Beat Museum
I just went to the Beat Museum
These poets are obviously dead,
Sardonic, original, witty men,
Not fit for more than what they did.
I guess it's good they left something behind,
After all, most of the world needs some kind of sign,
How could we calculate variable pain,
Raising its head through motorcycle chain.
Strip joints surround the Beat Museum,
You get porno dust on your shoes as you arrive,
You can buy original copies of whatever they wrote,
And see a car, that looks like the car, Kerouac used to drive.
poem by Richard Jarboe
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Related quotes
No Poem Is An Original
No poem is an original
everyone who writes
poetry thinks their poem
was an original, it just so
happens that their poem just
surfaced to the top
of their mind first, so they
were able to write it.
Everyone has love, hate
compassion buried deep
in their soul.
Poets are able to bring
all of this to the surface,
to construct, add the words,
but it is not an original
idea, for the poet because
they wrote it now, it
becomes an original for them.
Who has not heard a song,
read a poem, story or book,
seen a movie and said,
to themselves, hey I had
that same idea.
Only thing is, someone else
brought it to the surface
of the mind, and wrote it first.
Even this poem I'm writing
now is not an original
someone out there
has this idea buried
deep in their soul.
So if you have an idea
for a poem, get busy
write it, don't wait,
or you won't write an original
start today,
don't delay.
wrote 2-2-07
Museum Of Idiots
They built this whole neighborhood out of wood, out of wood.
I guess I'll still be around when they burn, burn it down.
I will be standing around when they burn it down.
Here in the Museum of Idiots.
Honey, I'm there when you need me, please believe me, please believe me.
I'll still be right where you left me, if you manage to forget me.
Where we met is where you may forget.
Here in the Museum of Idiots.
If you and I had any brains, we wouldn't be in this place.
Chop me up into pieces if it pleases, if it pleases.
And when the chopping is through, every piece will say, "I love you."
Every piece of me will say "I love you."
Here in the Museum of Idiots.
Every piece of me will say "I love you, you you"
Here in the Museum of Idiots.
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Call Me Number One
I used to love you
I fought for your selection
To be a target
For your weapon of affection
I was a dog for you
You put your marker on me
But my soul was not for sale
And you tried to take it from me
But - hey now now
Hey now now
I know what youre doin
You pushed me too far
And if you want me back!
Want me back
You better -
Call me number one
Head man here
The original son
Baby
Hey, hey hey
Call me number one
Head man here
The original son
Baby
Hey, hey, baby!
You were the fire
I was just the piston
You were the planet
At the centre of my system
Your love is terminal
And I let you give it to me
Your loves a juggernaut
And you tried to drive it through me
Call me number one
Head man here
The original son
Baby
Hey, hey hey
Call me number one
Head man here
The original son
Baby
Hey, hey, baby!
song performed by by Underworld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Copies
Duplicate, triplicate, quadruplicate!
I still have the original message to you all;
For i have created three works to satisfy my muse.
My breasts are very small in size,
But you will love me for what i am;
And like making a woman pregnant at the right time,
However, this original message is for you only.
The words from a wise man's mouth are very precious!
And wisdom gives light to those who have it;
So keep the first 10 cents from your Dollar to the Creator,
And the second 10 cents to the Bank!
Then enjoy the rest on the days ahead of you;
For, i am at the Donkey Island with my love.
Copies!
With many of them in this world to respect my muse;
But i am a woman and i need love from you,
Because, i do have the original message to satisfy all the copies around!
And, at the end of the day, be very wise to understand my muse.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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One Beat Away
One beat away from all I own
One beat away from where I've grown
One beat away from all the stars
One beat away from Jupiter or Mars
Let that beat stay away for awhile
So I may still see your smile.
One beat away from all my pride
One beat away from by your side
One beat away from songs I love
One beat away from the skies above
Let that beat not come around
So I may hear your breathing sound.
One beat away from quiet prayer
One beat away from all we share
One beat away from all this pain
One beat away, I can't remain.
