TruckPunk

TruckPunk

Poetry

"...in my view, a good poem is one in which the form of the verse and the joining of its parts seems light as a shallow river flowing over its sandy bed..."

MECH TECH MEGABLAST

Sonic quake feel it shake

You're gonna ache when I roll into town

Ten billion tons of fun

Atom smasher landscape basher

Burnin it up - blowin it up - fuckin shit up

I'm gonna scar your world

I'm gonna pound your world in my

Mech Tech Megablast

Shoved up your ass

Immense gorestrocity

Do you ugly

Thermonuclear tank

The size of a city

And it won't be pretty

Beating buildings to dust

Spray napalm, drop bombs - let 'em bust

From my

Mech Tech Megablast
Shoved up your ass

"…poetry is the record of the best and happiest moments of the happiest and best minds..."

THREE FEET IN THE GRAVE

The dawn cometh quicker, my blood's feeling thicker

There's a stiffness and chilling - this old house, less willing

The enemy's time, and age is my crime

Reluctantly older -surpassing my prime

Feeling the pangs of arthritic intent

The prefacing aches of my mortal descent

It's wearing me down, this incessant wearing

A sluggish corrosion, and ungreased ball bearing

Yet new days are rising, they unravel before me

They shake me, awake me, they never ignore me

They break me from slumber, I'm rattled from dreaming

They drag me to Hell as I'm kicking and screaming

I'm bound to society to sustain my existence

I re-enter this realm with contempt and resistance

I find no salvation in man's population

Or gadgets spoon-feeding now's gratification

My gods aren't iPods or plastic inventions

I gift condescension to man's short attention

Self absorbed zombies stare into their hands

And lead pointless lives in the width of a band

A communion of Kool-Aid ®, they dwell in charade

Costumed like clowns in a moronic parade

Insatiable hunger for scatological delights

Drawn to shiny objects and the blinking of lights

The inane entertain all their vacuous brains

Celebrities are deities in this barren terrain

And the peasants - they too, think their feet fit the shoe

They lose human relevance to insolent arrogance

They suck the world dry like a mantis in lace

An ugliness ripples through all they embrace

The canines who dine upon the canine

Are heirs to a future that's no longer mine

I refuse to devolve in these mutated times

In the cannibal culture committing thought crimes

Perverting the sacred and that which I cherish

I'll fiddle from cedars and watch the world perish

As weariness settles and nests in my bone

Here lies a caption to grace my tombstone:

"It all wore me down - the infernal wearing
Put me in the ground, from a pain not worth bearing."

These life preparations are Death's invitations

Escorting my soul to a black destination

My final reprieve shall be flesh that I leave

The light at the end is my literal end

The morrow I pass through the darkening cloud

Wrapped in my shroud where none are allowed

Death to come ripping with indifference and sickle

I'll answer his calling - and feel but a tickle

"…poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings; it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility...

A POCKET FULL OF THOUGHTS

I think and dream and drift away
But there’s intensity in the way I stray
The passing thought like precious stone
A melting snowflake with no clone
A whimsical whim, a leaf on the breeze
It falls from the limb like a fall to the knees
As nomads as vagrants as drifters they wander
Floating as nothing – yet something to ponder

I drift away and think and dream
Riding my craft down consciousness’ stream
There’s pleasure and pain and indifference as well
From thinnest of air, if cast from a spell
They’re shallow and deep and dance in my sleep
Counting my blessings, I count them like sheep
They burst like balloons as I lie in tranquility
To capture them all – an exercise in futility

I dream and drift away and think
Snapshots of thoughts appear in blinks
Moments so clear in reason and rhyme
Fleeting and bleeding away with the time
I try to collect them, to keep them as pets
A pen in my hand is my butterfly net
I treat them as treasures, like love’s face in a locket
They fill up my minutes, my soul, and my pockets

"…modesty is a virtue not often found among poets, for almost every one of them thinks himself the greatest in the world..."

LITERALLY SPEAKING

Did I ask you a question?

A-B-C, easy as N-M-E

Easy for 2-3-1, easy as 1-2-3

That's Me, I, My pronouns

That's who pumps and pounds

And beats and hacks and drops and smacks

Verb after verb - what you just heard

Was a precise, flawless adjective

A poetic, brilliant description to give

An accurate, articulate alliteration

An analogy and acclamation

Word formation, pronunciation

I don't st-st-st-stammer on the goddam grammar

Slip up, stutter - cuz I rhyme like butter

With the simile and slang, as I coin a phrase

And then I paraphrase two separate ways

I got that flip-flop on the hip-hop

I got the shift in gab, gift of vocab

And in a spelling bee, I'd blow you away

F-U-C-K-I-N-G-A

I'll spell it, I'll spill it - a dab of consonance

Throwin couplets, in any tense

As I use it, and used it, using wit

Then offset everything with free verse

Tossin some chaos in your direction

Duck! Low flying interjection

And How! The adverb kicks in - Pow!

As I put a preposition onto a preposition

In back of prepositions, in view of it's position

I'm kickin participle past

Having kicked the present first, not last

Parlait vu macaronics?

Si Senior - bilingual phonics

But you'll never, ever find one of those kind

Of grouping of words, some are inclined

To travel and unravel - unroll and unfold

Idea and another with no distinction from the other

As I'm having my fun on this deliberate run-on

With the boom-bat format for the chat

It's the onomatopoeia to deliver idea

Using homonyms too - here's number two

Whoever wants a pause, let's see a show of paws

That's for the noun clause

Or conjunctions - so conjunctions

And functions are in conjunction

With the sight rhymes I bring through

Lookin better than it sounds, though

It's time to break my signal like a gate

Cuz I never fuckin punctuate

Period

"...I don't look on poetry as closed works. I feel they're going on all the time in my head and I occasionally snip off a length..."

