Today some poetry from my comrade in arts
BB16
Hitler's Mother
What is a mother to do
Even the wisest womanly Jew
Could scarcely have known
Or imagined or dreamed
And even if she had known
What she was to have done
If the world was doomed
To end in Fire or Ice
Even the wisest womanly Jew
Could scarcely have known
Or imagined or dreamed
And even if she had known
What she was to have done
If the world was doomed
To end in Fire or Ice
She could not have known
That her son would be born
Half bloodline tied to fire
Singing Songs of King Solomon
Half breed and dark knight
Hospitaller and Warlock
Baptised by St. John
That her son would be born
Half bloodline tied to fire
Singing Songs of King Solomon
Half breed and dark knight
Hospitaller and Warlock
Baptised by St. John
Being the son of a Jewish girl
He appeared to everyone as
Alien as Cain to his homeland
Brilliant as the Antichrist
But more lost like an artist
Gripping emotional as a vice
Secret Father, Secret Fire
He appeared to everyone as
Alien as Cain to his homeland
Brilliant as the Antichrist
But more lost like an artist
Gripping emotional as a vice
Secret Father, Secret Fire
What Mother would conceive it ?
That he would practice his Vodou
Or would it be Jew-dou, and who
Would unleash it to be done unto
One after another after sister
After brother and another and
Another and another
And another -
That he would practice his Vodou
Or would it be Jew-dou, and who
Would unleash it to be done unto
One after another after sister
After brother and another and
Another and another
And another -
Cold must have been the days
Gone by just silently awaiting
And wondering why she waits
And even if she had known
What she was to have done
No lifeline, no fates for
Nothing matters, no counsel
No one offers consolation
To Poor Hitler's Mother
Gone by just silently awaiting
And wondering why she waits
And even if she had known
What she was to have done
No lifeline, no fates for
Nothing matters, no counsel
No one offers consolation
To Poor Hitler's Mother
Blowing Him Again
Weening
The Tiny Teeny
Djinni breaking bottles
In the street in her barefeet
BurningThe Tiny Teeny
Djinni breaking bottles
In the street in her barefeet
Cutting crosses
Intensely into her arms
Butterflies bleed and swollow
Can't get to sleep
All I do is toss and turn over
And over...
Becoming
Coming down off
The ledge like a junkie
Caterwauling on both kneecaps
Surfacing
Pure and drunken
Cotton picking serpents
Tied in rows pigtailed elbows
Pain makes me weak
Wiggling my toes and my shoulders
Over and over...
No more time get wasted
Today all bets forgiven
Lost my soul at the firesale
Giving head to the living dead
Attention deficit my missionary
Position has finally taken over
So by counting sheep
I fall asleep as my body turns over
Dreaming its all over...
Cause the answer my friend
It Ain't where Bob Dylan said
Words inside my head always say,
It ain't over till its over...And it ain't over yet...
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