Paris Oct 1998. Taken in between cappuccino sips and raindrop drips

John Namest

The Front

Eyes wide for sights seen as silver sentries
Of shimmering sergeants were sent.
Silver Streaks of death singing their song
To silence their foes.

Banging clamor of visiting messengers
From cannons, and men; shakes the cold earth.
And it rains in red and black.

It's dark as the pale moon
Reflects the star's battle light.
Fortune finds father's weary sons
Holding to the cold earth.

Then sparking the slaying song
Again and again.
Too short
Is time
To reflect;
For fire comes
And with haste we return it,
To set the silver streaks of death
On and on.

A Dance with Death


I look into her eyes and fail to realize
The brimstone stench, her icy clench
in a breath, I dance with Death.

She's stealing from my soul all that makes me whole.
I take a chance and in a glance
The price is paid as memories fade.

And nothing will she miss, she closes with a kiss.
My body tumbles, my spirit crumbles.
For one last breath, I dance with Death.

My Radio

What's in a book, that's worth a second look?
What's in a story, that would cause you to worry?
What's on the TV, that you insist to see?

All I know is what's playing on my radio
And now you want me to go.
You say it's too loud
But I already know
three's a crowd
When it's you, me, and my radio.

SOS

Does it get confusing
With all that shit you're using
Your gray matter scatters, then it gathers
No it's fusing

It was simple last week
But you didn't bother to take a peek
Your problems grow and you still don't know
You're a freak

Got them staring at you now
You're a show so take a bow
You're the king clown with a hemp crown
No sacred cow

Years ago it was all for fun
But now you hardly see the sun
You don't ever stand in line, but you'll do them anytime
And you're never done

I liked you better when you believed
The point in life was what you've achieved
It's been replaced by the desire to find some shit to get you higher
But your pain won't be relieved

The Sick Old Show
Where the pain will grow
On the seas of chemical disease
You row, row, row

Such subtle strangling and wild wrangling
Match word to reason, its waning treason,
All engaging in angling

The shifty sect all sent to shudder
At cast off memes I hastily utter
For some validation of your station
A laureate to covet for your creation

To what my mind set forth to dispose
Aside from a cui bono model's pose
Perhaps a jaunty set of ways
Fighting the banal turn of phrase
To stave this growing malaise

Summer Dream

Party jaded, musac faded, nightmare raided, dreams invaded

What was right went all wrong
diseased reasons become too strong
the lies live after the truth is gone
no voice is left to sing the song

I walk blind with naked rage
a tragedy played without a stage
as sunlight lifts and thoughts decay
moon shadow rifts and dark dirges I play

Empty hatred, fear inflated, mind negated, whimsy sated

Long left loose our minds gave out
an endless choir in silent shout
of ceaseless toil and wills gone lame
of numbing nerves and dumbing brain.

An Ode to Movie Titles (or A Whole Lot of Links to the IMDB)

There is a place known as Hollywood
Where people make movies both Bad and good.
With so many movies being made there
A shortage of titles creates some Despair.

Movies are being made each Monday
More on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday
Friday they leave early for A Friday Night Date.
Saturday they then sleep really late.

They watch Football on Sunday
Because on Any Given Sunday
Someone will win A Little Bet
Or they'll be downloading porn on The Net.

The Weekend is gone all too soon.
It seems like a Decade before it's Thursday Afternoon.
It isn't till Next Friday that they find
That no title for the film has come to their mind.

One Month Later things are looking Grim.
What can get them out of the Situation they are in?
In comes consultants with A Program to share.
They input some data with meticulous care.

The program has issues to be quite frank
It's math level is surely not high in rank.

Does 1+1=3 or 1+1=1?
When you take 8 1/2 x 11 and 12+1 does it matter when 1=2?

After The 6th Day of mathematical injury
The consultants completed their Crime of the Century.
The bill charged 1,000 Dollars a minute instead of Six Dollars a Minute.
Before they could start The Chase
The consultants were Gone in Sixty Seconds
Proving that perhaps for all Time
Naming movies is as hard as rhyming every line.

Lazy Boy

I'm a lazy boy
Infused with armchair captain joy
I sit in my overstuffed scotch guard-protected number 12 inspected throne
With such easy payments it was no financial feat
To rally the funding for this modern day seat
It swivels, it rocks, it extends splendidly half-cocked, and it's a singular pleasure to own

When at my tether
Ease in Corinthian leather
I sit in my heated massage giving icebox equipped fundament station
The luxuries abound except for one that it lacks
There is still no known way to replenish the snacks
Some laziness lost, but at no high cost with the realization your rump lost all sensation

Something inside

I finally got the laser vision correction, but now people notice my prominent nose.
I finally can do a Diana Ross pose, but now people notice my teeth's crooked direction.

Braces straightened my smile, but now people notice my bald spot.
I bought some hair that looks really hot, but now people notice my clothing lacks style.

My clothes are now chic, but now people notice the pounds I put on.
I workout until all the fat is gone, I get attention to spare with dates every week.

But there's something not right, though they ogle and stare.
I don't think they care, though we're out every night.

Too much attention I placed, in the things that disguise.
For something once held in my eyes, Something never clearly faced.

Something inside.

Ghosts

Stimulants to get you up
Depressants to get you down
Spun round to pound
Out your allotment
To furnish your apartment
To pine away for some future spouse
Who won't commit without a house

All the while for future fretting
All the time engaged in getting
Only stopping for sleep
Only recoiling to leap
Attack! Attack! Attack!
There's some fool
Thing we still lack
Till they finally
Tally up the hours
To calculate your
Allotted graveyard flowers

Oh hurry, at a faster pace
Reserve a shady resting place
To watch the grass come up
To hear the rain pour down
The feel the world spin round
To taste your sacred ground
You finally made it

They called him the Town Crier
But that now had the sounds of mockery
For he had finally run out of tears

They had set the bar for he much higher
But his head bowed his will was cowed
For he worked nights daily at the fryer

They beamed with pride he was no liar
But his voice was flawed its sting declawed
For fruitless toil ebbed desire

They denied he enjoyed the briar
But his choice was outlawed in states abroad
For no tasteless spoils he'd admire

They called him the Town Crier
But never a sound he'd make never on the take
For inside snuffed be never sire he tears