(bps) ~ beat poetry sessions ~ (bps)
Take a trip on the wild side of the mind
on Underground 109
charging hot out of craniumville, trailing
smoking like a kamakasi coupe de ville
taking corners with rotational torque that
would make a planet weep
going to set you down in a verbolic pasture
no matter if you smile or cry
it's the adjectives that are willy nilly
So take ye the power slide with ultra inhickulated
Upbeat poetry sick, hick, and so fine
Sure didn't expect to see you here... .Welcome!
To a down home poetry reading. Can you hack it?
It's poetry for people who don't like poetry
SILLY HILLY BILLY ..b e a t ..POETRY
Grab a chair, we'll warm up the adjectives while
we cool the beer.
As I wander in a land of beauty I see trees
as I wander in a land of beauty I see the sticks thick with hick
half nude and dirty with Tennessee long rifles running barefoot
with semian wonder they peer through the bushes and grunt
scrawny pappys go home, limp varmits on their backs
coal oil lamps flicker through dirty windows of shacks
coonskin caps over bear greased hair
possum grits and HBO in only underwear
satellite dishes like shrines gleam in a moonlit night
nothing on good, might get in a fight
unintelligible threats in a smoke and beer stink cloud
skinny sweaty arms flying in rage, rude, lude, and loud
"You dont believe I'll pull this trigger? a small pistol said
working up a lather bo'ed up and beet red
god, guts, and ammo, verses and curses and booze
protect what you got with with all you got
by dog, bullet, and bruise
Get the hell out of here, I'll call the damn law, man
You dont belong up here this aint your land
Strangers only drive through here to laugh and stare
and run back and fuck with a damn computer and call it the trail of leers
but wait a minute you dont seems so strange, You're like most folks I know
only with durned ole powder blue skin and tight silver clothes
Somthin aint clicking, I'm aint uh...getting it
Get the shit out-o-your ears REDNECK.... what the? He's neck from another
NECK FROM ANOTHER
Iím not so
strange, Iím like most folks you know
only with durned ole powder blue skin and tight silver clothes
I've Radonian grease on my head like your lard
tattoo says "go to hell damn ye" like your words of war
so for me to
break red on a human is purely automatic
I hate to
break it to you but, I'm a neck from another planet
I'm from a world far away where weird country moans
saucer screen door in a space trailer zone
space-junk in an alien yard all strewn
washing machines that you too have thrown
and I follow
each sentence with my word for your dammit
it, I'm a neck from another planet
Don't called me redneck my neck
is bright blue
and you can
kiss your reality goodbye cause it's screwed
If you wern't thinking of getting some waitress in bed
I'd give you
technological secrets and put you centuries ahead
But I see
with tele-pathy excrement occupies your mind
is a close encounter of the turd kind
So take your
toothless dimension and crammit
I'm fixin to
get the hell out of here, I'm a neck from another planet
I envy your
planet Earth - I wish I lived here
life forms living on tobacco and beer
to a juke box in a honky tonk howl
and smoke and language thatís fowl
one day Iíll
return but for right now - caint hannel it
Clyde, I'm a neck from another planet
copyright David J.
Bird feet, skunk meat
shootin with my gun
rat blood, dead crud
Gee aint huntin fun
Six pack, gun rack
In my Chevy truck
Dirt road heavy load
Ive bagged myself a buck
Pump action satisfaction
my manhoods in my hand
Double shot smooth and hot
best shotgun in the land
FL & MC
You know dat yo legs are ricketty
and know dat yo clothes go raggety
But we still proud baby, cause
you got the biggest peet in the fambly
You got two pencils, Mine in my locka,
You know good that yo pockets are po
Gwine down with Shyrleen and Picpocca
How many times you fukkfistamate?
I'm going back to tha gym now, lift some weight
white men say its not who you know,
so you gwine have ta go down theres
but first you must move back the hairs
Dat not nothin eat, its a bag of shoo
and look at me when I run to you
mine looking flappy the way yo hams be
but you got the biggest peet in the fambly.
Got to get yo'sef to woik
Cause sometimes, I likes kindsa likes to jerk
boys off the road and from dat ramblin
aint no doubt, you got the biggest peet in the fambly
Playdough womb, utilities repast
a bobsled kenmore, pillsbury triumph
scope it out, carve it deep
tony lama in search of sheep
send a token tarnished dime
pelt, pelt, pelt
from silk to swine
sack o cats flesh and fur amalgan
sodden burlap tomb
silent sentinal bull run wiltnessed
your final flight
another edge, more doom
Can You Hack It WARNING >>>...
It was a drizzling monoxide Monday night, A quarter till ten
and I was dropping a five
when a stranger came into the ivory arcade.
