From: Dr Sebby (drsebby@hotmail.com)
Date: Mon Feb 18 2002 - 05:49:09 MST
...a war we fought and people thought,
such a pain-filled thing that be.
...and then with time, forgot the crime,
and carried on with glee.
...some social rights, fraught with plights
sacrificed with time,
the rights forgot, un-justice sought
and now the pain is mine.
...the voting pools are filled with fools,
that as much is clear,
but on such crap my dearest chap,
how the fuck'st we steer?
...are we alone to chew our bone
of reason, logic and sense?
what can be done? to change the sum
of mis-educated ignorance?
...is it so bleak that we must creep,
amongst the slithy toves,
until a time yet unforseen
that we shall come in droves,
...where kindness rules along with reason,
mathematic-ally based,
...a society accentuating developmental haste.
...logistics easily mastered,
and resources financed,
by an educated poplace,
with shit inside their pants.
...i cannot see,,,,,why utopia,
refuses to exist,
with a cold-hard steel brace-let;
handcuffing my wrist.
...forced to go along, i quietly submit...
to the diminishing rights,
of that sad-ass piece of shit,
known to you and i as the US citezenry,
it's feeling more and more like some government sodomy.
...and now we have the bush;...
MARK II i'll have you know,
as human rights descend by flights,
the stories of them grow.
....human pain will cause distain, and this i say, i know.
and yet sublime, cruelties mined, i still insist they trow...
..a government wrought by human thought,
this bush by money shall rule,
and just by luck this stupid fuck
painfully proves its tool.
drsebby. even more tipsy:) not gonna re-read it...no way.
----Original Message Follows----
From: "L' Ermit" <lhermit@hotmail.com>
Reply-To: virus@lucifer.com
To: virus@lucifer.com
Subject: RE: virus: statue of mirrors II- judas' children
Date: Sun, 17 Feb 2002 23:50:17 -0600
Death Uncloaked
Sorrow and pain,
The soul-biter gnaws us
When those we love
Are in pain and yet
We cannot help them.
Our inability to take pain from one another
Is like a scourge - robbing us of our own humanity
And the bleak dehumanizing visage of death
Reminds us of our shared mortality.
We know that those we love
And we ourselves
Shall die
All die
Yet to avoid death
We would have to avoid life
And life
Is precious beyond mere words
As is friendship
So fuck Death
And his servants
The priests who prey
On the joys and sorrows
Of other men
Like ancient lechers
Painted whores
Dealing a fatal mental pox
On those who give them a moments notice
And those who don't
Relying on the fact that
Civilized men will not kill them
As they so richly deserve.
Give me men who love and hate
And rejoice in life
And ache for the pains
Of others
As I do with you.
Love
Hermit/Hermitess
Listening to Joan Baez
And drinking red wine
I recommend both to you
She captures the slightly maudlin spirit
And juggles with it
As your poem
Did with me
For Minnie Lee
By Joe Dees
The registered letter came wednesday.
Dad was off having the car fixed. We called the garage.
"Open it and read it to me", he said.
It was Minnie Lee.
We drove over Thursday.
Her niece met us at the rest home.
"She's been this way a week now;
I couldn't find your number." We went in.
My grandmother was tied down on the bed, moaning, trying to rise.
Her hair was a thin pale halo wafting around her head,
Her skin a sheet of warm wax sunken into it,
Dark holes for eyes. Maamamaamamaama she moaned.
Mother patted her hands. She didn't notice.
The mass in her stomach had grown more rapidly
The past few months, we were told.
There was never talk of surgery. She was ninety-three.
There were no tubes, no machines. No Heroic measures.
"We're giving her what we can for the pain,
Every three hours." It was not often enough.
She would sleep two hours, then suffer one.
When my turn at the bedside came, I held those frail fingers
between my palms, and tride to get through to her,
And to thank her, by talking of childhood memories.
"Meemaw, it's me. Do you remember how I used to climb
All over the old magnolia tree? How we'd sit out
Underneath the porch of that big pillared white antebellum home?
And then you'd lead us across the street to the general store
You and Granddad owned, and five us candy for free."
She squeezed my hand - so hard! - seemed to look at me
And called my long dead grandfather's name.
"Hold me!", she pled. My father, his face crumpling
Stumbled out of the room. Releasing my hand
Minnie Lee began calling for her mama again;
A desperate child begging for deliverance
>From a pain that could neither be stood nor fled.
I left to see to my father. He was in the hall
head bowed and shoulders slumped, leaning against the wall.
"Promise me son youi'll never let it go this far
With me", he begged. My father is emphysemic
from thirty years of Winstons, undergoes daily lung therapy
And must sleep on oxygen.
My mother and I got him out of there.
There was nothing more we could do for my grandmother
But pray for her to die. And she did, next day.
The graveside service was Sunday.
We drove over in the rain.
The full gospel minister made use of the opportunity
To proselytize. He had not witnessed her passing.
I bit my lip and held my tongue, but I
So wanted to tell him
That funerals are for the living, not the dead
And for the mourners, not the preachers.
And that it was unjust beyond redemption for my Minnie Lee
To be forced to pass through the gates of Hell
To enter Heaven.
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DrSebby.
"Courage...and shuffle the cards".
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