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She was the Judy Garland of American poetry.

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Punch & Judy

(fish / marillion)
Punch
Punch and judy
Punch and judy
Punch and judy
Washing machine, pinstripe dream
Stripped the gloss from a beauty queen
Punch and judy, judy
Found our nest, in the daily express
Met the vicar in a holy vest
Punch and judy
Punch and judy
Brought up the children church of e
Now I vegetate with a colour tv
Worst ever thing that ever happened to me
Oh, for d.i.v.o.r.c.e.
Oh judy
Whatever happened to pillow fights
Whatever happened to jeans so tight, friday nights
Whatever happened to lovers lane
Whatever happened to passion games
Sunday walks in the pouring rain
Punch
Punch
Punch and judy
Punch and judy
Punch and judy
Punch
Punch
Punch and judy
Punch and judy
Punch and judy
Curling tongs, mogadons, I got a headache baby, dont take so long
Single beds, middle age dread
Losing the war in the waistlands spread
Who left the cap of the toothpaste tube
Who forgot to flush the loo
Leave your sweaty socks outside the door
Dont walk across my polished floor, oh judy
Whatever happened to morning smiles
Whatever happened to wicked wiles, permissive styles
Whatever happened to twinkling eyes
Whatever happened to hard fast drives
Complements on unnatural size
Punch
Punch
Punch and judy
Punch and judy
Punch and judy
Punch

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Poetry...Poetry...

Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the beginning of new life,
Poetry is in the tears of a child,
Poetry is in the warmth of mother's kiss,
Poetry is in the child's bliss,
Poetry is in the hug of a father,
Poetry is in the love of a dear,
Poetry is in the happiness of affection,
Poetry is in the pain of separation,
Poetry is in someone's loss,
Poetry is in missing someone very close.

Poetry...Poetry...

Poetry is in the first rain,
Poetry is in the cultivation of first grain,
Poetry is in the first light of dawn,
Poetry is in the drops of dew o the grass of lawn,
Poetry is in the blowing of cool wind,
Poetry is in the beauty of green,
Poetry is in the twinkling star,
Poetry is in the aroma of a flower,
Poetry is in thunder and lightning,
Poetry is in the heat scorching.

Poetry...Poetry...

Poetry is something more sweeter than sweet,
Poetry is something more closer to heart beat,
Poetry is something more than the most beautiful creation,
Poetry is something more than the depth of an ocean,
Poetry is something more higher than the blue,
Poetry is something more true,
Poetry is something more enjoyable than wine,
Poetry is something more shiner than sunshine,
Poetry is something more pure than air,
Poetry is something which is present everywhere.

Poetry...Poetry...

Poet ry is not just rhyme,
Poetry is but the voice Divine,
Poetry is not just Poetry,
Poetry frames History,
After so many lines,
Poetry still remains undefined.

Poetry...Poetry...

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Young Americans

They pulled in just behind the fridge
He lays her down, he frowns
Gee my lifes a funny thing, am I still too young?
He kissed her then and there
She took his ring, took his babies
It took him minutes, took her nowhere
Heaven knows, shed have taken anything, but
All night
She wants the young american
Young american, young american, she wants the young american
All right
She wants the young american
Scanning life through the picture windows
She finds the slinky vagabond
He coughs as he passes her ford mustang, but
Heaven forbid, shell take anything
But the freak, and his type, all for nothing
He misses a step and cuts his hand, but
Showing nothing, he swoops like a song
She cries where have all papas heroes gone?
All night
She wants the young american
Young american, young american, she wants the young american
All right
She wants the young american
All the way from washington
Her bread-winner begs off the bathroom floor
We live for just these twenty years
Do we have to die for the fifty more?
All night
He wants the young american
Young american, young american, he wants the young american
All right
He wants the young american
Do you remember, your president nixon?
Do you remember, the bills you have to pay
Or even yesterday
Have you been an un-american?
Just you and your idol singing falsetto bout
Leather, leather everywhere, and
Not a myth left from the ghetto
Well, well, well, would you carry a razor
In case, just in case of depression
Sit on your hands on a bus of survivors
Blushing at all the afro-sheilas
Aint that close to love?
Well, aint that poster love?
Well, it aint that barbie doll
Her hearts been broken just like you have
And

