– Empty avalanche goblin
singing for the snafu.
Elenchus rips its cosmic epidermis/
showing us
its amplitude continuance incidents.
Reverberate mind/
imprecate the cacophony,
sednoid a tantric aniridia.
Pseudobulge daguerreotype/
fipple timid dimensionless decay;
Encolpion triggers the alarm –
sand vagina roars/
the background humans
laugh in agony.
Copyright © 2019 Charlie Zero the Poet
All rights Reserved.
No part of Goblin Empty Cacophony – may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means: electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior permission. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Charlie Zero the Poet and his poetry works with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
The opening phrase sets the tone! Well done, Charlie.
Thank you Frank.
The poem itself went through some changes. I cut up the poem a few times to get the right rhythm. The result was worth it.
Pure Charlie Zero.
Love the turmoil of the human condition and the trappings of the material world (right??!)
this was a fave part for me:
“Encolpion triggers the alarm –
sand vagina roars/
the background humans
laugh in agony.”
the background humans. ..so so so clever
xoxo
You are correct.
I’m glad you enjoyed the lines.
The background humans are a big part of the problem that has been seen and repeated over and over.
I’m happy you liked this poem. 🙂
I agree with Fiery — this was my favorite part too. And the title!
😉
🙂 🙂
It makes my heart happy knowing you and Fiery loved the title and the lines as well. 🙂
Making you happy makes me happy!
🙂
The opening stanza ripped into my psyche , it’s pure meth gold Charlie , then the second one breathes platinum sense.
This is all very epic , like a huge display in the universe unfolding before my eyes.
The title spectacular 😊, set the whole verse in epic motion.
We shall probably get nearest to the truth if we think of the conscious and personal psyche as resting upon the broad basis of an inherited and universal psychic disposition which is as such unconscious, and that our personal psyche bears the same relation to the collective psyche as the individual to society. ~Carl Jung
Poetry is external to our psyche just as much as music playing that role within our ears and consciousness.
Oil Thief – In the Heat
Yes!!
😊
I love this kind of music. My ideas start to run like crazy. 🙂
Kkk
Wonderful poem! Every line was so beautiful and intricate, right from the beginning.
Thank you Stills.
The craft that goes into poetry is what gives the structure of the imagery poem itself that fine hint of delicious flavors that anyone can savor. 🙂
There’s an internal rhythm to this which plays out as a song … the beat goes on, Charlie.
What influenced this poem and the given feel of rhythm is this music:
SD Laika – Don’t Know
Guess I’m tuned to a different metronymic, Charlie – it’s called age I think!
I thought I introduce you to some interesting techno/electronic music. 🙂
Good try, Charlie!
How about this one:
I promise it will be good. I love this song.
Andy Williams – Impossible Dream
……………………….Charlie,
THE BACKGROUND HUMANS LAUGH IN AGONY
the background humans ?
friends, family, co-workers ?
the poet written into a corner
the poet as the last hope for a spokesperson
day after day, activity at the dollhouse
new puzzle pieces at best anonymous
the dollhouse poet employed
at unhinging one’s critical sense
…………………………….Michael,
Hope the background noise
doesn’t impact the last humans.
For spokesperson poet;
Ginsberg knew a lot
about dollhouse machine farms.
After you’ve written
the best anonymous puzzle/
Employed yourself
with unhinging senses
and piece together those critical sarcasm.
Cacophony is such a glorious word!
It truly is. I’ve been wanting to experiment with that word. I’m glad I did it with the poem here and using the cut up technique to give it that weird experimental tone. 🙂
It worked well, funny how some words lend themselves better to experiments than others….and fun to play about with them. Great piece!
Thank you Mark.
One most always experiment, the words themselves may never know where the imagery may take others’ imagination. 🙂
We just stir the pot and pour the juice! They can devour.
You’re a poetic genius Charlie…. truly.
Tingles from the language splicing
🙏🙏🙏💗⚡️⚡️⚡️
{{{{{{{{{{{{{thank you}}}}}}}}}}}}}}
Thank you Nadine.
Some poems are meant to be a mystery. And that’s the point.
Everything is up to one’s imagination and how they interpret any works. 🙂
So very true. Always means different things at different times, to different people. :))
Exactly. 🙂
SEVDALIZA – SIRENS OF THE CASPIAN
how do you do this? the right song for the right moment, again…. it’s quite something. What gorgeous sound and imagery…. and may I add, there is an interesting tooth theme going on here, in your music suggestions. Which fits right with the section of a book I’m reading.
