Outcast
I alone amid a gaping hole of hope- lessness see you cower in your corner waiting for the bell. I was hung before I breathed but was saved by a surgen Oh, would it be that they were less skilled in thier art. That I might have peace. But I rumble on through this graveyard stare. I want to die but they keep me alive for my eternal torment-- yes this is Hell and Dante just mistook me for a crooked monk and Virgil for some evil savage and Hucules did not notice. I was bored so I played your game with you You had so much more fun when I abstained and you saw my cards and bid my bids and played my tricks. Oh, how you grimmiced at that first punch That first trump card That ace in the hole you did not anticipate. When you win you are good When I win I am bad and my only course to peace is rest. Damn that surgen. --Jeff P. Zacher 1997Just For You
I did it just like she told me but she lied-- That was not what she meant. And as if I were a prophet or her personal oracle That I should decipher her code she said that was not what she meant. and I cried. I have made mighty fires rage and purged them with a word or a backstroke or liquid paper. But this time the fire rages on unquenchable. Only this time it was just for you. Were I to see behind the starlust eyes of my soulmate voyer what would I find If I knew she'd only change her mind. But she is the mother of my people and we are a happy tribe and I can forgive eternal blackness At the offer of a simple bribe. How dark is she who is my confidant like a night sky adjusting eyes just see more stars and see more stars until eyes can see a candle flame at a light years distance. This flame cannot be put out it was just for you And if you say you want to burn And don't is that any fault of mine. Because as all I say is true This fire rages just for you. -Jeff P. Zacher (1997)Mushroom Soup
The West is best incest Oedipus and frued knew the Beast. The Beast sees the East The Beast will feast a feast in the East The West is best 33 stars fly half-mast flutter in the hot acrid wind... 17 uselesss glow-in-the-dark polygons-- pieces of a geography puzzle that cant be solved. The West is Best Best for the Beast The Beast flings down his stars from the East The Whore rides the Beast She rides the Beast to the East But she is the chorus for the feast. --Jeff P. Zacher (1997)!WARFARE!
War's an art, carved in stone, Our leaders bow to Satan's throne. The devil's work spread thru the earth, Our evil deeds have given birth... To the war machine. Merciless killing of millions and millions, All from the comfort of home. Push the red button to launch a new strike-- End of the life we know. March of the lemmings, we're killing ourselves, Humans are so suicidal. bow to the folly of war and ignore, The true fact that peace is so vital. Rush in, Destroy, Don't question commands. Genocide, Kill a race, All in democracy's name. !Warfare! War's an art, carved in bone, Our leaders bow to Satan's throne. Lunacy--fight for a cause, Fight in the ashes of what once was. !WARFARE!-Jeff P. Zacher (c)1991
This was a poem of the week selection:
The Marlboro Man in the Moon
There is no god, only cigarettes, Eternally burning--with that stagnant smell-- To provoke a thought, Or invoke a spell. Beyond that dark barren land! Accross that vast arid waste! Somebody awaits your message to god... But there is no god, only cigarettes.--Jeff P. Zacher RainDropLoudlyPoundAgainst MyWindowPane With SoftPutteringPounds SplatteringTatteringSplat!Splat!Thud! PoolsFormDykesBreakTownsFlood RainbowsGold AlGoreBlamesItOnTheOzone -Jeff P. Zacher
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Did man make God, did God make man? Is it for I to understand The mysteries in which we keep Trapped within our souls so deep? It matters not, in Death we rot, And realize not what our souls sought. But darkness comes And then we sleep. An then we'll know the truth we seek. -Jeff P. Zacher (1990)Check out Jeff's webpage This poetry is the property of Jeff Zacher and may not be used without his consent.