Let my memory stay with you.
Ah! sweet love, I say adieu.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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0408 The Phoenix Museum
A sightseeing phoenix a sign espied:
'This way to the Phoenix Museum';
A little homesick, went inside;
Looked for friends; but couldn't see 'em.
In hindsight, the title's
Just a little rash;
The Phoenix Museum
Is now a pile of ash...
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Originally Yours
challenged to be
original
i quit. i am not
original i am a xerox
copy of
another mind
i am a duplicate
of another carbon
copy
i am an imprint
of another zealousness
i use other people's words
i listen to
every syllable
and they all stay
inside my heart
like decanted
mass from acetic acid
from coconut
wine.
i am not original
i look at myself
in the mirror
i am not original
but i put on a smile
i am too
one kind of
a handsome
copycat.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Death Of An Innocent (Part 2)
'I went to a party mum,
I know what you'd say.
You'd say not to drink mum,
But I drank anyway.
I felt sick inside mum,
As I knew I would.
I didn't catch the bus mum,
As I definitely should.
I pulled into the road mum,
I felt dizzy in my head.
I didn't see her coming mum,
And now she's probably dead.
I saw her bleeding on the road mum,
But I got up okay.
I kept saying ‘I'm sorry' mum,
What else could I say?
I saw her leave this world mum,
And I wished that I were dead.
I was wracked with guilt mum,
I wish it were me instead.
Now I'm off to gaol mum,
Though I think that's only fair.
Manslaughter and drink driving mum,
No crime could compare.
I wanted you to know mum,
That I didn't think.
I'm so sorry mum,
I wish I didn't drink.
I have one last question mum,
Before we say goodbye.
I was the one to drink and drive,
So why did she have to die? '
* I didn't write the original ‘Death of an Innocent'. It is a poem from the girl who dies in this poem's perspective. No one is completely sure of the author, but Eugina Depasse claims she wrote it.
I read the original poem and it got me to thinking that although it is a horrendous thing for an innocent to die, what of the killer? Surely he/she would feel tremendously guilty? You can't always make someone a villan, there are many sides to a person.
poem by Lenore Lee
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The Museum of Nothing
Although the museum had nothing on exhibit...
The people not believing this,
Would still come in droves to visit.
They would stand in line to wait.
And pay their fee to gain entry.
And inquire, once inside...
Why was nothing there,
To sustain them with pride.
And from room to vacant room,
They walked behind the tour guide!
So the board of directors,
Decided to please them all.
And changed the name of the museum!
The museum was renamed,
The Museum of Nothing.
And people came in the Winter,
Spring, Summer and Fall.
And 'nothing' it was affectionately called.
Although the museum had nothing on exhibit...
The people not believing this,
Would still come in droves to visit.
They would stand in line to wait.
And pay their fee to gain entry.
Some adjusting to the nothingness.
While others stood for hours,
Just to stare as if in disbelief.
Addicted to anything said to them.
And clearly easy to deceive.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Beat It
They told him don't you ever come around here
Don't wanna see your face, you better disappear
The fire's in their eyes and the words are really clear
So beat it, just beat it
You better run, you better do what you can
Don't wanna see no blood, don't be a macho man
You wanna be tough, better do what you can
So beat it, but you wanna be bad
Just beat it, beat it, beat it
No one wants to be defeated
Showin' how funky and strong is your fight
It doesn't matter who's wrong or right
Just beat it, beat it
Just beat it, beat it
Just beat it, beat it
Just beat it, beat it
They're out to get you, better leave while you can
Don't wanna be a boy, you wanna be a man
You wanna stay alive, better do what you can
So beat it, just beat it
You have to show them that you're really not scared
You're playing with your life, this ain't no truth or dare
They'll kick you, then they beat you
Then they'll tell you it's fair
So beat it, but you wanna be bad
song performed by by Unseen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0029 Poet in a Wendy House
After death visited,
they opened the house
as a museum
it was easier than clearing it
but as
Health and Safety officials
were not happy, only one
at a time, perhaps two together,
were admitted
by appointment only
there were photos of course
and framed copies
of the better-known poems
some ageing better than others
a scratchy recording
a rather musty smell
a few years after I died
I went back to look
but the house and
its predominantly green writing room
and blue glass which
the sun peered dustily through
with the hideous 1930s fireplace
painted crudely over in 1960s taste in white
looked nothing to do with me
nor the photos
nor the poems
so I abandoned what I'd thought
a rather cute idea of
being a friendly ghost
in my own museum
it just hadn't come together
as a poem should
or a life
but I left the laughter and the joy
for those who could hear it
(For Wendy, a concrete image)
poem by Michael Shepherd
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To tell something original.
