Peter Dudink

Dianysus’ Indecent Poem

Tribe of the how are you!!
The happening and well-to-do…
I have cried
for the powerful, rich and successful,
and just a bit for the poor children
blasted and broken by big-time dolts,
by hunger, despair and
oh, did I mention
the greedy blasted dolts?

No, I have not turned to violence, not just yet
I have been a slave of the pen,
in a comfortable poverty
fought inner battles
against despair, against eternal pity,
to give the children nutrition,
I have sought the milk of happiness

But look at this mess!
roughshod and too rushed
I manhandled my words,
and spurted this pretty fountain
of boiling black blood.

Ah, there’s no treasure in this chest,
my children,
for I am but a man.
but you, oh ladies of the nice hairdo,
so dressy and endowed,
hunters of new fangled freedoms,
envy of the emperors:
flaunt your teaties!
your sculpted, uplifted busts,
drive the poet-man mad
with jealousy.

Bah, your empty breasts feed no one!
call all the weak, the starving,
and mentally malnourished,
with their millions of tiny gnashing teeth,
I call the children,
on this day of love
to devour you.

there’s ha-happiness
Grecian style.
I’m so anachronistic!
I think I’ll go admit myself
to Tomorrow's Sunny Meadows
Mental Asylum
for dairy cattle
and eat purple grass
with my fellow ilk
until the day I surely shall pee
the best curdled milk
you ever did sneeze.
But wait – my dear,
for proof these words mean happiness
squeeze out, just for me,
the most rottenest
carefree smile.

Peter Dudink © 2008