Music is what brings everyone together. The commonality is a force of goodness and balance within friendships. I’m glad you enjoyed this beautiful and imagery of a music video and song. 🙂 She is amazing.
I’ll be back next Monday to post something new. The family is here for the Holidays. You have a wonderful thanksgiving. 🙂
What book are you reading? if I may ask.
Awesome, happy to hear you are well and with family. The book is Startle and Illuminate by Carol Shields; she mentions one reviewer or reader recognizing a theme of teeth in her works. Then this theme of teeth is woven throughout this posthumous book of her writings, or it is so far. Haven’t finished it yet. Savouring like a good meal. :)) xoxox Happy Holidays Charlie
Had to look up a few of these words!! It may be, perhaps, a baptism of fire into your world… But I’m keen for more!
Great post! 👍🖤
Thank you new friend.
As you’ll read more posts. They’ll be words that you may or may have never heard of.
I have my own dictionary. I love creating and pushing language to a whole otherworldly universe.
The imagination is limitless.
I love that! 👍
An English Lit teacher at school once told me I wasn’t ‘allowed’ to make up words in my short stories.
I did it anyway and she would mark my work down because of it.
All she did was fuel the fire for my love of words – and my rebellious nature too! 😉🖤
Never let anyone even if its a college professor. Tell you what not to write or create your own vocabulary.
English professors are chained and imprisoned to a system of academic bullshit – that they themselves have been drowning in for a long time.
You be you and create any form of poetry you want. Invent a word and use it to your stories in which ever way you want to. You have a voice… use it to fuel the inspirational fire. 🙂
Oh, I agree absolutely!
Having spent many a year in acedemia I know how infuriating it can be!
We are all free to use words (new and existing) in any way we want. That’s one of the things that makes writing – and reading – exciting!
👍🖤
Exactly. You understand perfectly well. 🙂
In poetry or writing in general, there are no rules. Unless otherwise of course. 🙂
You have a Happy Thanksgiving my friend. I’ll be back to post next Monday. 🙂
Will look forward to it! ☺️🖤
I will try my best and catch up on your poetry as well. 🙂
👍🖤
Love how you’ve animated Elenchus & Encolpion here. They sound like goblin names!
Thank you Jason.
Those can be goblin names…As a matter of fact, you reminded me of this:
Primus – The Rainbow Goblins Chapter 2 (The Seven)
It could be porn
That has the Peanut Gallery
Laughing in fear.
Yet, being thin skinned
Won’t be your bear.
I love this poem you just did. You should post it on your site. Trust me.
It’s surreal and describes everything right on the spot. 🙂
Ahh, thank you Charlie! Well, perhaps I’ll post it one day, but I’m swamped with posts right now. You are very sweet!
You are welcome. Take your time. Save the poem so when you have time post it. I’ll be there to show my strong support. 🙂
SEVDALIZA – SIRENS OF THE CASPIAN
The title… Is fucking amazing. This entire piece feels like alchemy. The texture of sound is glorious. Oh Charlie. Bravo you’ve outdone yourself!
Sound blended with words did give this poem something to spiritual in its own mystery.
This song somewhat inspired the poem:
She Spread Sorrow – The House
Wow. I can’t say the effect of this on me Charlie, an avalanche that invokes the power of the universe, tears my skin and sets me in motion. A motion of mirth in agony and joy. Of seeking connection…. I can’t explain it, I don’t know if my path is the right one, but I’ve picked up speed and it’s the one that I’m on.
Another piece of art, I stand myself in front of it and let my mind wander…
Great observation.
The metaphor behind it. No matter how tough things can be there’s a voice of reason and hope near by.
We seek connection but humans become too distracted with their phones.
For then, we become disconnected. The sad truth. We may not be alone, we deep inside we’re alone in some way.
Your view on my work is incredibly amazing and spot on. 🙂
Groove Armada – At The River
I see… the background humans on their phones, seeking connection and severing it at entirely the same time. We get swept up, in agony, of gritty sand in places we can’t speak of (love that line by the way), tumbling, muttering incantations when really we need to see the person beside us, in front of us. Within us.
There’s more to this to, Charlie. I’ve only scratched the surface. And, I love that song…. it’s like a balm. I saw Groove Armada live once, they were amazing. I was going to copy the link to ‘superstylin’ and then I thought this one is particularly relevant:
It’s so refreshing to know you also are a fan of Groove Armada.
And yes, there’s a connection that you understood of where I am coming from.
The music video you send me is relevant to our conversation.
To know she is thinking about her friends and her wanting to remember the good times with them.