SPINHEAD

I'm jonesin and I need my fix

I gotta hear those pops and clicks

I'm just a junkie minus tracks

I put those needles on the wax

And I got stacks you've never heard

Revolving thirty three and a third

Spinning labels - bands that rip

And my turntables never skip

Technics belt drive on 45

A seven inch EP from '83

One you won't see out on CD

What you can't get, even on cassette

Pretentious asshole? Maybe so

But I got more records than the radio

Test pressings, bootlegs - the shit's extensive

Rare, expensive, comprehensive

A library of Hardcore

Punk Rock from ceiling to the floor

It's something that I can believe in

Takin records for a spin

College campus record swap

I never fucking window shop

Show me vinyl, the money drops

Hate to burst your bubble, but I woulda paid double

Cuz I never trip on what it's costin

I'm blowin cash from here to Austin

Three hundred bucks on Guadalupe

Seven hundred more down in L.A.

Through Oregon up to W-A

I'm maxin plastic down in the Bay

Rasputin's, Reckless - I'm never checkless

Payin high prices for my vinyl vices

I gotta wax museum, and I love 'em all

Walk into stores - first check the wall

Then Rolodex each record bin

Full of hope and adrenaline

New and used, and some abused

Some trashed, some mint, some out of print

Numbered, signed - whatever I find

Limited edition - in any condition

So, I'm in this store, right? And they ask me:

"Are you finding everything alright?"

Well, I gotta be honest - they just don't have everything

Then they ask: "Well, is there anything I can help you find?"

And I say: "Yeah, you can help me. I need some:"

Slammies, Freeze, Authorities

Verbal Abuse, Dead Kennedys

S.V.D.B. or Tesco Vee

S.S.D. and Channel Three

Big Boys, Void, and M.D.C.

Cro-Mags, Black Flag and C2D

Crucifix and The Dicks and C.O.C.

Christ on Parade and Youth Brigade

R.K.L. and Roach Motel

Fearless Iranians from Hell

White Lie, D.R.I., Decry, Agression

Y.Y.Y. and False Confession

Beyond Possession, Reagan Youth

And Wasted Youth and Rebel Truth

Dr. Know, Sin 34

McRad, America's Hardcore

Sick Pleasure, or N.O.T.A.

The Faction, Fang, and J.F.A.

Hvy Drt, and B.G.K.

Negative Approach, or M.I.A.

Jerry's Kidz, or Gang Green

The F.U.s, Scream, Stalag 13

Sado Nation, Negative F.X.

And by the way, do you take checks?

"…poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does..."

HUMAN TRASHER

Human scum, here I come

I'll take your screams, tear 'em out yer throat

Drain floods of blood - make body parts float

I'm gonna make it spill, I got the Skill

Punch through their chests, pull out their hearts

Leave fresh fucked dead in shopping carts

I got the trash compacter factor for man

You'll be findin bits of people in garbage cans

Once the dumpster death has started

Human flesh and bone bombarded

Dismembered wreckage - life discarded

Pieces of dearly departed

I got more meat chops than butcher shops

With a Dundee slash, I'm takin out the trash

I'll snatch their souls and fuck 'em up

And drink their blood from Dixie cups

I'll give you massive lacerations

The scarlet punch evacuation

Through process of evisceration

A blood drenched Ginsu demonstration

Rorshach designs as thick as Heinz

I'll break your skin, drop you in a trash bin

Garbage encased - mutilated waste

I'm gonna ship your stumps to landfills and dumps

"…all poetry is misrepresentation…"

THE MEANING OF LIFE

I want to taste your empty brain

No condiments, I'll eat it plain

Although I've nothing I can gain

I'm sure some asshole will complain

But I'll take you for a ride, neighbor

Don’t fuck with me - I've gone in labor

My water broke, mind dilating

I'm giving birth, rhyme procreating

Slap this fucker - get it breathin

Cut the cord, the verse is teethin

Growin fangs, my vicious babies

Anthropomorphic thought with rabies

Slobberin fits - saliva foamin

Now it's crawlin - infant roamin

It's thought nomadic, word sporadic

With a navigation on vacation

No destination, yet still on course

Flaunting this most fertile source

That's pulsing, throbbing - pumping thought

Would some synopsis hit the spot?

A storyline? No, not forgot

The meaning of life - is the plot

Nurse the verse - a nursery rhyme

In pre-pubescent overtime

Love it, hate it - you can't debate it

You're in awe when I lactate it

You grab yourself when I relate it

Increase the pace and masturbate it

You can't touch this, so touch yourself

Put your prose back on the shelf

And wallow in my verbal vomit

Burp this baby - watch me mom it

Raise it, feed it - keep it going

Alphabits will keep it growing

It's got my eyes and the other vowels

With consonants spilling out its bowels

Drool, spit and the sucker just shit

Gotta wipe 'er - change a diaper

You smell it fuckin up the air

Ad-nauseam is everywhere

See, this is life and you can't take it

It sleeps inside but you can't wake it

You simply don't possess the ability

To usurp my fertility

Your womb is barren - you'll never rock the cradle

But I can spoon this shit out by the ladle

And when I'm done dishin out my dome

Sudden Infant Death Syndrome

"…a poet's work...to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world and stop it from going to sleep..."

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