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Young American

They pulled in just behind the fridge
He lays her down, he frowns
"Gee my life's a funny thing, am I still too young?"
He kissed her then and there
She took his ring, took his babies
It took him minutes, took her nowhere
Heaven knows, she'd have taken anything, but
All night
She wants the young American
Young American, young American, she wants the young American
All right
She wants the young American
Scanning life through the picture windows
She finds the slinky vagabond
He coughs as he passes her Ford Mustang, but
Heaven forbid, she'll take anything
But the freak, and his type, all for nothing
He misses a step and cuts his hand, but
Showing nothing, he swoops like a song
She cries "Where have all Papa's heroes gone?"
All night
She wants the young American
Young American, young American, she wants the young American
All right
She wants the young American
All the way from Washington
Her bread-winner begs off the bathroom floor
"We live for just these twenty years
Do we have to die for the fifty more?"
All night
He wants the young American
Young American, young American, he wants the young American
All right
He wants the young American
Do you remember, your President Nixon?
Do you remember, the bills you have to pay
Or even yesterday
Have you been an un-American?
Just you and your idol singing falsetto 'bout
Leather, leather everywhere, and
Not a myth left from the ghetto
Well, well, well, would you carry a razor
In case, just in case of depression
Sit on your hands on a bus of survivors
Blushing at all the afro-Sheilas
Ain't that close to love?
Well, ain't that poster love?
Well, it ain't that Barbie doll
Her heart's been broken just like you have
And

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An act of poetry

Ruin is what we need –
Despair is what we feed
Upon in poetry

A shock resets the nerves –
Helps remould the curves
Of written art

Catharsis helps portray –
Acting out a play
On expurgation

Tears or hidden fears
Release the bottled years
To ink a page:

The pen be our salvation.

Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010


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American Girls

Darling, Im afraid to close my eyes when Im going to bed
Im afraid youll crack the phone down over my head
Why are all american girls so rough?
Damn, that girl cant ever hurt you enough
Lady (lady), you knock me on my knees and I cant stand up
You got the look in your eye and you smack my butt
Why are all american girls so rough?
Why do all american girls act so tough?
Why are all american girls so rough?
Darling, Im afraid to close my eyes when Im goin to bed
Im afraid youll crack the phone down over my head
Why are all american girls so rough?
Damn, that girl cant ever hurt you enough
Lady (lady), you knock me on my knees and I cant stand up
You got that look in your eye and you smack my butt
Why are all american girls so rough?
Why do all american girls act so tough?
Why are all american girls so rough?
That hole youre digging in my ribs
It aint no real wound
So baby take it easy
Lets try to be friends
Why are all american girls so rough?
Damn, that girl cant ever hurt you enough
Lady (lady), you knock me down on my knees and I cant stand up
You got the look in your eye, you smack my butt
Why are all american girls so rough?
Why do all american girls act so tough?
Why are all american girls so rough?
American girls
American girls
Why are all american girls so rough?
American girls
American girls
American girls
Why are all american girls so rough?
American girls
American girls
American girls
Why are all american girls so rough?
Why are all american girls so rough?