I wish I had friends like that who genuinely want to hang out and really enjoy a great time as friends and cherish good memories. Unfortunately, friends can be complex due to the rise and distraction of wanting to make an actually deeply intellectual conversation with someone.
“friends can be complex” – oh Charlie, so much so. But when you find a good one, keep them. That feeling, when you can be yourself, no holds barred and know they will love you regardless. That is truly the best feeling in the world 💕
I know what you mean and know the feeling. A real good friend is a one to keep them close. The connection and commonality is magnetic. 🙂
Absolutely. Hold onto those ones….
🙂
Spectacular ending. Very smart read.
Thank you Bojana.
It was between this poem and some other poem I was going to post. But, I’ll save the good one for next post. 🙂
Saving the best for last (no, no, no ending please)
Next Monday I’ll be back to post. I got family here to attend to. You have a Happy Healthy thanksgiving. 🙂
Oh how lovely. Have fun.
🙂
Your style is incredibly unique. Enjoyed reading it 😀
Thank you my friend.
I always try and write different things and take my readers to unknown territories that most people won’t go.
In other words, I love making people think. 🙂
Argh Charlie… These two things caught my attention and sent my own mind in a spiral of thought
“fipple timid dimensionless decay”… and “Elenchus rips its cosmic epidermis “….
Oooooh… sent my mind down the rabbit hole… 🙂
Of how we have been entrapped within this Illusion of mind control, and how we now self perpetuate our state of decay.. Minds an empty void of trivia.. While latching onto the Hollywood,’Wand’ of manipulation and dismay..
❤ Hugs your way
I love taking all readers down that rabbit hole for intellectual reasons and understanding. 🙂
And as Morpheus said in the Matrix to Neo:
Morpheus : This is your last chance. After this, there is no turning back. You take the blue pill – the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill – you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes.
😁I took that red pill years ago dear Charlie 😏 and I still cannot fathom how many still want to stay in bed and sleep. Who are blinkered to this reality.
I was born a rabbit, and love to dig 🐰🐇 😏🤗
Awesome. I love the last line you said.
Us rabbits we must continue to dig further to get to the truth. 🙂
Sue, I’ll be back to post a new poem next Monday. You have a Happy and wonderful Thanksgiving. 🙂
Oh yes Happy ThanksGiving Charlie, I always forget this date living in the UK.. Have a wonderful family gathering! 🙂
Bless you my friend. 🙂
The Tantric Anorexic conducts
background humans singing
the Goblin National Anthem,
as Chief Amplification Empty
salutes the incinerating Snafu
with a reverberating pseudobulge.
reverberating pseudobulge
a common discovery
at the truck stop showers
stop-and-frisk
drop-and-frisk
male playthings
glorious smiles
some skip across the rooftops
shinnying drainpipes
others travel night and day
on the endless highways
hourly conversations with loved ones
relatives running from the police
common folk caught up in random absurdities
mournful sounds with off-mainstream prose
the Amish upset with petty poetry
downtrodden poets inventing words
songs without music
words without noise
proto-poets will never colonize Mars
pseudobulges produce no seed
The Truck Stop Dinner plays
Mexican Radio for the speed
Queen and Captain Fellatio.
Since Charles Manson,
and his gang of lousy little poets, raged against the machine age
of a fictitious tomorrow.
Yet, Lick Crave & the Bad Seeds
are ever the life of the party at
the Mars Hotel Bellagio.
Only the Lonely Starman,
full of cosmic sorrow,
sees the big picture.
Where he dips his brush
no Earth Man can follow.
Mexican radio here in South Florida
is limited to one station
a rather strange genre hybrid
where Prison-Spanish is spoken
reasonably intelligent citizens
find it difficult to digest
locked doors and headphones are advised
listening is rumored to violate parole
beware people selling bootleg CDs
“The Best of Mexican Radio”
sometimes Nicolas Cage narrates
sounding like a milk-drinking mama’s boy
(what happened to the villainous Nicolas Cage
who once sold stolen Gideon Bibles on late night TV ?)
Nicholas Cage met his grudge match
with a rumble fish named Laura Dern.
The wild at heart never learn
as they crash and burn 🔥
Hollywood is a white collar gangsta
selling crack pipe dreams in the hood.
Florida is the place to be when
Californian slides into the sea.
But keep that Key Lime Pie recipe
away from me pie.
