Archive for the ‘beat generation’ Category


Posted: December 28, 2020 in beat generation, poems, POETRY
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Santa Monica,
Lost times,
Heading down the road,
180 miles,
To the end,
A misery!

I was in the back room,
looking for a match,
Love discovered,
I was drinking gasoline,
Half past nine,
Finding my life,
In a battered lesson,
Place on the classified,
On a sweet ride!

Strange days,
On Halloween,
A misery,
Singing about life,
Small child,
Crying about fear…

Photo by Pixabay on

Allen Ginsberg Reading Howl – Part one

If you wanted honesty,
You should go someplace else,
I tried to prevent your boyfriend from jumping,
Out of the ninth story window,
He just did it for YouTube hits.

He hit the ground running,
Or not,
Who knows,
Who cares,
This is America,
Land of the Broken Tome.

The Typewriter is holy,
Written words,
Typed on white sheets of paper,
Confessions of love,
Black lines,
That broken ribbon,
Lying on the floor,
Ripped from that madness,
Stark ravings,
On an angry fix,
Fuck this nightmare place,
Talents only for the rich,
According to those masses,
Brains smashed in by hollow angels,
We do not care.

Obscene odes,
Banned for cola wars,
Night smokes,
Dreams of turpentine,
Huffing those dreams,
Cock, balls, pussy,
Fuck, shit,
Those magic words,
The typewriter is holy,
Masses, Neon lights,
Raining down into the street,
Rain cast away those words,
Chained to subway cars,
Noises of children,
Dying from brilliance,
You fucking whore,
Crack doom,
Into midnight sex,
Asses meeting cock and balls.

Zen of nothingness,
China gave us some fleas,
America gave us,
Weeping all alone,
Baltimore dying,
Wyoming star lit sky,
Hungry man,
Flying high in boxed windowless,
Howl against that pain,
Passing out,
Cigarette holes in their arms,
Damn commies,
Lost in Alamos,
Wondering where,
They can buy an angry fix.

This land,
Fucked into madness,
This guy,
Fucked in the ass,
Hazy winters,
Lost summers,
In those rose gardens,
Lie, lay,
Giggling as children do,
Then replaced by adulthood lies,
One eyed,
Kill those children,
Burn them to the ground,
And call it paradise,
Do you see?
Do you hear?
Course you do,
Pretend you care,
Till that next issue,
Against the dying of the light,
Impressed with words,
Coming from their cock hole,
We lay in iron dreams,
Encased in an unholy womb,
Let us be born,
To a suicidal wife,
Trying to make her way out of this stew.

We were not joyous,
At the words,
We were not enlightened,
By that stew,
Holding us down,
Respect your elders,
You murderous dogs,
Sleep not well,
In that grace,
Oh you disgraced,
I shall weep my fellow man,
For that dying of that light,
Oh sacred word,
The Typewriter is holy.

Photo by Ian Panelo on

Five minutes to midnight, a fiction in the making, but it could be reality.

I was standing by, for a message, from somebody, hoping for a fix, drinking alcohol, trying to forget.

July 12th, 1986, my first time, sex, you know the drill.




Explode into space.

Jesus Christ, that was good, she wasn’t that impressed.

Screw here.

Two weeks later, getting a phone call, she’s pregnant, I could be the father, or some other guy she met at college.

I got spared the agony of defeat, the kid wasn’t mine.

Derek Thompson, second year grad student from Des Moines, you are the father, should have pulled out.

I decide to do a road trip.

1800 miles.

No stop except to pee.


It seem like the right thing to do.

Mary Simpson, half way in, at a local rest stop, I got the blue plate special.

Chicken fried steak. Mash potatoes, country gravy.

She was the waitress. She got off at 8.

I waited. 9 pm. We’re at some 12 dollar a night motel.

Key to the bathroom down the hall costs a buck extra.

Fresh towels in the closet next to the bath room.

Mary and I drink, cheap booze I got from the liquor store in town.

Cashier smiled as he gave me my change.

Mary loves to suck cock.

She tells me so as her head bobs up and down on my hard shaft.

I moan.

Twenty two minutes in, she’s riding my dick, cowgirl, waving her hat, like a good cow girl does!

I moan.

I try to resist.

I fail.

She smiles as I feel my cock explode.

She kisses me, straight on the lips, my cock still buried deep inside her.

We cuddle.

Best thing to do afterwards is to cuddle.

“Do you believe in God?” she says, running her fingers over my chest, twirling them through my chest hair.

I nod.

I saw God as I came, shaking his head, in disapproval.

I committed a sin.

Next day, I gave her my phone number, address, we’d keep in touch.

She smiled.

We kept in touch.

A year later, we were married.

100 years,
Into burned piled,
To see,
Those masses,
Yearning to be free,
Break free those chains,
To wander the streets,
Worshipping the ground,
That white powder,
To speak,
Of that devil tongue,
To scream,
Walking through the trees,
To fly,
On paper wings,
Those eyes,
Peeking from the walls,
Cheat sheets,
To life,
To live,
100 years,
Down in the mud,
Breaking rocks,
In time with that heart beat,
Urges building up,
Destroying us,
From the inside,
Break free,
An incredible beast,
To yearn,
Oh dearly be,
A night,
In broken lairs,
Broken feet,
Junkies in the street,
Murdered for their beat,
Shot in the arm,
By themselves,
Hear the wings,
Beating near the sun,
Dear, Sweet,
To the point,
They are high,
OH madness,
Let us be,
Let us see,
Good night and goodbye!