He was a half notch drifty, jaw cocked to the side,
his skin glistening from a fresh coat of slime.
He had a pinball twitch and cauliflower eyes,
a hundred-dollar jacket the blind thrift kind.
Sniffing out some peanuts and a tall boy too, he fell back on a rotten stool.
When he cocked up a leg and crossed it ooh,
there was a biological nightmare on the soul of his shoe.
A true-life relief of urban grief in grime, tobacco pitch and back alley
like some gasoline, alcohol, oil and u-reen, dead beat street taffy laced
He was nicotine stained from without and within,
an olfactory record of where he had been.
From all the back alleys shuffled and spittle spattered ways,
bus station bathrooms with ode-de-pee-spray.
Sharkily - silently delving a week night wish,
a two bit gamble for fume, fluid, or flesh.
A bottom feeder in a nocturnal spell. Working the dregs for a ritual thrill.
With a case of the shakes that would ruin a good brain,
it's all in a day with this "Ick-a-bod Crane".
A nasty remembrance of forgotten sin, a ghost of a man that maybe shouldn't
The dark side of everything that is no good,
a head that is stone, a heart carved in wood.
His eyes wandered like the sauntering seven that quietly fell in the corner
Suddenly a crackle of fire after when the cellophane falls
a rank vapor was left hanging over the balls.
Neither a nod or a blink or a well-chosen word,
just a slow flip and grind of the peanuts demise.
At the turn of the table in an eyeball deal, an 18 was the thing with a
keel of steel.
There was a frightening clack when the triangle died
and a whoosh of a funky jacket thrown wide.
Tokens went rolling and moist dandruff fell,
the air was now lame with an onion like hell.
A purple ball dove then another of black, and as I stood dazed I uttered
A greasy eye shifted to see if I'm fine, I nodded him on
but I could take no more of that Stinkin 9.
John Gray Galloway
Play that Brain
of hoot owl call
and go insane
mind like a pinball
weener mind game
in the way, way back reaches of
the hillbilly brain
the hillybilly brain
where hills thing roam
its a wonderful world
under the ciderdome
IT BLEW BY
LIKE A FAST FREIGHT TRAIN
HUMMING AND ROCKING IN FRONT OF THE HOUSE
TOSSING LOST MEMORIES BACK AND FOURTH
A CATALYST FOR GOOD TIMES
FLAVORING THE CHILI
A SHOT OF RITALIN AND A DIET PEPSI
DOWN IN THE CELLAR
SHARING THE EXPERIENCE
TRYING TO TELL A STORY
THAT FIRST STEP IS A DOOSIE
EVENINGS PACKED WITH NOW AND THEN
THE WIND IN OUR HAIR
THUMPING ALONG ON THE FREEDOM EXPRESS
NOT A CARE IN THE WORLD
OUTBACK WAS LIVE
BUT WE WERE THE ONES LIVING
IT WAS SO REAL!
THE MEMORY POOL IS OVERFLOWING
TRYING TO FILL THE EMPTY SPOT
BROUGHT ON BY THE NEW DAY
IT ALWAYS ENDS THIS WAY
A TINT OF SADNESS
TO THE NEXT TIME
still crawl'en around there big
Happy Vern 99
WE GOT HIM! ."I'LL WHOOP YOUR ..." 31kb wav
Whooped some jerky boy ass in a national taste test. Check out the premier Redneck Comic
of East Tennessee. SEND $9.95 in check or money order to OLE
CUZZZ, P.O. Box 24119, Knoxville, TN. 37933-2119.
Free Catalouge with purchase. HITS INCLUDE: Oil
Filter Rag, Rim Job, Pair of Goodens, The Graveyard Hag and other rare extras!
shipping is always included.
Back through the murk and the lovely sunshine
of mercury comets, white lightening and may wine
naked snake hunters in combat boots
illwind parties bare assed on a roof
Dark atomic roads are a star dust cruise
a fire crackered turd, is a pink siding bruise
near a floating roach sea, and nasal misery
in skinnys land of eternity.
A Dinosaur belch from a man made cave
olympic flatus made his name
fleshy moose antlers from crab orchard stone
pull over here and get me an ice cream cone!
there was a plaster foot Poe rarin on the stairs
in a ripplin ritual with no winter cares
the food of the gods this family had
to the mouth and soul from the mind to hand
Porcealin entertainment on a dark circle
wild minds of the south a stark miracle
Choclateers in the night, a spider a jazzathon
the cellars a birthin an atomic heart skeleton
How did this Tennessee come to be?
An obsurd and wholesome obsenity?
a stuborne look at reality?