That pastry can only lead to insanity,
as Mexican Booleg Radio plays
the Gypsy Kings in the lavatory
of the land of the free.
the drifting flavor of salsa funk
almost all rest stops on the expressway
play elevator versions of the Gipsy Kings
electric flamenco that would
encourage old people to weep
the sound of water running
and a thousand zippers in motion
“Oh, to be young again”
Key Lime Pie is made from old bicycle tires
an actual Key Lime Pie would cost over $250
and you would faint if you saw the condition of the limes
for $150 you would be lucky to get a plant-based pie
tart and creamy
hopefully with a touch of decency
you would have better luck with hardboiled peanuts
or the crud-of-crud fruitcake
just remember
have an alibi ready
if you get caught purchasing fruitcake
Every fruitcake is out to make a buck
on the potholed Freedom Highway
is a broken down capitalist truck.
As Ernesto Che Guevara sticks out
his hitch-hiking finger and asks,
“Hey amigo, what’s your hurry!?”
to the baby booming grey nomads
trying to explain to the last generation
how they’re not completely guiltily
of a cold war planetary atrocity.
Meanwhile, Miss Cream Tart and
the Cisco Kid jump bail, and hit the
trail down to Mexico … screaming,
“Turn up that radio!”.
on the way to Mexico
we got wide-eyed in Babylon
with everything bulging one had to fear
a spray in the face, a Peter North
exhausted-looking characters
outside sharing cigarettes
additional dialog———–no way
shrinking rigor mortis reality
“she’s wanting us to paint her ceiling”
after a life of rehearsals
grandiosity for the wallow
she just lay there spread out
asking to tinkle on the hour
Is Tinker Belle of the Ball just
another baby goblin on the run?
Marching to the tune of Pablo
Escobar and his Mexican Power,
since Johnny Cougar moved to
Miami. Anyway, she doesn’t kiss
and tell. Not unless you do her the
favour of a postmodern renovation.
a postmodern renovation
her silk petticoats used as stationery
to write sympathetic feuilletons
about her backseat bum
the great measure of a limousine
a frigate waiting to be freighted ?
finding nothing embarrassing
she permitted it to express itself
large and overripe
“the hour of the buttocks is at hand”
The limousine chauffeur
and his mystery passenger,
a Goblin King and part time
television preacher named Sid,
stopped to pick pick up Tinker
the Belle, as she had jumped
bail, along with Miss Cream Pie
and that bad hombre illegal
immigrant gun for hire, the
Cisco Kid.
The Goblin King had a hot
frying pan in his hand ✋ 🍳
and said to Tinker the Belle 🧚♀️
“Hop into the fire 🔥”
Trump’s personal lawyer advised me
not to mention
anything about the Goblin King
I KNOW NOTHING
workers are complaining about all the new machines
that are stealing work from them
Robert Frost is writing prose
about the hollowness
of machines
all I could think about:
those soft touch flesh-tubes from Japan
the ones that encourage release
feels better than the first time
and so simple to escape
effortless friction
what a concept
The personal lawyer of Trump
better know a good lawyer, as
he obviously doesn’t know what
he’s in for when the weather gets
Stormy. All the Goblin King’s men
end up in jail, it would seem 🤔
wayward children may go to prison
but rich demons live in a black market paradise
escapades of eating and drinking and reality TV
no need to surrender
cryptic poetry
passes through the system
with hardly a trace
criminals and thieves fencing stolen prose
stray dog verbs and fancy letters glued together
one word was over 40 pages long
Will the last standing survivor
bend the knee to Mother Dollar?
Just like all the others picking the
grapes of wrath for Big Brother.
A universal convulsion can be felt
by the collective conciousness, as
Selfie the Ambitious seizes the day
without first washing his hands.
But Big Brothers bitch, the last man
standing on reality television, has
other nefarious plans. The word
virus is on the loose, with a truck
of karma for the gluttons of zen.
a truckload of Karma
“Holy Smokes”
I sure hope that thing passes me by
I’ve paid the price multiple times
having run through the minefields of youth
having lost the most valuable things one could possess
“please, Mister Karma Truck pass me by”
all I can think about is what Karma delivered to Jesus
Robert Frost is still dreaming of bringing together disparate cultures
he was trying to rhyme some damn thing with deer eyes in headlights
the poet who worships autumn colors and the freedom of anonymity
walks around like a huge advertisement, “The King Poet of Library Shelves”
I do hope that Robert Frost finally
found what he was poetically looking
for …
“One of these days
and it won’t be long
Going down the valley
and sing my song
Gonna sing it loud
and sing it strong
Let the echo decide
if I was right or wrong
Silvio silver and gold
Won’t buy back the beat
of a heart grown cold
Silvio I gotta go
Find out something
only dead men know”
~ Bob Dylan
The driver of Dump Truck Karma
has a care for lovers, artists, and
dreamers. So never fear, Michael.