She says, you are not original in what you are telling me
Any janitor in your office can always say that seeing that
It is different. I am original in this. I am feeling something.
I am original in this feeling and you do not feel it that way I see these things.
I am leaving you. It is the first time I am feeling this. It is this first time
That I am telling you. I am original. I have long searched what words to use
To tell something original.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When The Good Lord Talked To Jesus
See me moving without warning.
Fast as mt legs can run
and I'm hanging by a thin wire,
been that way since I was young
Only the good Lord got his reasons,
for turning on his own son.
And he beat up on me real bad.
Bad as a dog can be
He took every smile that I had
And he threw it all back at me
Only the good Lord got his reasons,
Make yo cry until your eyes can't see
Well he burned down all that I had
And he left me beat and blind
Oh he dealt me pain and sorrow
And every fear that he could find
When the good Lord talked to Jesus
Guess I ain't what he had in mind
Oh when the good Lord talked to Jesus
I guess I ain't what he had in mind
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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visiting Hiroshima
1>Peace Memorial Museum.
two buildings
the museum surveys the history of Hiroshima
and the advent of the nuclear bomb.
main focus August 6; the dropping of the bomb
and its outcome in human suffering
personally it upset me
2.Cenotaph for the A-Bomb Victims
Between the Museum
and the A-Bomb Dome
an arched tomb
for those who died
because
initial blast
and then
of exposure to radiation
3. The Register
Below the arch is a stone chest
holding a register
of these names,
there
are over 220,000
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Endless Poem
In a modern museum
In an old synagogue
In the synagogue
I
Within me
My heart
Within my heart
A museum
Within a museum
A synagogue
Within it
I
Within me
My heart
Within my heart
A museum
poem by Yehuda Amichai
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Dance To The Beat
Dance to the beat of the world
Dance to the beat of the music
Dance to the beat of the floor
Dance to the beat of the drums
Dance to the beat of the rhythm
Dance to the beat of the wall
Dance to the beat of the clock
Dance to the beat of the guitar
Dance to the beat of the table
Dance to the beat of the computer
Dance to the beat of my voice
poem by Daniel Vango
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Pain...What is it?
Pain...What is pain?
Pain...get wrapped in the head with a baseball bat,
That could be called pain.
Pain...get kicked in the gut by a cowboy boot,
That might cause a little pain.
Pain...poke a needle in your eye,
That might cause a little pain.
Pain...get your fingers caught in a motorcycle chain,
That might cause a little pain.
Pain...jump in front of a train,
That might cause a little pain.
Pain...lose control while flyin' a plane,
That might cause a little pain.
Pain...There ain't ever no gain in pain.
poem by Axe Timson
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An original something, dear maid, you would wish me to write; but how shall I begin? For I'm sure I have not original in me, Excepting Original Sin.
quote by Thomas Campbell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Copies are different originals
I take after my father but not his original.
I take after my brother but not his original.
Replicas are themselves original.
03.09.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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St. Sebastian
Slender arrows,
pierce me through.
I wanted to forgive,
but too quickly
they flew.
My mind fades.
I rise to you.
**
ref: St. Sebastian, Andrea Mantegna 1456-59, Kunsthistorisches Museum
(viewed at the De Young Museum, San Francisco)
poem by Steven Federle
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