The lifeReviw ofRobin Ludd A Family
Epic
By © Anton Vendamencsh, 2017
11 The Last Scene
What is the sense
Of living a life on
Earth’s
Made-in-America
Civilization
When America
Lost of mind
Bombs in hand
Uncle Sam’s
Finger poking up
Every Latvian
Government employed
Shithead’s arse
Inspires cries of:
Poke me more,
America !
In my neck of
The wood
Silence reigns
No cries of
”Yooo-hoooo !”
From berry pickers
Mushroom gatherers
Ululates across
The cranberry marsh
But the bare
Whisper
Of a wind
Swings in the trees
Awaiting
The chain saws of
The executioners
In
Bruxell’s,
Moscow’s
Washington’s
Or Riga’s hire.
ReAl’democratic’-politic rules
The land
Where luddies
Once spoke
The gentlest language
On Earth:
Dear this
Dear that
Instead*
*The Latvian language (a language of a people who give
evidence of coming of tribes that used to make
home in the wood) suggests that it is of a people who are a remnant of an
aboriginal population that went extinct in the Middle ages with the aurochs https://www.fossilhunters.xyz/disappeared-species/aurochs.html
.. both of which (auroch and homo sapiens) ‘animals’ were taken down in the fierce
battles between the Western and Eastern orthodox Christian churches and their
secular sponsors. Despite its rugged nature, the environment of the wild also
nurtures https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QF_TI35SjbQ , and enables
the evolution of a language in which every noun can be endeared and verb
gentled. This language—now subject to the cynical environment of concrete
encased cities which nurture caprious egoes, is becoming as extinct as the wild,
the wood and its divine inhabitants.
A song of mutes
Begs to hear
Itself sing
Even so
Is shouted down
By shithead millionaires
billionaire
And politicians
All who hog
The news
With praisies and whines
For a U.S. and NATO
Sponsored
Genocidal democracy.
Not only
The language
Of fathers
And lullabies
of mothers
Is forgotten
The now moment
Of anger
Is denied
As hate
And love
Is fucked up
By the rabid city
Illcontents
Working for
Vulture ministries.
.................
The dreams of
Refuge seekers and
Exiles
Finding again
A home in
One’s homeland
Are lost in
The deep dusk
Of dream
As the steps of
A Maya pyramid
with a crowd of
Emigrants amassing
On its steps
Come into sight
At the 11th hour
And find me
Sitting
With my deceased brother
Confessing to him
My loss of fortune
As if he can help
When he shakes his head
We climb
All the way down
Cross the street
Enter the throat of
The city
Find my apartment
Where I remember
I have promised
To pick up
My wife Anima
At work at 11.
The clock shows
5 minutes past.
To my surprise
I cannot remember
Anima’s
Phone number.
My brother is no help.
We both rush
To my car.
I get it started
But its headlights
will not turn on.
Of course
I cannot drive
In the dark
Which is why
I pull to the curb
And call my cousin
Anita (also deceased).
Perhaps she can help.
Anita
Replies:
”You know me for being
Always kind to you
But I am also barren
Why should I have
Animas number?
Wait for her
To call you.”
”Why don’t you know
You have no wife.
Call Joan of Ark
The milkmaid
She saved France
Did she not?
Your Latvia’s intestines
Are being devoured
By hyenas.”
Then Anita’s voice
Darkened with worse:
”Your sister
Full of pickled
Cucumbered
Christian righteousness
Could have tried
save something of
save something of
Her grandfather’s fortune
But instead
took what
She called her ‘property’
To America
Trusting the Letts
To survive
Fishing for
Lampreys”.
I had no answer
But nodded my head
In acknowledgement.
With American exceptionalism
Handy in seconding
Lilith’s animus
Her cucumbered
Christian love
Let her freely bless
Everyone with guilt
And leave
Collateral damage
Not one of
Her problems.
My brother and I
Sit entombed
In the car
By the curb
I turn on the radio
And am surprised
To hear voices sing
”God Save the King”
(God
save our gracious king
Long live our noble king
God save the king
Send him victorious
Happy and glorious
Long to reign over us
God save the king....)
Long live our noble king
God save the king
Send him victorious
Happy and glorious
Long to reign over us
God save the king....)
I pick up
On the words*
*As the poet has told elsewhere, he believes that before
God was God, He was a King posessed of the Great Spirit, Who sacrificed His
Life so His community and Kingdom would live. No doubt, King John was forced to
die twice—the second time by the Catholic cum Ecumenical sword. Of all national
hymns, only the ones of England and Russia (the 1812 overture opening chorus) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XPoGU832dq8
(Mighty
Lord, preserve us from jeopardy.
Take Thee now our faith and loud crying in penitence.
Grant victory o'er our treacherous and cruel enemies
And to our land bring peace.
O mighty Lord hear our lowly prayer,
And by Thy shining holy light.
Grant us, O Lord, peace again.
O mighty Lord hear our prayer
and save our people
Forever, forever!)
Take Thee now our faith and loud crying in penitence.
Grant victory o'er our treacherous and cruel enemies
And to our land bring peace.
O mighty Lord hear our lowly prayer,
And by Thy shining holy light.
Grant us, O Lord, peace again.
O mighty Lord hear our prayer
and save our people
Forever, forever!)
Remember
Though only vaguely
The Lord’s and
King’s age
And His murder* https://www.lonelyplanet.com/england/travel-tips-and-articles/barons-battles-and-bad-king-john-the-real-magna-carta/40625c8c-8a11-5710-a052-1479d27608dc
.
*The poet’s view is that King John and John the Baptist
were murdered to bring about our whitewashed age of secular Jesuit led
today by Pope Francis ‘Christianized’ democracy for the wealthy (princes,
barons, hedge fund managers, sex offenders, etc.)
The pheromones
Of Lady Death
Fill my nostrils.
I roll down thewindow.
She hands me a beaker
Filled wine.
I smell nutmeg
My knees buckle
I fall into a fault
Of freshly plowed earth.
The sky fills with
Seagull screams
Come gather worms
And free me
Of my flesh.
-
30 -
Blu vs red https://wwsw.youtube.com/watch?v=zQCTeGKHsVc
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