Could be just a happy clash in this mans century?
Stay alive! smoke the hive
a sardine fart lingers live
impaired rodentia shot against a wall
peanut butter breath demons in a metal rack free frall
a turnpike terror for banana peel
a fearful orangutan under a wheel
fighting a drive shaft for the next breath
clawing a steel belted into shreads
Its an awareness house crime on the wild side
on a wild and wooly satellite ride
there's pain panged pagans drinking shad crap 69
a rightious troop playing weener mind
a ridge of awe, a satin of lake
four drunk hippies who made a mistake
from many directions traveled to this point in time
are a hundred worn tires at the end of the line
in a magic gas ceremony into a flash
inky black cloud from the furnace of the past
a criminal red glow of orange and black
and dense onyx cloud smudges the monkey on my back
copper vermilion ghoul, bag a dangling
tinker bell stagger and drool hanging
Joanne aint gona wait on you, you, or you
somebody call Ron in here too
Went out to the lake the best I figure it,
going down Direct, pack of cigarettes
There's a glassy eyed geek wanting a light
you got any? You want any?
More stars in the sky than Foust could lie
unclothed your honor shocked oh my!
Bordering on tragedy living on the edge
Copper paint and LSD a hippies pledge
he fights his men hard and loves his women long
but cant stay at the point too long
City smoke bomb tears and window whizz and jeers
skunk beer for hooter fear
the megalomania of yesteryear... hillbilly tilt
by Little Sodi
Are you diggin this? Iffin so... get onto UPHOME
ESCAPE FROM THE RIDGE
Escape from the poisoned ridge
where mercury streams giggle through stronium 90 meadows
Where beta particles beam louder than bird melodies
where cancer coughs erupt into blue beryllium skies
Heavy metal lay in disguise green quarries bubble endlessly
The ridge is all these things,
irradated dust on the leaves, man, woman, boy, girl, knee deep in
toxic quicksand. Three mile Sunday school march, dont talk fool
look me in the eye and say theres no need to move
No need to tell any more tales uncle sugar we know the deal king.
One quick ride by the noise boys, the pirate ship told all them tales.
Run the bull to the point, the atomic pool,
Outer drive, labratory road bears the mother load,
K-25s got a skeleton crew, thousands ready to sue
Y-12s holdin on - a missile a day is what theyre countin on.
X-10s full of sin and the kings of ORNL got that tritium
So blow the ole pipes and lets begin again,
drain the reactors and fill em to the brim.
Here comes the masses for their punch of plutonium,
coming back like a glow worm will, throwing back
some of that U235 swill. So gamma some alpha bits and I
beta get gwine. They got that fire in the hole
like a little boy mole and a hiroshima soul. I gets to
wondering why. Got that SDI in the sky and a
twitchin eye and a jet propulsion cry.
Tellin you dammit.
SPASTICS ON PLASTICS:... The Underground captured live this sick soiree of regional
space folk in a dangerously eclectic concoction of poetry for people who
don't like poetry. Enter into this bozo-poetic-karoake cage match by Sending
$9.95 in check or money order to the OLE CUZZZ,
with purchase. Let the BEATNECK revolution live!
ROAD TEST ON IRRIDIUM
Oak Ridge in the spring rain, not staring Richard Burton
in a metaphysical bathosphere of Kiwi smoke
Chrome black vapor on the horizon, electric storms in your eye
dont give in to the garden apartments, check the level every day
Dont head down D-Dons, to the shipwreck green, to the potassium,
and colbalt blue, Caint, get the uranium out of your cranium,
a lot of good boys done seen the glow.
Swimming pools glow in the night time, Mercury madness atomic
mal-atohv cocktail in your lap, take a half of pound of BC powder
take a ceramic crap
Yee Haw, Get down diabolic rednecks, get down psychopathic
fools, gona hit you with a psychodellic fishing lure and head
down the stream too
The lights of the living ridge, living life on the edge
its a good life out on west outer, on a fantasy to find a bridge
In a chilling night at the witches castle, demons voices devils
take the dark orange highway to forever, lights for eyeballs
you heard the noise.
Oak Ridge in the mountains, long along cumberland ridge
got a dream fastened to a mountain, and the heavy metals hangin
out in the ridge. - Randy Dale Tucker
Checky Chuckie went to the sticks
Checky Chuckie kicked a hick
but on that hick ticks did stick
so Checky Chuckie ran off lickity split
but was too late that he did skate
because on his wick hick ticks did ate
all the day and into the night
Checky Chuckie felt the hick ticks bite
the hick ticks picked his wick to the quick
and with rocky hick dik fever he was sick
with regards to Rudgarrd Kiplick
Leo is Lyin'
The night was fine and alright too
so it's not that the party wasn't cool
and it wasn't you I was trying to dodge
when I saw your face across the sea of codge
so I dug me a king size hole
by talking bullshit about wanting joel
so forget who went flying up the driveway
you cant catch an O'Dell who dont want to stay
I just couldnt hang I dont know why
I only knew I had to roll boiy.
