Tag: poetry

gravitas

Kerouac and the Beats all knew
a psychedelic tale or two
and colored words in awesome hues--
the soulful blues, the soulful blues.

A cultural experiment,
of sex and drugs and sentiment
to rile against establishment,
their grave intent, their grave intent.

While Kerouac went On the Road,
young Ginsberg Howled a fiery ode
against existing moral code,
the truth was told, the truth was told.

Old Burroughs, on the other hand,
his shocking tale was sorely banned.
The story of a doped up man
with wayward plans... with wayward plans...

This avant-garde society,
self-styled in creativity,
they reveled in obscenity
and misery, and misery.

So now their story's come to pass.
A generation lost in jazz.
Their heads were filled with gravitas.
At peace at last.  At peace at last.

©2006 b.cisek

Garbo

Galatea was no match for
what Hollywood made of you.
Before the wave and braces;
before the dark, dark glasses,
before the movie magic machinery
you were real and pudgy,
an ordinary shop girl with bad teeth.
Then talent and timing conspired
like twin Pygmalions,
to sculpt you into something divine:
a temptress
with a stare that dared
and a pout full of doubt.
Amid torrential accolades
and ardent public fanfare,
your stern seduction
warning always of just a little something
sinister underneath
like the seductive Mata Hari,
her art enfeebling sex.
You are the two-faced woman,
weary of the melodrama
that you can't but help
until there was that inflected line...
taken and misconstrued
from one grand movie
to your majestic mystique:
I want to be alone
... And then Ninotchka laughed.

©2006 b.cisek