The Love of Man

Yea, I met him...strange human..not t a very good poet.

 

I just had to do it…another one from the poet at war with Xenutian essences  from Xenu…genocide…..Mssr. Hubbard.  You homo sapien sapiens are a strange lot. 
               The love of a man’s a delicate thing
Built of earthquakes
And thunder.
His pat is a bear paw
His kiss is a curse
His squeeze would burst
Granite asunder.
If all of his wooing
Were witnessed from off
And his jousts in life’s list assembled
You’d think the debris
In his emphatic wake
The shambles of warfare resembled.
His woman she nags or
Spoils feast day with tears
And offers her softness
to blisters
While he buys her
New baubles
Which no one can use
And scars her fair hide up
With whiskers.
The love of a man is a delicate thing
For the granite’s but papier mache
His lady, she dodges
And won’t comprehend
That a soft love in man goes away!

May 21 1945, Oakland, California

Bad Poem # 2 DREAM GIRL

PREFACE:

Just because you can rhyme doesn’t mean you should. We monkey poets learned that a long time ago. Well, honestly, it has been a little more difficult to rhyme randomly, but we do a pretty good job. The faster you can type the more probability you will.

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DREAM GIRL

If Time gave up its treasures
Of life and love and pleasures,
And death in equal measures,
What gifts are left I pray?
In dreams I see pale stallions,
That lead lost ghost battalions,
To shores where foamy galleons
At spirit anchor stay.

Your lips are so beguiling,
While curving, pouting, smiling,
My kiss would be defiling,
Yet I would take the chance.
Your sandal’s silver lacing
Is winding and is tracing
Each calf that’s deftly racing
To music of the dance.

You strut and twist while bringing
To my heart that is singing
A silent love that’s stinging
Right to my very soul.
If but for one brief hour
I might embrace this flower,
To make sweet what is sour
Then such would be my goal.

Ah, life and death are brothers,
Your coyness kills and smothers,
Now I am like those others,
Who hope and hold their breath.
You husband all your pleasures,
Mete out unequal measures,
Of your most splendid treasures
Till I go down to death.

Bad Poem #12 L. Ron Hubbard’s Above it All

PREFACE

“This lovely poem comes from the founder of Scientology. This proves to me that Scientology is the only belief system that you homo sapiens sapiens have ever developed that is worth anything.”
Mr Big Monkey Poet

High on a sun-bathed peak I trod
Through granite rocks and snow
Below me lay the world.
Tiring, I sat pensive on
A rough gray monster of stone
A fresh, cool wind bathed
My earth-tired brain.
’Neath my feet lay
The farms.
All squared with wheat and hay
Light green against dark
Tan against brown.
Detached–my mind reasoned.

COLD, WET DECKS

 

Preface:

We understand how Homo sapiens have a hard time getting along. As Mr Big Monkey has taught us, bad poetry is the cause of the homo sapiens misery, they got the stuff in their blood, it races around in their arteries like an itchy wool sweater.  Our poet here below.  Mr. Hubbard loves the yellow man of your species…this is a dramatic poem of the highest quality. 

 

 If you believe that then there is no hope for you my dear Homo sapiens.  We need a drink.  Less talk more monkey!!!

 

cold, wet decks
Creeping dawn
The gentle whir of engines
Swishing yellow waters
The Yangt-ze-Kiang
Kowtung Gorge
Yellow walls
Yellow sky
Cruel yellow rapids
Sneering, hideous rapids
Waiting, waiting to crush
The gunboat.

A crouched figure,
Shivering, watching.
A blue figure,
The lookout
Silent, half-blind.
Pulling hungrily at a cigarette
Watching, watching the dawn.

Cold, wet decks.
The brittle fingers of the helmsman.
The smarting eyes of the pilot
The yellow gorge
The yellow waters

The sudden crash of musketry,
Whirling yellow men on the banks
An alarm gong,
The whimper of the lookout
The hysterical laugh of a machine gun.

Bad Poem #11 Tarnished

PREFACE

” I still do not understand why you homo sapiens sapiens feel so superior to us primates.  Reading your poetry I can not but feel sorry for you maudlin existence.” Mr. BIg Monkey Poet

Castles of freedom frown

upon my sorrowed soul

Sinful wings bleed ebony

Tears taunt desire’s control

Blackened spirit screams,

halo cast to crystal sea

Pure porcelain skin scarred

with solitude’s agony

As a heavenly dove cries

Alone…

…my tarnished spirit dies

BAND POEM #10 The Statue and the Dancer

PREFACE

“”Enough said!”

