Poetry By Paul Gilbert: excerpts from Hymns To Molech
Copyright Paul Gilbert 2003
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Postmodernist HowlThe train of thought has come to a stop, miles of wreckage lay in its wake as many attempted to hinder its travel through the mind strewn with the flotsam of so much material/information/ commercial generated sessions of care and indifference.
I have seen the finest minds Of the next generation lost and found vacant in The creases of Brittney’s navel Where they remain to worship the fakery The silicon injected computer-enhanced voice That screams “No Talent, No Talent” to the Deafened sounds of pre-packaged crap But no more wave of hair that is blow-dried by The computer to show no flaws and thus perfection Unattainable but through the scapel and the bank account Stand up and howl voice of doom To be made into a top twenty video This is not true and the message is lost By the thousands of critics formed as a greek chorus Saying the same thing but given over To a huge RIAA based inventory of sneering executives’ desires to be Cool so be critical and rant but understand You are part of the machine You are part of the machine You are part of the machine You are part of the machine You have no independence in your pose to be independent What new message do you bring to the thousands? Not on a search for the latest messiah of a bread machine Miracle to entertain as if we need another channel of digital It’s artificial but real. There is a difference undetected in the declaration of How little you may care about the word spoken The Word given, spoken, Declared, Deified. O wail, o wail, cry out the reality of its artificial nature Let loose the Yamp of civilized new decade life with sound track Laugh track, laugh track, please cry out and sound it Laugh, hahahahahahahahahaha An easy target for lazy words Post-modern concept that means nothing but sounds o so chic Lazy thinking replaces independent thought, saw the same idea On Politician Incorrect or whatever that show is, so ironic its serious Stop it, target so easy But who cares who shoots it’s all the same message Don’t offend the writer who wants to offend only those sanctioned by The powers that aren’t be. Channel; bring back the channel found through the cable box On top of the altar we call 26-inch DVD displayer. Pray not for the sound but the picture to be good Behind the scenes press the right button On Internet tonight There is no life but the one I’ve found in the balance O Molech, Molech, you at least were honest in the demand you made Of flames and dead babies all placed in your arms You only wanted their lives not the talent or tastes of an entire world On satellite television beamed to the globe Molech Molech sound the name, as if you know…… Allen Allen Allen You were original I’m just the copy Sad bad irritating copy. - Two -
They’re starving tonight in Africa, Asia, some continent behind the storefront shop of consumer goods made at great savings and profit to the cool makers, the ones in the know who shovel this in our general direction because we’re too lazy to invent the meta-product of ideas that can be transformed and declared beyond the 3 minute song or the bumper sticker seer adorning the rust covered cars.
The Train
The Word
The Word made flesh
The Word made Digital
The Word made a Pixel
That we may behold its glory
The glory of the blue washed cathode ray
Or flat screen if we can afford it.
The Word now a page, seen by many on computers throughout the world but lost by the fascination at the latest revelation of fakes and doctored photos.
The Word made flesh
Dwell among the hand so the keyboards become the prophets
The preachers of the new idea, the meta-thought
The Word
The Word
The Word
Divine Logos
To be held and beheld
In tired eyes straining to see
In tired ears straining to hear
The message
The Word
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Holy Fire Spiked
Scrap paper ideas
Of the incoherent utterance
Almost divine in the attention given by those who hear the words
Frail words reverberate through the mind thought idea that bears no copyright seal
The mouth opens and out it comes
Listen, Hear, behold proclaim, copy, copy, copy
Almost words, almost logos, the logos made flesh
To do what
to wander to seek to find
To stop, to sit, to weep
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, what else can I call you
O Rwanda
O Taiwan
O Philippines
O Rangoon
The name lifted up high as a witness of hate, hate…..damn I hate YOU
I saw humanity die last night, even saved it on the video machine, next week DVD, upload for all to see
Charge a few bucks, if there the interest
NO, broadband can’t care who cares who dies….means nothing, meant nothing
Why why why?
Why not stop the words that flow….spittle drools, not at the latest MAXIM either, or Pamela
Why the spit why the message
Message who cares,
Then the voice speaks, “I care”
then drowned out by the next track of the CD, burned just last night from Kazaa.
Burned CD, burned bodies, burned lust, burned world.
On fire, of fire.
Purify us all with holy fire.
Holy Fire
Holy Fire
Holy Fire
Holy Fire.
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Hymns to Molech
- 1 -
My lust burns
As the fires urge
To caress the flesh of the innocent
This is my desire
Consume it with the heat and hate
Let them burn before
And I will enjoy the life
Destroyed.
I laugh at how easy
They come to be mine
Enticed by my lies and toys
I draw them near
I hear my supplicants pray
‘O father of all hate
accept this life
and let it feel the pain of your strength
the pain of all who know your heat’
Let them bring this life
I shall accept
I shall consume and feel its terror
I shall feed upon its pain
In its death I have my strength
And as I look into the eyes
Of its loved ones
And see the hate
I shall know
Life.
- 2 -
I love the smell of flesh consumed
And the willingness they have
To destroy their young upon my arms
I love the way
They accept my bribes
To join this fire
The bribes of sex
And they embrace the disease
Of body, mind and emotions
That cripples and consumes and
Destroys them all.
