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