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Jewel Eyed Judy

Written by danny kirwan, mick fleetwood, and john mcvie.
Moonshine time
Thoughts of you
Spinning round
As thoughts do
I just wondered if
Your eyes still shine
As they did
When you were mine
I can see
In a dream
Thougts so clear
And jewels that gleam
Would your eyes
Still sparkle then
If we were, once again
Jewel eyed judy please come home
Jewel eyed judy dont leave me alone
Jewel eyed judy please come home
Jewel eyed judy dont leave me alone
Lovely judy
Can you see
Where it is
Youre meant to be
Where you lay
Your head tonight
May the stars
Find your light
So am i
Sitting here
Moonlight glistens
On my tears
Is this all
That we could find
Chains of memories
Left behind
Jewel eyed judy please come home
Jewel eyed judy dont leave me alone
Jewel eyed judy please come home
Jewel eyed judy dont leave me alone

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Poetry On The Chin

You gouged my mind's eye,
Tantalised all inner thought,
Shocked from unknown angles;
Sold me, told me cold,
Unfolded, moulded;
Shouldered any harbouring
Of empty morals.

You spun me round; undressed -
Pestered me with background riddle -
Piffle came to gleaning meaning.
And you stripped out prejudice - for none
Must exist in poetry,
Lest you close up an open mind
And f**k up as reader;
Lest your heart is not a bleeder -
It has to be - let it flush out
Upon your sleeve.

You lay apart my thinking brain
And let in the literary pickings of a
Great poetic phallus.
Yes, poetry can be callous.


Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2010

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Poetry: What Is Poetry?

Poetry pleases my ears
that words sound in harmony,
but not to a foreign tongue.

Poetry draws a picture
to invite my eyes,
but still puzzles my mind.

Poetry blows with wind,
in water He flows,
shouts in thunders,
and bounces as rock in roll.

Poetry preserves His truth,
in secret codes, simple words,
only reveals to the worthy.

Poetry sings in my ears,
dances in front my eyes,
kisses my lips,
brings fragrance,
that fills my mind
and imprints my soul.

Poetry does not like as I like
as whenever I use as like wrongly,
and it is unfair He uses
correctly all times He does,
but I make Him to like
as I do like anyway.

Poetry tells stories
to company my journey,
writes jokes
to convert my tragedy
into a comedy,
and builds a rainbow bridge
where my dream
and reality meet.

Poetry blinded Homer
with Helen and war,
afflicted Catullus
with his love and hate,
taught Beowulf
how to fight!

Poetry made Li Bai drunk
in magical words,
brought sorrows to Du Fu,

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Soul Psychodelicide

Can we talk about soul?
Good Judy wanna dance 2 this?
Listen Cash, I do believe
I do believe that I wanna battle 2night
Listen Cash (Ooh)
Don't be sad, there's nothing wrong with your player
We have taken control as we bring U the new power
CHORUS:
Soul Psychodelicide (It's a heavenly thing)
Soul Psychodelicide (It's a heavenly thing)
Soul Psychodelicide (It's a heavenly thing)
Soul Psychodelicide
The maxi-pump of power
Good Judy wanna fly the kite
The maxi-pump of sheer delight
Guaranteed 2 pump your body right
Damn skippy, we been here before
Were just comin' on harder now
Hard on this feeling
Holy steppin on solid ground (Oh-we-oh)
Good Judy wanna hear us sing?
CHORUS
(The maxi-pump)
(U wanna try it 2night?)
All over the world theres a new soul goin' on
Brand new singer singin' a brand new song
Of an age-old story, still got 2 be told
The spirit can't be bought and it can't be sold
Because it dwells so deep inside U
No king could put it there
2 get it, U gotta want it, U gotta need it, U gotta care
I'm talkin' about
CHORUS
Good Judy gotta dance 2 this
Every time U cock it I can hit U on the up
I got a funky drummer and he just can't get enough
If U cannot cock it 'less the bass is on the floor
Then I'll have my mixer give U just a little more (Oh-we-oh)
I wanna battle 2night
Good Judy over there with the smoking jacket on
Look at that body pumpin'
Move that body strong (Oh-we-oh)
(Soul Psychodelicide) {x2}
Damn skippy, we been here before
Were just comin' on harder now
Hard on this feeling
Holy steppin on solid ground (Oh-we-oh {x2})
(Soul Psychodelicide)
Judy gon say that? (Oh-we-oh) (Soul Psychodelicide)
Judy wanna hear me sing?

