I See a Crooked $ Sign

I see a crooked $ sign in the distance
waiting for my arrival
from working those MARKETING PLANS,
helping others
and wasting the past
weathering the death storms
tired of keeping these eyes open
Hating paranoid Users
– looting the helpful poor.

There it looms, not green, but dusky brown
reddish in parts, like the blood poured over it to keep it safe
a worn sign made of diseased wood
gray actually – pretty faded,
pretty jaded
I seen jade in Lonsdale Quay today
and it was more preciouse
than any dollars I’ve ever seen

.
<script
src="http://blogactionday.org/js/fadc9307f74b5ce2664171abc8df18994f8985d7"></script>
<a href="http://blogactionday.org">

The Mountain Has Come To Muhammad

There will always be resistance
and people trying for change, For
The Strong are always building their houses of Power
to maintain exclusive use of the world’s Resources

It’s easy to imagine yourself a millionaire
and nobody in the world to help
The Weak are always mumbling and
fumbling up their cards
the mountain is for the exclusive use
of those that love Muhammed

Those who work will always remember
those who don’t
And it seems they are paving the way
for the feeble to steal
a try at the wheel of life
and why should they?

There has always been laughter
in the hereverafter
fumbling with coats that should’ve been
checked at the door
like a tip that won’t fit in the pocket of a dress

Caught in the death throes of bumble bees
only a few kinds left
killer bees say some – not workers anymore
the mountain has come to Mohammed!

.

.
<script
src="http://blogactionday.org/js/fadc9307f74b5ce2664171abc8df18994f8985d7"></script>

You’re invited! Poetry Feast now!

photo by Jim Blair

.

Welcome to my poetry site. Here is a selection

from my writings. Please contact me

about the Rest. Check out my

Category: Explanations: Philosophies of Poetry

to find out how and why I write.

We are the Parents of the poor
we give them food
and offer them free lessons in humility
if there were a chance
we could say “Jump”
and the thrill of responsive action
would lurk there
as our reward. Maybe if it rains.

On snowy days
Act like you’re giving alot
when you’re actually giving hardly anything at all
But the purple haze commands
And 13,000 more people without jobs
The doors of Eatons close forever
And the blanket of white powdery covers everything over.

A nice sunny sometime
with a rainbow and a pot of gold
and a tussle here brings us to the realization
in a New Day of Creation
Where the makers are they themselves
and the Cowboys all have earrings
riding over sagebrush widely in the country
That the sting of the thing is it don’t help.

© 1999 Rudolf Penner

The Artist

The Artist sits all day in his easy chair
and dreams of what life is like
Then he goes out and buys himself
an expensive weapon
And begins to attack society
he rages against lunatics and Freemasons
he bullies religious and tears apart angels
he takes old rags and burns holes in them
he accesses hidden sources
and teases recognition out of his onlookers
Hey! Ya! it’s me, he says
Ya! You! You’ve got eyes in you head – See!
he begs for a meal
and turns it into a healing implement
he gives away his dinner
to the poor of spirit
he rebels against authoritarian tactics
knowing full well the power of constraint

His weapons are paints and thoughts
his elbows are made of iron to crawl on
the avenues of his departure
are as vain as a flamboyant magazine
the nasty afternoon is full of empty air
where he’ll burn his hair with gasoline
in mid-traffic to get across
an ecological point

The artist sits all day,
and spins his thread of unsound thoughts
and nobody hears
as the worms begin to crawl over dead bodies
the artist with his alarm bell
with his whistle and milk thistle
begins to pull at the needle of drunkenness

But it is always too late by then,
for by the time you hear,
the earth is sinking
or the water will cover your head
and fire surround your bed

at this point the artist has a good laugh
because now you have heard him
and now you’re going to die
and he laughs so hard he cries
and as you sink into the quicksand
you know he’s laughing at you

And he goes back to his palette
and begins printing the alphabet on it
in plain black letters

and you think, Now?
but he just goes on painting them
as your head slips beneath the sand.

© 2001 Rudolf Penner

Beautiful People

So many beautiful people in our city
I see them on the bus
Downtown they teach their kids the value of shopping
We see the tones of their bodies
And have the privilege of saying hello
I am one that hears the colour of their brains
Different from mine in a nice way
They sing from a different memory

Everyone is coming to Vancouver, Canada
There is an attraction of softer experiences here
There are new memories to be engaged in
We see the colours of everyone’s heart
Everyone has such a different way of being gentle
You can see it on the skytrain
It is evident in meetings
Never again will there be one way of seeing

© 2007 Rudolf Penner