Man in the media, a poem for the times
I'm talking about the man in the media, he is getting you to change your ways. Waste you and your fore-parents' goodness. Things that served you from ancient of days.
To show you are mine though, go walk the line, in-toe.
You are not here to think, nor are you here to speak the truth, he was to have said to me. “Just go walk those boots, so.” Because I think this is really good, and because I want so much to share good things with folks, especially with my folks as should, and because I know that some of you don't read very much. Well, so it was said in my hearing aid and such. That’s why I had was to read it for them, and you, in somewhat of a familiar voice, vernacular term and tongue too.
Which is actually the reading voice of a people, the very few who does like anything to do with reading on the vehicle, they are my people though, and yours, and you are? Wait, don't shoot just yet. Not before you hear this…
He puts out his messages before your gaze, and anchor it there in the palm of your very hands, settling it there to thrive, resting comfy there upon your beautiful thighs, he tells you beautiful lies and like no one else can, lies such as these, and just like he knows you wanted to hear, oh please! Look at them there, those big eyes, so clear.
And you swallow them off of his charm. As he tells you yet the more beautiful nonsense, the norm. Like, like what he wants you to do and to become, and to be, and guess what you become like me, come on over now and see. Come now, take another look and tell me, can you still see? Then look at this.
He's got his carefully set out plans, you have got none. One of you just lazily dragging the walking feet along. And singing the beloved old Swan song. Make a wild guess and tell me which one. But whichever of the two the lot should come falling upon, answer me the other nonsensical question. How long will those sorts of draggy feet be able to stand, oh ye perception less woe management plans? Just asking a rhetorical question. You know. To show that you are mine, though, go, go walk those lines, in toe.
Somebody is wrong, but it ain't you, nor me. No, not at all – booboo Bumblebee, but as for him, he, the other man-Paul – who? Mingh, yes he, him. As for him, he ain't nothing at all, either. I think. Or is it because of the killing you dead with laughing? Those things shining and glistening? The killing you dead something things. Debt I think they are called sometimes, like, when called in, that thing that is there reeling you in, or some of the times or something.
Still calling. And some are tripping over themselves to go answering that said debt call – thing. What's your name again – Paul Mingh? Even though everybody is bawling, bawling for love, and other manicured fingers wrapped up in glove, anyway now my turtle dove. Look at this, look at my love. Look at what they have done done to you, and yes, to me too. Got us, you, me, them, and him, all of us, not the children, yet, just us, you bet.
Got us to believe that the prize to win is a girly thing, smooth nonsense talks and wedding the rings, and nothing else is worth our efforts working. Until you, not us but you, until you are forced to face up with the divorce litigation. And forced further upon other things, and courting the court system, and hauling off all those things on the hinder-side of the curtain, departing and aborting from everything you had ever known and often, and which you had once owned and have called in, and would have called them your belongings, and blessings.
And the madam is there upon the podium spheres, and rocking those speaker systems there, again. Trying to get you, not me, trying to get you to think that there's nothing wrong, no, not at all, and surely, nothing for you to plan, you know, nor to plan for. Just like she had done done to her, yes, to her very own beautiful daughter, the best. The other after the darkness half to which you sometimes run to and fast, but alas!
That one is in content town now, done with worrying the frown, wow! Gone are the lines from down there below her crown, and the cause are, the horse will soon be coming in through the gated door of sorts – sir, with the bright Knight of the nights coming on down to go do her a riding vice or, off with her, come that time when, you know, and then do it to her, again, and then again.
But until then, just go on down to Churchill falls to fall in and dump it, you know, the worrying scald, near my god to the armpit, yeah, that’s it, go hung it all there anchored unto an altar call chair. Where, there. And go on a-calling, still. And wait, wait there upon him to come riding in. Bringing all the weary wonderful things in.
So, is it any wonder that the mister man der, yeah, look at him, right there. I'm talking about me, and him, and all of them, the steers. Those of us who do nothing other than any and every other thing, any and everything that wears an apron string, will even do his dear old sweet mama in if they let him, just so that he, we, us, and them, just so that we can win.
Always whining at wanting to win the woe men fling? No. One should never do that to them, so, let's now go back to the old-time saying. The wonder woman prize to window dressing? And then the other one? Until he's tired of this, or of that one, or of both of them, both of them there on the lot – tory scam – Mingh.
And then he head on out and over to Lilliput, to go put another spin on the lilly puss, yeah, this little one, the kitten right here, nearer my god to the barber chair, and covered up under shaving skin there, in wastebaskets near the dustbin where. All that barbershop droppings, cast out hairy clippings. Worthless good for nothings are to be found hanging out and hiding. And listening to the quartet’s latest hyping.
But Man. What a man. So, now he hops from limb to limb. Trying to win the other fine things to fill up his cravings. But she would have done gone and taken the Rev up, but then came her crosses and now the Rev is, like, standing up for those rights of his, again, standing firm for another term upon the offer ring stand, like only she can.
And he would have gone and taken her up upon the offering collection cup, again, and hitched an anchor unto an altar call, and is waiting there in vain for him to come bringing in something good. But in vain she waits for love, from him even, and for them to come bringing something else in, like, something pure and good and loving.
Go on now go, get her the things which she wants so much so, like. Like things she likes and wants a lot, like daily bread and food for the pot, and other steamy things for the home on the lot, perhaps, and that brood of chicks which she lacks from the chicken coup, I mean, the whole lot of them from the hatch. That’s who.
And coming to her at the hand of the man, preferably from a good godly man like – mick. And quite unlike how it is with Dickson, dick, go give her Matt Hammatick just the way she likes it. A good one though, more or less like – Joe. Or that selfsame Manley bro to fit firmly upon the toe. But don't go sweating too much over it no, no Siree.
She has never that worrisome road toe the sticks to see. Yeah! I was to hear it when she said so to me… “There are a few things I'm perfectly sure of.” Said that broad hip-shotted gal from over at Glengoff. I will fix him up fast and with skills, I never did get on grasp, nor did it come to me falling off of the learning tree crops. Oh, wait a minute, that? I now see what you are talking about but.
Man, that thing really did some hurt to my chances. Now, Tell me. Why did that thieving no good gal of his along with the other two and her twin dunces, why did they have to go take my belonging for a spin on a rough road and bounces, and never did even have the common courtesy to ask him of me firstly?
And then again, as it pertains to those four-letter words, those which should not be uttered nor ever be heard in the age of overpopulation nerds, you know them, those high flying speckled birds, those who can't even be censored, but as for me, why? Why must I not be heard?
To show you are mine, though, go walk the line, again, in toe, go. Just go walk those boots. No?
I hope you were made better by even one thing which was said hither, in truth. Thank you.
By, E Lloyd Kelly. (the poet) speaks again. 16/05/19. #poemsofthetimes #thepoetspeaks,