Satire

I've often professed my love of satire, once claiming it was the greatest contribution humanity has made to the universe.  Looking back on that hyperbole, it still doesn't seem that far-fetched.  Throughout history, satire has served as the fourth branch of the government and the first branch of society, always keeping the idiots in check. The one problem with this is that the idiots usually cannot tell they're being satirized, at least in its Horatian manifestations, which I admittedly just learned about two minutes ago (who knew there were distinctions?)  My own attempts at satire take a significantly more Juvenalian tone.  I find it hard to suppress my outrage enough to act like it doesn't bother me.  Anyway, I thought I'd share some of my satirical poems.

"Peek-a-boo" was written as I was trying to fall asleep last night (thus this post), which I find to be one of my most creative times.  If I had a reason to wake up in the morning I would find this bothersome, but for now I just let it ride.

"Peek-a-boo"

We’re all so solipsistic—

a little self-loathing and a little self-love—

every death brings the subjective end of the world,

a personal apocalypse,

an impressionistic Armageddon—

notice the way the light radiates

from the flames forced through

an undead dragon’s windpipe.

‘The end is near, the end is nigh,’

we hear it every century, and yet

as one bites the bullet, another bites the gun.

‘The messiah is due any minute now,’

but, oh yeah, so is the antichrist.

(Maybe it’s just the same fuckin’ guy.)

Did you fall into a trance

when you first saw your reflection?

Did you ever separate yourself?

The world is just a projection of your oyster, isn’t it?

Keep your eyes behind your hands,

turn away from the bloody bits of films,

I don’t care.

But don’t be surprised when we’re still here,

don’t be shocked when life goes on without you.

[as yet untitled]

Yes, this planet’s imperfect,

but such a utilitarian dream it is!

And if the small cannot be sacrificed

then whose blood would we spill

to fill our free-flowing rivers and tributaries?

Such an arid area it would be

and that tree of liberty would wilt away

and its wood would be no good for tinder

(though it would be nice and dry, indeed),

but No!

We the people need its shade,

for the sun is hot and vigilant,

and if we chop the tree

from our property,

in that raging light we’d fry,

or even worse go blind,

and then who would lead the freedom brigade?

They’re dead and we’re blind.

Senseless! No!

This nonsense must be stopped right now

and back to power we must go. Goodbye.

"Terminal Illness"

Four more years of squalor

and squandered opportunity

I see ahead of us, again.

Four more years of wasted time

spent to get four more years.

For more years than I can remember

this has been the plan,

to have no plan at all,

to get in and sit and talk and promise

and everything gets delayed

or done in retrospect, but

death, disease, and disaster

are not retroactive or passive.

Four more years of politicians

pissing on each other,

sitting opposite, and

shitting on the other side of the aisle.

Four more years of filibuster

instead of compromise, and

we compromise the world.

Four more years of criticism

instead of construction, so

self-destruction is our campaign

platform, and it’s a form that fits

us well as we quash and quell

ourselves for four more years.

"These Sleeping Pills are Overpriced"

If the American dream is the wish to have

whatever, whenever, however forever,

then it is just that: a dream,

but slowly we’ve been growing from this illusion.

This land is still an infant and

in fancy of world misshaped in our favor,

so with fervor we do fight reality

with the belief that truth is what we make it.

The dream is a pleasant and convincing one,

but some of us are lucid now and shaken

loose from that shallow sleep.

For many it’s a nightmare

and many more don’t dream at all,

so slowly they do fall through life

and slip through the cracks

in this broken bed we call a country.

Through it we’re united, tucked in under

quilts and blankets, but in different

states we wake each day, divided.