THE COOOL MODELL
WHEN ROBBERS COME HOME TO ROOST
Sleeping city morning magic
when the birds call up the sun
the bum stirs in his warm depression
when chain link filtered street light plays
across the grass and leaves
sticking from his matted hair
insomniac blue hairs cruise the quiet streets
in shiny cadillac tombs
sealed in their perfumed serenity
previewing the weird glow of the long sleep
Wire jamacian paperboy pauses in their passing
whispering "soon come man, soon come."
Red eyed and weary, the cop and the robber sit side by side
waitin gfor the light to change
Stalker and prey exchange glances, wondering who is who
but their work is over, dawn a breaking
home to roost.
Undergrowth, 8 March, 1987
Its another funky Friday and my Tom Sawyer instincts are taking
me over. All I want to do is float down the Mississippi on a raft, cussin,
chewin, and drinking grand pappys elderberry wine. Having some really
powerful southern emotions. Gotta sing dixie slow as I can. I want to see
the sunset over a cotton field and cut tobbacco with the salt of the earth.
Dont need an excuse to sip iced tea in the shade, to mumble with the people
on the porch with what ever they got to say. Hundreds of years of history
is weighing on my mind, from the grandious to the paltry, from the pleasures
of the few to the misery of the many. Its about the way you are left
feeling after looking into the sad eyes of a old black gentleman as he
crosses the street in front of you. Like he has done all the hard living
there is, so theres none left for you to do. It's about the shine on a
road worn smooth and the taste of the dust whipped up by a truck riding
up to a coming blue dusk. Dixie is still alive and living in my heart.
Regrets of the world melt when I think of this place. Im a lark sweeping
a gold meadow just before dark. Dixies alive in my heart. If I could
be born to a more lovely place it would be Dixie that never saw color and
never knew race. Where souls of sufferers never roamed and only hands of
true kindness the seeds of love sewn. L, Sodi
You Can't Kill White Trash
Silly hillbilly on a Saturday night,
gettin liquored up, running through the red lights
ain't never heard be careful or the meaning of doom
look out now, your gona find out soon
Theres trouble in the highway up ahead
they found the Thunderbird, but they didnt find him
On his lid in a creek, door handle in his liver
pocket full of smoke - shaggin it to New River
You can't kill white trash, no no you can't
kill white trash
you can knock em down, elbow em, gas, light, and throw em
but you can't kill white trash.
Got pulled over on the 4-1-1,
booze and a bear - illegal shotgun
if he's goin down, he's going to stay...said
"open up the door while I blow one of his deputies away"
You can't kill white trash, no no you can't kill white
you can knock em down, elbow em, gas, light, and throw em
but you can't kill white trash.
You're a survivor of a mountain world where
integrity will armor thee
It's in your heart to give peace a chance
drum beat resumes...
Hang it up son trash floats, so get your goat smelling hide down the road
go tell the world it aint no use, you're gona lose, You can't kill white
Trippin on tobacco, bar-be-queing some brain,
hitching up the trailor going fishing in the rain,
you can send me up the river you can throw me off the boat.
Don't make no difference son, trash floats...
What in the devil keeps Pappy alive?
He's crosseyed on drano - snake bit ten times
He did some pukin and that twitching jazz
great-gosh-golly you can't kill white trash.
you can't kill white trash, no no you can't kill white
you can knock em down, elbow em, gas light and throw em
but you can't kill white trash.
Uncle Bob Hembree
JOHNNY KNOXVILLE - POETIC ...
Hard-bitten coon hunter shoves off and
recedes as a small point of lard on a
distant mountain as scrappy dogs howl. Let him move on from an anthropological
to modern wire rim peg leg hobbling into the future.
Knoxville's WebSite right off South Central.
INTER-NET-GALACTIC SMARTASS REMARKS:
EARTHLING: "You seem to have come to our planet
with some kind of a personal problem."
ALIEN: You'll think personal problem when I scorch your damn planet about
SCORCHEE: "I dont think that will be neccessary at all."
ALIEN: Seems to me I'm gona have to. Damn low road son of a bitch, I'll
damn matter reverser to your damn ass...
Haven't visited the Underground National
Archives? Dammit Boy!
All selections copyright Silly
Dawn Productions 1996
Alternative Web Entertainment
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