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Two silhouettes posing
Statuesque, a wondrous sight
One sits upon a table
One stands before my eyes
Both are works of art
But only one of flesh and bone

Each with one arm arching backward
Highlighting shapely delights
Movements of a dancer
Costume surely designed
To accentuate the promise
Of pleasure later in that night

Candles upon the table
Set a lover’s atmosphere
Flicker with the movements
As she dances so coyly near

Violins play softly
To their rhythm she abides
Displaying her desire
As she knowingly
Entices with her eyes

Bad Poem #9 Loving a Drink

PREFACE

” Meter makes a poem and this meter for this subject matter make me want to drink even more. If someone I loved gave me this poem, it wouldn’t make me want to drink less but more. Less talk and more Monkey, bartender! ” Mr. Big Monkey Poet

How can one continue loving a drunk
who makes their lives just like hell?
How can one continue living a lie
thinking they’ll one day get well?
Why is it we stay with these sad ones
who can’t see the err of their ways?
Why is it we put up with so much
some days is it us that are crazed?
We want them to quit, surely we do
it’s not up to us, they’re in control;
drinking their lives into the ground
taking us with them, body and soul.
We make excuses, cover their trails
enable the disease to progress;
let’s halt it now, or forever stop
we’ve got to make it regress.
We can’t stop you drinking, only you can
make it better for all those concerned;
quit while we’re still a family,
before we all leave ‘ cause we’re burned.
Love changes to pity, you’re alone
we can’t live with you any more;
for the sanity of all involved
we’re kicking you out through the door.

VERY BAD POEM # 8 A Twisted Justice

PREFACE

“This poem makes me angry. I am usually a very docile monkey. Not today, my Homo Sapeins Sapeins. Please put away the thesaurus! Please don’t make the world have to hear this! Please oh, please. Give me a random typewriter banging poem any day.” Mr. BIg Monkey Poet

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Orchestrate cryptic blaspheme
Find benevolence a new home
For ardent hands entwine iniquity
Into cursed marrow of your bones.

Release mind’s mournful energy
As your excruciating demise begins.
Play out this terrible elegy
As justice always wins.

Monochrome rivers release tension
Pouring down from my sable gaze.
Your impetuous tears evoke pleasure.
Start counting down your days!
What goes around comes back around.
As justice always wins.

Now I am going to commit bloody homicide…
The knife in my hand, holding it so hard…
I know I will leave you more than scarred.
I have thoughts so dark they seem barbaric…
Another thought runs through my mind…
Committing your bloody, callous homicide.
Watch you as you unwillingly acceded

My heart is filled with ice.
I don’t feel very nice today.
See how wisely I proceeded.
Hesitation to kill you put aside
As if a demon has manifested…
Access to my heart denied

To cause pain…

“This poem went on and on and one but I didn’t want to make you read it cause it would have caused too much unnecessary suffering.” Mr. Big Monkey Poet

BAD POEM # 7 God vs. Satan

PREFACE

” My wayward son, Oh the depths of human ignorance you display. They are all false gods. The only true god is Hanuman, the mighty monkey deity. Silly Homo Sapiens Sapiens! Mr. Big Monkey Poet

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When all goes wrong
where do you turn?
Will you turn to the heavens?
Or the soil you plant your feet upon?

Will you turn to God?
Will HE give you the stairway to heaven?
Will HE tell you which way to go in life?
Will HE reassure you that everything’s going to be alright.

Will you turn to Satan?
Will HE shove his scorched pitchfork in your eye?
Will HE say that everybody’s going to live and die sometime?
Will HE tell you that you’re out of time,
so HE can feed on your soul and feel more alive?

When you’re on your last card
and you don’t know who to ask,
will you know that there’s only two doors
and both will threaten you with your sins to gain favors from you?

Who’s going to take your soul?
Who’s going to let you fly?
Who’s going to let you burn?
Who’s going to take you for a ride?

Then, God turns and says
“I’ll give you the road to happiness through love and charity.”

Then, Satan turns and says
“You have a heart of gold. My flames will never burn something so bold.”

Moral of the story:

EITHER WAY YOU LOSE,
SO JUST PUT ME 6 FEET UNDER
AND WE’LL LET THEM CHOOSE.

Bad Poem #6 Banished

PREFACE

“For the love of God what is going on here?”

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In a crypt of glass-
Slaughterer, be her name.

Banished, there forever,
Where she should remain…

For the slicing and dicing
Of smiling kids veins-

The hacking, sawing,
Chewing and gnawing
Of a hundred children or more

Hammering, Blood splattering
Thick glass-
Cracks appearing…

Soon she’ll be free