Hard Times – Life on the Limb (014)

Table of Content:

• [014.1] Hard Times
• [014.2] Hard Times II
• [014.3] Crown
• [014.4] Score
• [014.5] Esmara VI
• [014.6] Neighborhood
• [014.7] Bottom Line

I. Hard Times / Hard Times (014.1)

Hard Times

Hard times‘ave befallen honest men,
the core of the West seems rotten.
Effeminate elves and raging gnomes,
each trump politicans besotten.

Priests and virgins captivate millions,
appear to appeal to an ancient hill.
Droughts, fires, floods, pollution.
How much o’Earth shall we spill?

The elite is plundering our planet,
but that’s what they’ve always done.
Before they discovered the rulebook,
they used chariots, swords or a gun.

Common people crave flesh and money.
Ancient people render(ed) War and God.
Hitler taught aristocrats a savage lesson,
Till peasants proved him a mere fraud.

“Mein Kampf” became a World War,
now the innocent choke once again.
I wish I could relieve their suffering,
but I have only the ink of my pen.

“WHY?” a hypersonic target screams,
her daughters dying by her side.
Because we are concious beings…
within whom Gods and Devils reside.

Mako The Poet

II. Hard Times / Hard Times II (014.2)

Hard Times II

I feel like Woodman’s aging dick,
a monkey consignment gone wrong.
Memories of youth and slit prowess,
when my body felt willing and strong.

No money to buy me a paper.
No woman to prepare me a meal.
I scour the room for pennies,
‘How the fuck do you think I feel?‘

Hungry I walk the concrete jungle.
Jugglers and clowns on the street.
My neighbor just lost his kidney,
bemoans his most recent defeat.

I need to buy me some canned food.
I’m starved and left without money.
“Elvis made his comeback in ’68,”
I speak to myself rather funny.

“Yeah… but I’m no King, I’m a Poet.’
Hero of arcane and arcades past.
‘God, I loved Pac-man and Donkey Kong.’
But alas, good times never last.

Mako The Poet

III. Hard Times / Crown (014.3)

Crown

I once had a favorite plant,
that held this beautiful leaf.
It was big and strong and burly,
impervious to loss or grief.

One day I bought this new plant,
that looked a little like a tree.
Never questioned my motivation,
just felt that it belonged to me.

I placed the apprentice in my kitchen,
where my favorite plant ruled a king.
A spacial crisis gradually emerged,
until I changed the whole damn thing.

The king was moved to the side,
yet plenty of light remained.
The apprentice built more leaves,
while the former king became stained.

It tried to change its position,
yet every angle looked brown.
New leaves mock the former king,
and the one who lost his crown.

Mako The Poet

IV. Hard Times / Score (014.4)

Score

Some people contribute a lifetime.
Most dreamers write a single play.
Artsy fartsy lust for milk and honey,
whilst bereft drop to their knees and pray.

Some envision love a mere illusion.
Few believe power constitutes truth.
Most will only emerge during summer.
I was forced to fight throughout my youth.

Sexy models sell their sassy but-holes.
Most need others to convivially thrive.
Hatred circulates throughout the ages.
Interest forces us to struggle-survive.

Some confuse God with human desire.
Most believe in betraying their core.
Few deserve everlasting paradise.
The rest just longs to settle the score.

Mako The Poet

V. Hard Times / Esmara VI (014.5)

Esmara VI

Whenever you feel like shopping.
I try to blend into the crowd.
But you have this I-phone tracker,
that looks for the well endowed.

I hate to be in a clothing store,
though its fun to watch you flirty.
You zip and skip skintight jeans,
bend till it makes me feel dirty.

“What do you think about this one?”
‘Honey, I really really don’t care…’
“Does my lovely ass still please you?”
‘It would without that underwear…’

“Do I look fat in this summer dress?“
“You’re as beautiful as the Virgin Mary.”
Esmara emanates pious delight,
so penance demands I carry.

Mako The Poet

VI. Hard Times / Neighborhood (014.6)

Neighborhood

On my way to the grocery store,
I greet this leisurely Turk.
His hands uphold sallow bricks,
with a sad tiresome smirk.

Walk past this massage parlor,
the same tall kid outside.
He looks at me accusingly,
as if I’ve something to hide.

“Sir, will you please help me?“
He tries me every time.
But I care little for fools,
involved in scams or crime.

Brethren meet at their butcher,
Sometimes I purchase a loaf.
The girl who hands out the dough,
‘She’s a looker I tell ya, by Jove!‘

Gang of black men on the corner.
One touts his aggressive voice.
Grabs this junkie by the jacket,
“Yee cunnie, ya’ve nee choice!”

Finally reach the grocery store.
Lit polacks surround the entry.
Owner hired this huge wrestler,
now dealers use him as their sentry.

Indians replace what leonard sold.
Lovely Arab girls by their side.
Their long dark curls, my disbelief,
each look for a place to hide.

Mako The Poet

VII. Hard Times / Bottom Line (014.7)

Bottom Line

I’m in a place nobody wants to be,
a suffering I knew would come.
The abused, the battered, the old.
some swear, others spit, I feel numb.

“How did I get here?” we wonder.
I listened to the pain in my heart.
Unable to deal with lies and deceit.
I habitually tore me apart.

Fragments search for compassion.
Bloodshot eyes dart left and right.
Some empty, some dull, most unforgiving.
Several bruised from what seems last night.

A lesson I learned that horrible day.
The bottom line is lonely and cold.
Life on the limb is no mean feat,
now I’ve only my dreams to hold.

Mako The Poet

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