It is my food
And I feast upon these fools
O come to me
And let me have your lives.
- 3 -
We thank you Molect
That in your life
We have your hate
That as we share
The innocence of life
Their blood gives you your strength
In that innocence
We end our lives
We feel your heat
And know no warmth
- 4 -
I hate you
You bastard god
I hate you for my love
Was not enough to save
That which I truly love
I hate you for your demand
That I must give
To be your follower
In the ways of death.
An Investigation into the cause of disturbances within the plastic plant
IT stands
Devoid of all that could be life
Growing dirty as it was abandoned by it’s previous owner
Somehow I inherited it
The useless bit of green plastic
Takes up a corner that had nothing anyway
Makes sense you know
Fake in the useless
Does nothing but fill a void
And that it does in such a pathetic manner
It’s not alive so I can insult it
No one cares about this plastic plant
Sympathy would be wasted, it’s inanimate after all.
Don’t name it, just keep it there
At least
I won’t have to water it.
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Valentine's Day at the Loser's Bar & Grill
I.
I'm unlucky in love
and not so hot with the lottery
I'm the last to get the flowers and the first to forget the day
I'm the Valentine loser
always with the excuse to go with the no date
Next year will be different
so just stick with me baby.
II.
I stand under the street light
Nursing my last cigarette I look at my watch
and figure, "You're not coming"
so these flowers
are for nothing
and that reservation for the restaurant
you said you liked so much
May as well go and get myself drunk
It starts to snow
and I think, 'this is all I need'
to get cold and wet
to go with my attitude
to go with my life.
I pull out your number and trudge to the nearest phone booth
I dial the number and get your voice mail
'hey sweetie, it's me
I hope this means you're on the way
'cause I'm getting wet and
the reservations are for 8'
Who am I kidding,
I know she's not on the way
head to the restaurant and go straight to the bar
and while I'm there
I'll raise a glass
to St. Valentine's Day
III
The crowd sure is noisy
and the couples are having fun
there's love in the air
and lust in the voice
but as for me
I sit here alone then another comes and joins me at this bar
”let me sit here my friend
and for the price of a scotch
I'll reveal the secrets of this day”
Love is for losers, for dreamers, for chumps
it binds you and gags you and ties you up in knots
it drags you to the top and pushes you down the steps
each step is a new experience
and there's excitement and joy
but at the bottom is a pillow
over a hard concrete floor.
just remember it fun for a moment
but hurts like hell when you crash
so stay as you are and watch the lovers fry.
I thank him for his thought
and say 'give the man a scotch'
we both raise our drinks and
clink our glasses in salute.
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Kokopelli’s Dream
A dusty road greets me
In the twilight of my dream
My eyes watch the sun set behind the distant cliffs
And a cool breeze comes to welcome me as I start to walk
In the same breeze comes a sound
A sound of flute music
A song of joy and life
A song that invites me to follow
And meet the creator
A new trail comes up and I follow to find the maker of such a song
I walk until in the distant the player comes to view
A hunchbacked man his flute plays an invitation
The song sounds for me and I walk towards this newfound friend
Beside him is a sack, a non-descript bag but I know it’s there for me
He stops to play and smiles as I draw near
He waves and invites me to sit
I do and he plays and in the tune is his message
The sack is for me and I shall walk with him for the next unknown time
We walk and he plays
He dances and skips with abandoned joy
The sack is heavy and feels very light
I know the thought to open the bag and spill its contents out
I look in to find the seeds that bring life
I scatter, I throw it far, and I wonder how such a desert can use these seed
As I scatter my friend begins to play
The song of creation of new life to sterile land
I throw and watch the miracle take place
The miracle of life in this hostile place
I witness the seed become sprout, the sprout become a blade
The blade a full head of grain, full of life and grace
All through the music of this hunchback’d friend
I join his dance and understand
This is how life comes to places such as this
We both know our work and with nightfall soon upon us
The work becomes quicker
Soon, the sack is empty and in the last few moments of light
I see the land now green and lush of life
It waits for the harvest and those harvesters who will live
And enjoy this bounty my friend provided in his magic flute
We stop and I give him my thanks
He reaches and we hug
This giver of life and I
He leaves with one more song
And then I awake.
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Before the foe in desperate heat
I am your prey
My form lies before you spent
I was your predator
It was you I stalked
It was your blood my appetite demanded
Your flesh to feed my need
Your arousal was to be mine
I followed all instincts tuned to you
To swallow you in my love
You were for me to enjoy
I had you in my grasp
Your heart exposed to my talons
With crazed fever I beheld your form
Spread before me
Supple and alluring
Then
I saw in your eyes
in sanctuary a place where
The heat of my passion could be lulled
In peace
Which is when you struck
It was a ruse
Beneath that placid surface
Burned the same urge as in my heart
You pounced
On my exposed form
Your lips your hands your teeth
Tore into my heart to grab the heat of my libido
Your exposed and held my sexuality and forced myself into you
Demanded my surrender
How could I resist
Your heat held me tight
Smothered in this fervour I clawed for air
And found you
Barbaric
A banshee of desire
Overwhelmed
I released my lust
And was swallowed by you
My flesh was torn in the desires we shared
And exhausted I fell
In complete capitulation.
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