Leave Steve Jobs in Hell and Out of Poetry Readings


I've refrained from speaking on the subject
as not to sound like some whimpering old man
hung up on times past,
but I feel the issue has to be addressed.
It appears the pseudo-intellectual modern poets
have finally stripped away anything resembling art
from readings these days to make room
for all the current fashions and gadgets
that have enslaved free thought.
I'm appalled at the audacity
of these replicants to stand
in front of an audience and spew
the abstract nonsense they call poetry
from their giant cellphones, breaking rhythm
to pause and scroll down to finish,
thinking it's so cool
to have the latest model
that costs more than the average mortgage.
Meanwhile looking more pathetic
than a panic-stricken wall street crook.
To make matters worse
and very uncomfortable
they either spit out some fancy words
they pulled from a dictionary
that don't seem to work too well together
creating their avant-garde verses
leaving anyone still awake 
scratching their heads wondering
where their precious time went
or often times they whine and thrust
their personal beliefs and political agendas
upon you to convey
their half-wit intellect and dumb logic,
thinking their vote and opinion 
accounts for more
than just ink stains on dead trees
and will change the world as we know it.
Sometimes, they try to be clever
and slip in an insult
toward whatever candidate they're against
making the already cringe-worthy reading
even less enjoyable (if that's possible).

It is my belief that most good poets
went against the grain,
ever-questioning the establishment
and the fake popular culture,
not regurgitating sensationalized news clips
and crooked campaign slogans
trying to convince anyone listening
that this particular politrickster
that conned them into voluntary enslavement
is far removed from all of the other oligarchs
with empty promises, phony relationships
and dividing lines.

But that's what separates
the real from the fake,
the poets from the pundits,
the freedom
          from the whipping post.

Behold Thy Green Medicine

Born Maria Juana

To Mother Earth
    Father Sun
The holiest spirits

Seed to burial mound
Associated rites and praise
Unto gestation, resurrection
of scented flowers
and crystallized crowns
Hung headlong
like bats in a cavern

Cured for ritual healing
The cure
For habitual kneeling