Down to the Falls Goat Island
This is just before the falls drops off over to the right. The mist cloud in the middle back is the mist rising from the Canadian Falls. You are looking from the American Side through Goat Island to the Canadian Falls..
A Generation on Eve of Election
or
A Generation Headed Down the River-Politics Never Were the Answer
(James Watkins) no hdr here
This generation is stuck on the bulwark,
Frozen in headlights gathering stones-
Indiscriminate sons of the morning,
Actual assets with merits unknown.
This is the light of internal combustion,
Self deprivation, contiguous bones-
Crushed in the conflict
Of rising occasion,
Lost in the moment
The monument grows.
Dancing with moonlight,
Moonbeams in starlight,
Ridiculed remnants that rattle and roll-
Quixotically quoted in
Careless collusion,
National parlance
Of future payrolls.
Pay for the privilege,
Pose for the prattle,
Pause for refreshment,
That causes the cure.
Simple deliverance in
Smokescreen obedience,
Rationale railways
That run on the ruins.
Come to the purpose in patriot persuasion,
Stand in the gap with righteous reward,
Fly in the face of cupcake convention,
Pulses of power that pull
At the thorns.
Hold fast in fear; don’t fall at the junction,
Waste away weather maps
Conjugal forms-
Flailing at formats with frogs in the foyer,
Padded with passive, political porn.
Packed into parlors with pigs of persuasion,
Multiplied monsters still fixed to the floor-
Pass on to poundings of crux congregations,
Critical mass for the petrified poor.
Crept in concealment configured in catacombs,
Built on the fragments of families forlorn-
Terrified teamsters with tales of their talisman,
Tickled and tortured, then swamped by the storm.
Fancy faced forecasts with fabricate filters,
Lies at the bottom where captives are shorn-
Files of the caveat castaway cheviots,
Horns of the altar now cut to the stone.
Sanctified delegates step to floor-
Out on the borders, go right for the snore.
Sniping at mystical magical merchandise,
Mopping up munchkins with heroes galore.
Gift of gab purposeful prophets in paradise,
Parabolic poetry prose-
Deft and defiant in damaged conclusion,
Filled up with ideas but stuck in the door.
Pamplified pollsters perched on the pedestal,
Pale prognosticates barren and bored-
Doubters and doers and leaders and lovers,
Catch me the top of the hour has flown.
Dudley dead do-rights don’t come down a crashin’
Cackling crackers conducive to scorn,
Capped out and crapped out
In Wall Street enduros,
Boiled down to futures and factual whores.
Just enough knowledge to keep them from happiness,
Just enough money to keep them enthroned,
Just enough polish to keep each one sparkling,
Just enough selfishness keeps them alone.
James Watkins 09-02-08
Down to the Falls Goat Island
This is just before the falls drops off over to the right. The mist cloud in the middle back is the mist rising from the Canadian Falls. You are looking from the American Side through Goat Island to the Canadian Falls..
A Generation on Eve of Election
or
A Generation Headed Down the River-Politics Never Were the Answer
(James Watkins) no hdr here
This generation is stuck on the bulwark,
Frozen in headlights gathering stones-
Indiscriminate sons of the morning,
Actual assets with merits unknown.
This is the light of internal combustion,
Self deprivation, contiguous bones-
Crushed in the conflict
Of rising occasion,
Lost in the moment
The monument grows.
Dancing with moonlight,
Moonbeams in starlight,
Ridiculed remnants that rattle and roll-
Quixotically quoted in
Careless collusion,
National parlance
Of future payrolls.
Pay for the privilege,
Pose for the prattle,
Pause for refreshment,
That causes the cure.
Simple deliverance in
Smokescreen obedience,
Rationale railways
That run on the ruins.
Come to the purpose in patriot persuasion,
Stand in the gap with righteous reward,
Fly in the face of cupcake convention,
Pulses of power that pull
At the thorns.
Hold fast in fear; don’t fall at the junction,
Waste away weather maps
Conjugal forms-
Flailing at formats with frogs in the foyer,
Padded with passive, political porn.
Packed into parlors with pigs of persuasion,
Multiplied monsters still fixed to the floor-
Pass on to poundings of crux congregations,
Critical mass for the petrified poor.
Crept in concealment configured in catacombs,
Built on the fragments of families forlorn-
Terrified teamsters with tales of their talisman,
Tickled and tortured, then swamped by the storm.
Fancy faced forecasts with fabricate filters,
Lies at the bottom where captives are shorn-
Files of the caveat castaway cheviots,
Horns of the altar now cut to the stone.
Sanctified delegates step to floor-
Out on the borders, go right for the snore.
Sniping at mystical magical merchandise,
Mopping up munchkins with heroes galore.
Gift of gab purposeful prophets in paradise,
Parabolic poetry prose-
Deft and defiant in damaged conclusion,
Filled up with ideas but stuck in the door.
Pamplified pollsters perched on the pedestal,
Pale prognosticates barren and bored-
Doubters and doers and leaders and lovers,
Catch me the top of the hour has flown.
Dudley dead do-rights don’t come down a crashin’
Cackling crackers conducive to scorn,
Capped out and crapped out
In Wall Street enduros,
Boiled down to futures and factual whores.
Just enough knowledge to keep them from happiness,
Just enough money to keep them enthroned,
Just enough polish to keep each one sparkling,
Just enough selfishness keeps them alone.
James Watkins 09-02-08