http://www.tssys.com/lysander/poetry.html (Internet on a CD, 07/1998)Lysanderian Poetry
If you can't hear yourself think, how do you know so?
In Triskitikatalia they tell plastic lyes on the street.
Like wisdom of librarians and kissing high-class citizen feet.
But I didn’t believe that it was that and that was it so this is what I did.
I lifted up an arch of my sacred harp and played to the ArchGoddess Nid.
"In Triskitikatalia there’s a weird type of outer atmosphere.
There’s a thing they call the terror of the lobotomosphere.
It’ll cut off your head, then eat you, you know,
And every time it will snow.
That’s how you’ll know
You shouldn’t go.
Now, this man I know, he’s a Isckaelackazalien.
Which is a type of librarian.
They study circles of fluff,
Which is pretty much meaninglys stuff.
His syster, she’s a Kackalackazilien.
Which is a type of citizen.
An important one in fact.
Though nobody is sure to be exact.
Now, Abralien the librarian
and his good syster Kaschakillian,
went out to the store one certain day.
Abralien needed a book,
Kaschakillian was going to hire a cook.
(Too important to cook for herself, of course,
such as the most finest delicacy of a horse.)
It was snowing that fateful day.
Abralien said, ‘What the hey?’
And set out to town with his good syster Kasch.
They made a good breakfast the terrible Clasch.
(A beast of the lobotomosphere, you see?)
Abe’s dying words: ‘We were foolish, weren’t we?
Now are heads are cut off and we no longer have brains.
It won’t be long before he eats us, too, Kelbranes.’
‘Well said, dear brother, but that’s not my name,’
said Kasch, ‘However, it’s ok, for you’ve lost your brain.
And your mind couldn’t possibly be the same.’
(Of course, to begin with, they were both very lame.)"
And so ends my song.
It wasn’t incredibly long . . .
Note it wasn’t weighted down by the wisdom of fluff,
nor a lengthy praising of some upper-class puff.
In the midst of countless green seas
And a great number of frost-covered trees
In the town called Argolee
There was no greater talent than Euchre
Euchre heard great music in his mind
But was too poor to buy or find
The technology of the age
So his poverty was a cage
Then one day an angel came
To bring wishes, money or fame
To any those who so desired
But people became lazy and tired
Argolee celebrated with many feasts
The people served by amazing beasts
But since people no longer needed jobs
They were becoming sluggish slobs
The angel was praised by all
By passed Spring, Summer, and Fall
In the utopia of Argolee
People no longer used their knees
But Euchre finally owned the devices
The music in his mind required
He composed for all day long
Many many a beautiful song
Taking a break, his masterpiece arranged
Euchre was shocked how the town had changed
Inhabitants sitting around the entire day
Stagnation had gone the all the way
The angel was there, watching Euchre
When confronted him, he’d started to speak:
"I know, I’ve done this all.
I devour stagnation and humans dull.
You may leave and keep your work,
I have no use for you creative types, no, not your sort.
You’re an artist. I’m sure you can understand
Why I must devour this useless land.
So leave now, and take flight,
For I shall be eating well tonight."
Euchre thought of no argument
He took his work and went
Shaking his head
as those he passed
indulged themselves,
they would be gone
the next morning on.
Marie took a walk one lovely day
On the beautiful island of Shandrilei
Which is quite a wonderful land,
With such things as flowers, jungle and sand.
Our lives here are really quite grand.
Marie passed a garden she hadn’t seen before
She noticed a warning on the garden’s door
Pleading all travelers who passed
To move on quickly and fast.
Of what it said this wasn’t the last:
And if a traveler still wouldn’t go
The worst possible scenario
Involved opening the gate
"But what sort of fate",
thought Marie, "would await?"
Now Marie was a curious girl.
And giving her hair a twirl,
She felt she couldn’t resist.
So out went her hand and twist
Went her curious wrist.
Marie hadn’t heard of Pandora’s Box,
She wasn’t aware of the meanings for locks
And how some things should be kept away.
And a wise man would say
That’s the way they must stay.
So Marie was quite surprised
When flowers marched before her eyes
These were not rooted to the ground.
They were walking up and around
And they made a marching sound.
In my story you may not believe,
But it’s as true as what’s written on my sleeve:
SLAVE, in capitol letters.
They bound us by tethers.
They hold us in fetters.
Humans are now rooted to spots
In gardens and in parking lots
We make fine gifts on Valentine’s Day
Flowers watch us wither away
Or arrange us on another day.
All thanks to my mother Marie
She was a slave, just like me
All of us hope to see
The day the door opens and we
. . . all of us . . . humans, will be free . . .
Marie took a walk one lovely day
On the beautiful island of Shandrilei
Which is quite a wonderful land,
With such things as humans, jungle and sand.
But rooted to one spot, life sure is bland.
I wish I was me;
Who I’d rather be.
I’m tired of being you,
Tired of wearing your shoes.
Tired of looking at your toes.
Tired of wearing your clothes.
Tired of living in your state.
Tired of following your fate.
Tired of living in your house.
Tired of feeding your pet mouse.
Tired of mirrors showing your face.
Tired of belonging to your race.
Tired of seeing your friends.
Tired of the way you follow trends.