In the middle of the night,
The words come to me,
Some bitter rage,
Some love,
A bit of magical madness,
To keep the road bumpy,
The smooth open road,
Worries the tourists,
They aren’t getting their money’s worth.

Where are we,
In reference to time,
Or to space?
Nobody knows,
Nobody cares,
Is this reality?
I highly doubt it,
Not enough bass,
The fish,
Not the sound,
Who here wants to rock?

We were young,
Full of rum,
A flash of brilliance,
Dampened by reality,
We soon discovered ourselves,
Thrown away,
Giving up for dead,
Reality setting in,
The plugs to be pulled,
Not worth saving,
We’re too cynical,
For a happy world.

We gave up,
We died,
Food for the maggots,
Oh feast for a time,
Dripping from my pen,
Good night…


And the Nile was dying,
The world was crying,
The world was on fire,
Humanity was dying,
Burning brightly,
Their souls,
A rage,
That light,
A constant reminder,
That there was no hope,
Except to die,
There on the fire,
This was not life,
This was not death,
This was stupidity,
Humanity’s fault.

Allen Ginsberg reads “Howl” (Big Table Chicago Reading, 1959)

A definition and historical reference to “Blackout poetry” can be found here. I’d like to call my rendition, “Cutup and rework” as inspired by the likes of Brion Gysin and¬†William S.¬†Burrough.

I worked a piece of what I call “Google Art” hitting the Google images, typing in random thoughts, words, ideas, as they hit my brain and open up Photoshop and just being creative, cutting up and moving around words, adding my own as I see fit, am inspired by whatever at the time.

I add my words just for fun and games, a piece to get my brain going, which it needs every so often, a kick start.

William S. Burroughs and Allen Ginsberg shaking their head in that Heavenly space, but smiling none the less

I saw the best generation,
Destroyed by starving,
Hysterical naked,
Angry angelheaded hipsters,
Heavenly connection to the machinery of the night.

Oh madness,
Does it see…
Does it hear,
Those maddening words,
Of that enraged society?

Who tells those,
Down in the ghetto streets,
Who the bell tolls?

Oh giant bells,
To gather up,
All the whores,
The crackheads,
The bishops,
And the Royalty,
Tell them,
The world is near,
The end of that run,
Oh blessed night,
To humanity’s farewell sleep.

To the dogs,
We feed our lies,
Our lives,
We shall not know,
When that time comes,
For we shall be too busy dying,
Into those shallow graves…

Obscene words,
Published on the walls,
Into those dreams,
Of seeping madness,
Falling down rabbit holes,
To seek,
Oh dear me,
To keep falling,
A joy ride into madness,
Roaring into that kind,
To chain themselves,
To unholy flees,
To keep,
Brilliance in that unholy nightmare,
Drinking stale beer,
The jukebox,
Aged themes.

Can you hear me screaming into that sweet goodnight?
Do you not see my madness, seeping out?

Photo by cottonbro on

Winter moon keeps me dragging,
Ain’t got no time for bragging,
In the summer time,
I ain’t seen the waters,
I ain’t seen the sun,
All I see are my tear drops,
Falling down from eyes.

Ain’t no time,
For a healing,
Ain’t no time,
For appealing,
In the spring,
Don’t got nothing to bear,
The soul is empty,
The angels are clear,
For the time,
It ain’t bragging,
All I can hear is the pain.

All I know is what I am,
All I see is the raging,
The times,
They a-changing,
And I ain’t got no time to live,
And the tears keep a fallin’
And the thunder rolls away,
There ain’t time for the playing,
Might as well go insane!

There was a time like the present,
Shiny coins in the fountain,
Playing in the rain till morning,
Singing songs about the flames,
Now I sitting here,
Ain’t got no shiny nickels,
The bill man coming at the doorway,
Trying to get his pay.

Rock and Roll is the Devil’s music baby!!! It will never die! Google Art by Some Random Guy

Dogs howling at the moon,
A most precious out of a tune,
Secret lovers,
Dancing naked through the streets,
A happy social disease,
If you must believe,
Hollywood is free,
Pleasant memories,
Written down on paper,
Bright lights,
What a fright?
Could not read,
Those letters,
Too much pain,
To realize,
I am standing at the door,
Wishfully singing,
A song I wrote to you,
We were dancing in the street,
Flying on our feet,
It wasn’t a beat,
Only way to beat the heat,
Whose out there?
Jesus Christ is dying,
Are we not blind to see?

Rebellion in the streets,
A hark of that sweet music,
Rolling from the mind,
To placate those seemingly ravaging savages,
To sleep,
On broken streets,
Misery in pleasant surroundings,
We shut our eyes,
So we could not hear,
The world burning,
At our feet,
And to this end,
We shall die,

In the beginning, there was nothing,
And God created a monkey holding a lantern,
And he named it light,
And it was good,
Unless you were trying to sleep,
Then it sucked,
So God created curtains,
And that was good,
Except, where were the windows?
And God said, let there be windows,
And that was good,
Except there was no house,
Logically, you need a house,
The monkey said,
And God agreed,
So he made a house,
But who would live in the house?
I will, the monkey said, but God said no,
Monkeys live in trees,
And he created man,
And man said, I going to get awfully lonely in there,
So God created porn,
In the beginning porn was pretty lame,
So God created woman,
And it was good,
Then God said,
This is sin,
Do not touch it,
Shake it twice,
You’re doing nice,
Shake it more,
Burn in Hell,
And man and woman have been sinning ever since…..