Democracy Poems
These three illustrated poems about democracy were commissioned
by the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. They're a little nutty,
but very fun! Democracy Poems one,
two,
and three
Divine Committee in charge of Planet Earth
To: Divine Committee in charge of Planet Earth
From: Aquarian Earth Agent Nick Woolsey
Subject: Experience of Being a human on Earth report #324
Date: Nov 8, 1999
Dear Divine Committee in charge of Planet Earth,
Sometimes being a human on Earth
is like climbing the water of a waterfall.
No matter how fast you climb,
You don't go up the waterfall.
You just keep sliding down.
At the bottom of the waterfall is a big scary lake,
which the water crashes into.
Sometimes you get real scared
that you're going to fall and drown in the big scary lake.
This causes problems.
Sometimes we're so busy climbing,
that we don't have time to look around,
and make friends,
and have fun,
and laugh about life.
This is too bad,
because life is really funny,
and beautiful,
when you have time to look at it right.
Recommendations:
Make the waterfall go slower.
It goes too fast, and people sometimes get scared.
Alternative recommendation:
Make people able to climb faster.
This seems to be the inferior recommendation,
as everybody seems to be climbing too fast already.
Questions:
Is the lake really something to be scared of,
or do we just think that it is?
Yours truly,
Nick
P.S. Sorry we killed Jesus.
Dishes.
Love unconditionally.
Yes. Yes.
Loving unconditionally is good.
And healing.
Healing is important.
We must come back into our true selves.
Hmmmm...
And stretching, too.
Take care of the temple.
Stretch and breathe and dance and love.
Yes.
...
And do.
the fucking.
dishes.
Mr Billboard meets the Poet.
Walkin' around town hungry,
talkin' to the billboards.
They're telling me how great it would be to be rich.
You could go anywhere, do anything,
They say.
Woo-ha.
You could fly to Paris for Champaign in fancy restaurants.
Uh-huh.
You could impress people with your new Porsche.
hmmm.
You could buy your girlfriend an expensive diamond ring.
Girlfriend?
You could do just about anything
you wanted to.
And it gets hot that day.
Real hot.
Everything starts sweating,
melting.
The billboards get all runny,
and pool into a
…Mr. Billboard.
And Mr. Billboard starts following me around the city.
And he's saying to me:
Get some moneeey.
Look at you:
you're poooor.
How you gonna feed yourself?
How you gonna clothe yourself?
What can you do with your poetry?
What's it good for?
His arguments make me sad,
make me wanna cry,
make me wanna put up my own billboard
with a reply
That would go like this:
Poor? HA!
This morning I was poor,
but now, poof, I've got treasures
that are worth more
than all the diamonds in Africa.
'Cause with poetry, I'm not poor,
I'm a monk.
With poetry I'm not alone,
I'm on a personal quest with the divine,
And yeah, I may be sleeping on a mat on the ground,
but so did Gandhi,
and now Gandi's poetry is entwined with mine.
And Paris? Fuck Paris.
With my poetry I've been to the edges of the universe,
just like Luke -flippin'- Skywalker.
I've fought demons that make Darth Vader look like a squirrel
on crack.
I've been to the brink of insanity.
I've danced with angels.
I've talked to God.
And God talked back.
What good is my poetry?
I've made sad little kids laugh and feel safe
by acting like a clown
with my poetry.
I've sent shivers up people's spines,
I've lifted them off the ground
with my poetry.
See, the world tried to screw me up permanently when I was a
kid.
Chewed me up, spat me out and left me for dead's what it did.
Only something else started putting me back outa' that grave,
sayin' it might need me for something,
And to help me try to be that someone,
It gave me
my poetry.
I mean, that's how I'm talking to you, mr. Billboard.
And sure,
If I were you, I could fly to Paris on a whim.
But I'd still be an asshole,
when I got there.
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