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Young Americans

They pulled in just behind the fridge
He lays her down, he frowns
"gee my life's a funny thing, am i still too young?"
He kissed her then and there
She took his ring, took his babies
It took him minutes, took her nowhere
Heaven knows, she'd have taken anything, but
Chorus (he)
All night
She wants the young american
Young american, young american, she wants the young american
All right
She wants the young american
Scanning life through the picture window
She finds the slinky vagabond
He coughs as he passes her ford mustang, but
Heaven forbid, she'll take anything
But the freak, and his type, all for nothing
He misses a step and cuts his hand, but
Showing nothing, he swoops like a song
She cries "where have all papa's heroes gone?"
Chorus (she)
All the way from washington
Her bread-winner begs off the bathroom floor
"we live for just these twenty years
Do we have to die for the fifty more?"
Chorus (he)
All night
He wants the young american
Young american, young american, he wants the young american
All right
He wants the young american
Do you remember, your president clinton?
Do you remember, bill, you have to pay
Or even yesterday?
Have you have been an un-american?
Just you and your idol singing falsetto 'bout
Leather, leather everywhere, and
Not a myth left from the ghetto
Well, well, well, would you carry a razor
In case, just in case of depression?
Sit on your hands on a bus of survivors
Blushing at all the afro-sheilas
Ain't that close to love?
Well, ain't that poster love?
Well, it ain't that barbie doll
Her heart's been broken just like you have
Chorus (you)
All night
You want the young american

[...] Read more

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American Dream

American dream
American dream
American dream
I must surrender to my American dream
Please do not call me
There is a wedding ring on my ring
And I am building my American dream
I found an American soul mate to love
And to share my life and my American dream
I am getting married and settling down
Good bye single life
Love is the best thing I can give to the people who also share my American dream
Soul mate give me a kiss
And let's dream the American dream
I want my self, you, and every body else to be a part of this American
Dream
We are starting over with an American dream
What I lost before
It is not of any value to me any more
I can't replace it
But you are a part of me
And that is what matters the most
This American dream belong to us and every body else
My heart belongs to you my soul mate
Days will come and go
But I am here for you
We can make a difference when we claim the American dream
Maybe tommorow we will sail on a moon beam
My soul mate has blue eyes
Soul mate I ask no more than this
Please give me a warm kiss
Somewhere in the American dream roses will bloom
And ships will sail across the sea
Poets will write their poetry
Singers will sing in the boulevard cafes some love songs that touch Every body's heart
Flower girls will sell flowers in the streets of the American dream so
The man can buy some
Flowers for there girl friends and lovers if they have any
I can't let any body else steal our American dream
We must save this American dream for us and every body else
If you want to be a part of the American dream
You will have to be a good citizen of the American dream

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Willow, Willow, Willow

A poore soule sat sighing under a sicamore tree;
O willow, willow, willow!
With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee:
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland.

He sigh'd in his singing, and after each grone,
Come willow, willow, willow!
Come willow, willow, willow!
'I am dead to all pleasure, my true-love is gone.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow shall be may garland.

'My love she is turned; untrue she doth prove;
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
She renders me nothing but hate for my love.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the grene willow, &c.

'O pitty me' (cried he), 'ye lovers each one;
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Her heart's hard as marble; she rues not my mone.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.'

The cold streams ran by him, his eyes wept apace;
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
The salt tears fell from him, which drowned his face.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.

The mute birds sate by him, made tame by his mones;
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
The salt tears fell from him, which softened the stones.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland!

'Let nobody blame me, her scornes I do prove;
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!

