunder, roll, boom like the heartstrings failing,
And mumble, mortals, mumble, quailing, quailing, quailing.]]> Tue, 27 Dec 2011 00:00:00 GMT http://satirist.org/poetry/text/me/for-whom-the-thunder-rolls.html