Tackle boxed

Two dimensions,
Over acted,
Fears and tensions,
Lies protracted,
Truth unmentioned,
Gone redacted.

Stagecraft

Stagecraft before and aft’,
Extras there inserted.
Cream pies, no surprise,
Answers are averted.

Everybody’s wood

Chopping spirits free.
Planning parenthood.
Choices all are we
Without bad or good.
 
Our deity declared,
Within the neighborhood,
We’re human currency,
Everybody’s wood.

Man on the moon

(The following poem inspired by the song “Man on the Moon” by R.E.M., link below)

Concrete pulverized, the terrible mess,
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,
The Ambassador, the polkadot dress,
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,
Witnesses ignored or ended up dead,
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,
Dare repeat the truth that they once said?
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,
Magic bullets from a lonesome gun,
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,
Oklahoma are we nearly done?
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,

If you believe
We put a man on the moon,
Man on the moon,
If you believe
There’s nothing up their sleeve,
Then nothing is cool.

Watching charades accelerate
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,
Full demanding that we legislate
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,
Ever tighten our security state,
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,
We the people, we’re the ones they hate,
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Let’s play truth, let’s play dare,
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,
Exposing each lie, they do declare.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Now Sandy did you hear about this one?
Boston are you locked down for lunch?
Isis are you dating your brother? Osirus,
Are we losing touch?

If you believe
We put a man on the moon,
Man on the moon,
If you believe
There’s nothing up their sleeve,
Then nothing is cool.

Grunts

One hundred and fifty six months,
Persons, their sacrificed grunts,
Sounding alarms, kooks, funny farms,
A nation of Hollywood stunts.

Squared

We grid a prison in reverse
Shutting off a world of care.
Within its structure we immerse
Letter boxed to sit and stare.

Deep within the sanctuary,
A thousand points of colored light,
Silently and temporary,
Mind divided left and right.

Consciousness we all surrender,
Breathing in whatever’s aired,
Offered real to the pretender,
Hollywood that leaves us squared.

Twisted crown

Freshly sprouting horns,

Entertainment’s silver screen,

Twisted crown of thorns,

Hollywood’s occult unseen

Temples shock the masses,

Thoughtless, uniformed.

Steady as molasses

Paganism’s normed.

Cliched words

Cliched words, still much preferred, to reinstall the trance.  

All else now deferred somehow, only dead men can dance.

Hollywood

Mute by choice at school all day, motionless at work or play.

When pressed a question he would say, mostly nothing in his way.

Speaking with his teeth clenched tight, no word understood aright.

Eyes half hidden in his head, stiffened movements partly dead.

Stares and grins and silent cries, without reasons recognized.

With haunting silence casting spells, while hidden in his human shell,

What if speak, he only would, above his picture “Hollywood.”

Like a Movie

A clear, and cloudless day, they chose for their display.

Pretty as a picture, it worked out nice that way.

It seemed just like a movie, photographed unreal.

Just like melting butter, planes passed through walls of steel.

Two towering concessions, standing side by side,

Two witnesses’s confessions, their movie can not hide.