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Something that pours from the heart

Poetry is something as mystical as the mountains;
shimmering majestically on the rivers in diffused
beams of brilliant sunshine,

Poetry is something as astonishing as the glittering
gold biscuits entrenched deep beneath earth; emanating
a profound glow that blended poignantly with the
atmosphere,

Poetry is something as ingratiating as the hissing
serpent; deluging the morbid ambience around with
overwhelming exhilaration,

Poetry is something as ravishing as the blossoming
petals of rubicund rose; wafting its essence
ubiquitously through all continents of this colossal
Universe,

Poetry is something as grandiloquent as the
incredulously embellished castle; offering an abode to
anyone afflicted by inexplicable distress,

Poetry is something as vivacious as the magnificently
swirling ocean; with each of its tangy waves
fulminating into a blanket of pungent froth,

Poetry is something as magnanimous as the clouds;
which bless the parched soil and ground with
torrential showers of mesmerizing rain,

Poetry is something as resplendent as the fathomless
rainbow; dissipating into vibrant shades of
magnificently animated color,

Poetry is something as exuberant as the cheekily
dancing peacock; incarcerating millions in its
stupendously enamoring swirl,

Poetry is something as innocuous as the new born
infant; touching the hearts of even the most
diabolical with irrefutable ardor,

Poetry is something as soft as voluptuously woven pure
silk; exquisitely binding every religion prevalent on
this planet,

Poetry is something as ingenious as the bubbling buds
of mushroom; evolving into celestial sprouts of
wonderful white,

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Poetry is the reason I live

Poetry is the air that I breathe in every minute;
granting me the tenacity to propel exuberantly
forward; each mundane instant of monotonous life,
Poetry is the rhapsodic wind I trespass through on my
way; engendering me to fantasize to infinite
kilometers beyond the sky,
Poetry is the most proudest possession I have ever
acquired; making me feel more privileged than the
gloriously majestic kings,
Poetry is the smile that perennially encapsulated my
lips; granting me the magical prowess of evolving a
mystical paradise; out of sheer nothingness and
bizarre wilderness,
Poetry is my reason to contentedly sleep; blissfully
conceiving the entire beauty of this fathomless planet
in each of my dreams,
Poetry is the royally grandiloquent dwelling which I
inhabit; harboring me like a divinely angel against
the most acrimonious of storm,
Poetry is the perpetual conglomerate of roses which
blossomed in my garden; blending my aboriginal
rudiments more emphatically with the soil; as their
spell binding fragrance tickled my nose,
Poetry is the tantalizing rain that fell with untamed
charisma on my naked skin; igniting the most
obliviously dormant infernos in my body; the highest
point in the sky,
Poetry is the stupendously silken fabric which I wear
to envelop my body; acting as my compassionately
amicable mate for times immemorial,
Poetry is every song I uttered from my throat;
inundating my drearily diminishing soul; with
unsurpassable happiness,
Poetry is the benevolent seed in my mind; which
proliferated at astounding speeds into the tree
called; friendship and solidarity,
Poetry is the blazing volcano of my innermost senses;
which makes me indefatigably feel that I was
euphorically bouncing and always alive,
Poetry is the enigmatic cloud that incessantly hovered
in my eyes; reinstating in me a romantic lovebird;
even as I galloped my last footstep towards my grave,
Poetry is the blood that turbulently drifted through
my labyrinth of intricate veins; instilling in me a
new found ardor as each minute unfurled,
Poetry is the pea***** which always perched on my
window at the crack of vespered dawn; culminating its
vivacious festoon of feathers full bloom; to cast its
impregnable spell upon the languid atmosphere,
Poetry is all the wealth that I could ever assimilate;

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When I wasn't breathing

When I wasn’t blissfully snoring; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
cistern of stupendously rhapsodic and gloriously majestic Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t unsurpassably fantasizing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
garden of ingeniously magical and miraculously mitigating Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t superbly adventuring; I was still inexhaustibly writing
an
ocean of bountifully resplendent and timelessly undefeated Immortal
Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t scrumptiously relishing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
playground of optimistically enlightening and unbelievably royal
Immortal
Love Poetry,