He’s sure to steer clear.
But his headlights are blindingly
bright, so I do fear for those deer
wthat graze without a care on the
highway of despair.
our identity existing on the outside of ourselves
not the identity that lives on the inside
which sense of yourself should you follow ?
that was the question of the night at Poetry workshop
Robert Frost was saying that when rocks fall from outer space
they contain various forms of sugar
this sugar comes directly from God
at one time we were that sugar
Robert Frost frowns on amateur poetry
and counterfeit words
the older disciplines
the way wide
Robert snapping his fingers
not difficult to imagine
“Pump Up The Volume”
wash away the clay
unplug the hysteria
whatever it takes to bridge the empty space
to translate nonverbal gestures
I fought with my twin,
that enemy within,
’til both of us fell by the way.
Horseplay and disease
is killing me by degrees
while the law looks the other way.
Our partners in crime
hit me up for nickels and dimes,
the guy you were lovin’
couldn’t stay clean.
It felt outta place,
my foot in his face,
but he should-a stayed where
his money was green.
I bit into the root
of forbidden fruit
with the juice running down my leg.
Then I dealt with your boss,
who’d never known about loss
and who always
was too proud to beg.
There’s a white diamond gloom
on the dark side of this room
and a pathway
that leads up to the stars.
If you don’t believe there’s a price for this sweet paradise,
remind me to show you the scars.
~Bob Dylan
Poetry is born
in the hearts of children.
Formed
or spawned disformed
with sugar and spice
seeking a reading in paradise
Some take the lashings
and thrash the sour cream
Like Sid and Nancy
snorting the snuff
on a big screen
murder scene
As Johnny Rotten
makes the cover
of Teen Magazine
Poetry is the expression
of the huddled masses
Powerless but to graffiti
the walls of slavery
with the flavours of a dream
It is poetry’s businesses
to be dangerous
Not the property
of the rich and famous
The elite do permanently
have a collective
nose out of joint
to think that the masses
don’t take their literature classes
The democratic poetic
The poetry of the revolutionary
The beat off the street
That inspiration of rebellion
Spontaneous …. and rebellious
had to stop the children from playing
it was time for them to age and die
they were living “Moby Dick”
5 of the 8 wanted to be Queequeg
innocence resides in their ignorance
self-identification
like you went into San Quentin one color
and now you’re a different color
strangers asking if you’re cloistered
poets are bookish and cloistered
poets are often Don McLean
singing “Vincent”
a solitary occupation
a hobby that leaves the imagination paralyzed
a parasitic thing
go for a period of time
and produce nothing
like you’re a fancy chicken
backing up the eggs
The problem with the poetic
pop vox, all calling on experiences from an empty Pandora’s Box, is
that it don’t mean a thing unless
it has that lived through ring.
“Oh, what’ll you do now,
my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what’ll you do now,
my darling young one?
I’m a-goin’ back out
‘fore the rain starts a-fallin’
I’ll walk to the depths
of the deepest black forest
Where the people are many
and their hands are all empty
Where the pellets of poison
are flooding their waters
Where the home in the valley
meets the damp dirty prison
Where the executioner’s face
is always well-hidden
Where hunger is ugly,
where souls are forgotten
Where black is the color,
where none is the number
And I’ll tell it and think it
and speak it and breathe it
And reflect it from the mountain
so all souls can see it
Then I’ll stand on the ocean
until I start sinkin’
But I’ll know my song well
before I start singin’
And it’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.”
~ Bob Dylan
you find pleasure
locating yourself
on an autobiographical curve
how many times have you passed Kerouac
like a Barbie Doll turd ?
juvenile delinquents fold your poems
into paper airplanes
and fly them
away from the sun
away from people eating borscht
poets who articulate every little thing
who try to reconstitute sensations
who try to stretch ecstasy
God help those devils
tormented giraffes
afraid to swallow
Barbie craps plastic
on the dinner plate
of a dead beat poet
As Ken dolls of
the stock market
snort coke off the street
Paying for the crime
of being living plastic
Barbie poop is 97% reader wish-fulfillment
I see it everywhere, often livestock grade
the more one says over the dinner plate
of an actual dead beat poet
the more they fall victim
of what they can’t say
any struggle with language
and constrictive demons appear
fondle them with encouragement
and they swell like a balloon
the guys at the pool hall
often discuss the difficulty
of destroying word meanings
“have to atomize the word”
Ken was very sensitive
about his transitory body
where was his horn ?