All these clothes are out of season
Wish I was me. Give me a reason?
I’m still tired of being you.
Tired of your favorite color blue.
Tired of going to your job.
Tired of your boyfriend Bob.
Tired of eating your favorite food.
Tired of having your mood.
Tired of being your religion.
Tired of making your decisions.
Tired of watching your TV.
Tired of living out your history.
Tired of being your sex.
Tired of putting up with your ex.
Damn you, tell me the truth,
Wish I was me. Why am I you?
I sure wish I was me;
That’s who I want to be.
Which way it is,
What way it was.
The way we’re going
And the way we’ve been going on.
Where it was that we were.
Were we where it was the way?
Where to now, when we have traveled
All day and yesterday?
All in a sweet instant we were there.
All in a flash of seconds we are here.
Whatever where we will be
Gone so instantly.
Where we have been may stay,
What could record the way?
A fly leaves no mark on the world
And is gone in a day.
The way we are,
The way that it was,
Will anyone remember
Us
Sam the fish had great ambition,
In his mind he had a mission.
He wasn't content with just being a fish,
To conquer the world was his deepest wish.
One day, some chemicals were spilled into his lake.
This was all some stupid truck driver's mistake.
Sam grew legs, and got real big,
His brains got so smart that he could do Trig.
Sam came up, on out of the water,
Dreadfully scaring somebody's daughter.
She ran to the lifeguard, telling what she had seen.
The lifeguard said, "Dude! That sounds pretty keen!"
But, however, after Sam had travelled up the shore,
The lifeguard was helpless, he was weak to the core.
Sam beat him up and tossed him aside,
By this time the humans had lost all their pride.
And so this is how a fish took over the world,
The cops' plans to stop him had all come unfurled.
The lesson to be learned here in this educational story
Is that dumping waste near the beach just ain't hunky dory.
comptir newbee - a liysndrien pome
cant get this spellchekker worken
already is it or me thats brokken?
my noo comptir maken me feel blu
grammar chek not worken two.
but enugh abut things i wondir why.
i get speshul pakagchs with comptir I buy.
aol give me lot of free time
i be goning to get on online.
am goning be surfing on internat
so me bring my borde and surf on it
but no thing happens so i bring towel too
when i surf onto screen i get big boo-boo
ther no water on the internat.
how i supsoded to surf on 'at?
i hear it a web so may be spiders.
hope no of them are bitters.
they give me thing they call a mose.
i pet i give cheeze it doze not rouze!
i get mad and i hit it reli harde.
may be ned a noo comptir kard!
i bang on keys. i pres on them.
fore comptir did i get enugh rem?
say them i need lots rem and win 95.
my howse only hav windows five.
i get more but i runing out of wahls.
i put some upper on laderrs but i falls.
i wuld go on and on but i almust fergat
i was goning to get on the internat.
i clik mose eyes and montir flash!
i geting on aol at last!
my chest swels up and i fel rely prid.
geting on here make me rely smart guy.
me clik on picturs and it all start to muve
i thinken internat may be relly coole.
so i looken for picturs of nice joosy fude.
i print out to eat but they no tast ani gude.
this comptir i think dispointed me.
it no thing like a Jetson on teevee.
so i use it for a stop the doore.
it worken rel gude now on my floore.
"The peach creature, she wants to kill you dear.
I’m afraid for you, and this fear
it is real"
space pirate
on his bike
alone and lovely
he took a hike.
Peach creature
loving like
deadly deader
dead alike.
Space pirates are sitting on the edge of their seats.
beaches on the shores of planets
never discovered, never to be found
around and round planets of sound
birds and peach creatures chirping around
it’s too warm to feel the fear
fear that’s never found.
"You’re on the ground and all alone.
Think of infinity, eternity- it’s your home.
Are you ever truly, truly, really alone?"
the starry sky shines bright
to
night.
"If you can’t hear yourself think, how do you know so?"
Where is the start of the end
was dead dead dead to begin.
Life
love
stars
given in time.
Rhyme
endless channels
forks and past plant paths
thrive
alive.
Puzzle won’t open
turned plastic knobs
genius woman wood could
love
live stars
crime alive.
It would thrive
possible . . .
crivendinglenumblefleshbomb.
I am not.
Going to pick your lock.
To see what you keep
in side locked up.
It’s not worth
Looking inside
To see what you hide
What’s important
Is you’re OK and alive
That’s all . . .
. . . I am going to be
alive and trembling
all the time
in watery circumstances
I’m alive
I’m alive
and the water absorbs most of my time.
It’s OK, it’s all right, I won’t be so uptight
but he is what me is what she is and what is alive
is feeling like this and more all the time and
I’m alive
I’m alive
I’m alive
We are all right if we can just survive.
"Our little boy called today . . ."
". . . did he leave a message?"
"He asked why we took the good things away.
He's feeling "empty" with his good things gone.
He says he's weak . . ."
"He is strong."
"Oh, yes, and he's tired of doing things our way."
". . . you don't say."
"And feeling useless with no choices,
Like a mute . . ."
"Well. As long as he can hear our voices."
Later on the news
A little boy was found
Stuck on a stepping stone on the ground
He felt fear from his own revelations
". . ."
feeling no sensations.
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