When I wasn’t limitlessly triumphing; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
cascade of beautifully panoramic and effulgently liberating Immortal
Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t pricelessly smiling; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
lantern of unendingly vibrant and inscrutably tantalizing Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t gloriously partying; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
paradise of eternally vivacious and pristinely redolent Immortal Love
Poetry,

When I wasn’t unassailably inspiring; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
festoon of incredulously ameliorating and perpetually compassionate
Immortal
Love Poetry,

When I wasn’t magnanimously feasting; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
cocoon of symbiotically philanthropic and ubiquitously coalescing
Immortal
Love Poetry,

When I wasn’t ebulliently fornicating; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
mist of wonderfully reinvigorating and blessedly burgeoning Immortal

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The American Way

1
I am a great American
I am almost nationalistic about it!
I love America like a madness!
But I am afraid to return to America
I'm even afraid to go into the American Express—


2
They are frankensteining Christ in America
in their Sunday campaigns
They are putting the fear of Christ in America
under their tents in their Sunday campaigns
They are driving old ladies mad with Christ in America
They are televising the gift of healing and the fear of hell
in America under their tents in their Sunday
campaigns
They are leaving their tents and are bringing their Christ
to the stadiums of America in their Sunday
campaigns
They are asking for a full house an all get out
for their Christ in the stadiums of America
They are getting them in their Sunday and Saturday
campaigns
They are asking them to come forward and fall on their
knees
because they are all guilty and they are coming
forward
in guilt and are falling on their knees weeping their
guilt
begging to be saved O Lord O Lord in their Monday
Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday
and Sunday campaigns

3
It is a time in which no man is extremely wondrous
It is a time in which rock stupidity
outsteps the 5th Column as the sole enemy in America
It is a time in which ignorance is a good Ameri-cun
ignorance is excused only where it is so
it is not so in America
Man is not guilty Christ is not to be feared
I am telling you the American Way is a hideous monster
eating Christ making Him into Oreos and Dr. Pepper
the sacrament of its foul mouth
I am telling you the devil is impersonating Christ in America
America's educators & preachers are the mental-dictators
of false intelligence they will not allow America
to be smart
they will only allow death to make America smart

[...] Read more

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Gertrude Stein is interviewed on American poetry

and there was the knocking on the door
that we were expecting
and it was the man
that we were expecting
with the questions we were expecting
to which answers were expected
by those who expect answers
as if life were like that
which for writers it is not

yes, tea was drunk
and after tea the tape recorder set up
so that what I said
I would continue to say
somewhere else
even when I changed my mind
here and nowhere else

and he said Ms Stein
what do you think of American poetry
and we said well it's American
and it's poetry
that's as it should be
and really that's all there is to say
and the man looked disappointed
so we asked him did he read poetry
and he said poetry no I dont read poetry
but my editor does
so I said it's really about Americans
living their lives
that's what American poetry is really about
because Americans move around
and so their words move around and
words in English have lost their intensity
but American words are always on the move
and they are more intense
yes, Americans living among Americans
and talking to their neighbours
if it's not about that
it's not really American poetry at all is it
if it's not about that
then why bother writing poetry

and the man was asking about a rose
being a rose being a rose and we said
for a hundred years the rose
has not been red in poetry
but now for the first time in a hundred years
the rose is red again

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I Dont Write Poetry!

i dont write poetry...
i sweat poetry, i drink poetry,
i breathe poetry, i make love to poetry,
i fight poetry, i eat poetry,
i bleed poetry, i crap poetry...
too often i betray poetry,
sometimes i dropp poetry.
once i tripped over poetry,
got angry and kicked poetry.
i rocked poetry on a sleepless night,
i buried poetry on the hill...
i lived poetry, for i am poetry...

no, i dont write poetry,
but poetry writes me!

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