Tag Archives: Rawclyde!

now, baby, now, baby baby!!!

Posted on by
Reply

~

VALLEY O’ DEMOCRACY NO. 35

by rawclyde (1999)

!

So, boys, here’s another answer: marry quaint Lady Poverty

forget those worldly women who crave diamonds & property

who bump their knolls in your face & expect you to eat

like they’re your dessert when they’re in fact your defeat

~

~

When Ma n’ Pa die take your inheritance & explore the land

buy an old truck, make a book store out of it, make your stand

in a spot that’s right and forget getting fat and rich

if you get too poor, grab a shovel, dig a ditch

~

(2025)

~

Do it for half the year in the Tower o’ Babel where there’s all kinds of jobs

if you’re not too particular & don’t mind working with wise-cracking slobs

now repair ye olde shrine & buy more books that shed bright light

and get the hell out & return to that spot that is right

~

~

There’s your answer, boys, thee only answer I got

I don’t know if it’s gonna work but I’m giving it a shot

and one more thing, you gotta learn how to be humble and pray

‘cuz it’s for the glory of Your Creator that you’re pokin’ along your

m

e

a

n

d

e

r

i

n

g

way…

verse from an out-of-print book

A Love Song To The American Lizard

by Rawclyde!

(Copyright Clyde Collins 1999)

YouTube video via Jessica Denson

post illustrated via artificial intelligence

blame the post editor: Spitball Fury

oh poverty where don’t you roam

Posted on by
Reply

~

VALLEY OF DEMOCRACY NO. 19

~

Poverty, Poverty, where don’t you roam?

Will you not ever leave me alone?

Poverty, Poverty, will you never cease?

Will you not ever give me release?

~

My little brother struck a tune that brought back his youth

threw off his clothes, donned a necklace made of rhino tooth

did a jig in his room that was of a primitive grain

hopped out the window onto a cloud & danced into my brain

~

Poverty, Poverty, you’re so misunderstood

society would hang you only if it could

Poverty, Poverty, companion o’ mine

always smiling at me as if you are so kind

~

The beggar come up to me after my work was done

wanted a dollar as if he were my long lost son

I had made sixteen but wouldn’t give him even one

he was an Indian standing in front of the setting sun

~

Poverty, oh Poverty, unholy as can beeeeeee

when are you going to set the people free?

Poverty, Poverty, she replies to meeeeeee

“Only when you love me in the Valley Of Democracy”

…

rawclyde

!

text: (copyright clyde collins 1999)

art: movie promo

post editor: spitball fury

boot hill, boot hill, so cold, so still

Posted on by
Reply

~

VALLEY OF DEMOCRACY NO. 16

~

I gave Harry the drunk buzzard a ride home at sundown

the Big Dipper poured a sparkling lullaby across a sky glory bound

a certain decision made me sad, but I was somewhat glad

to float thru a village church and a vision of my old drunk dad

~

Driving home at night on thee olde Indian reservation

had me a burro chowin’ down on thorny grass revelation

if the White world stood on its head instead of its feet

its brain would be closer to the earth and easier to greet

~

Holy Mary took her seat next to the passenger window

talked about cookin’ for Jesus when she was a widow

said He had a good appetite but was kind of preoccupied

with saving everybody by having to get Himself crucified

~

I parked under my tree & greeted the easy-going hombre under a cowboy hat

who lets me squat next to his gas station for free, how ’bout ‘dat?

I bent his ear for a while & then, & then crawled into the sack

and in a burst of insanity turned into meat-whacker Jack

~

I got over that pretty quick, eventually fell asleep

had a dream about an old girl friend who started to weep

this broke my heart but worse, in the morning there was no coffee

but I found a free cup some place else in this Valley of Democracy

…

rawclyde

!

(copyright clyde collins 1999)

valley of democracy no. 10

Posted on by
Reply

by rawclyde

!

Vladimir Lenin has somehow transfigured into a buzzard in this desert land

and so has Elmer Gantry, the professional (by Sinclair Lewis) good man

together they glide in lazy circles above the tiny town of Why

where I’ve parked Holy Mary’s shrine beneath this “wasteland”s sky

~

They’re peaceful creatures tipping now and then as they glide in the air

feeding on the dead, I suppose, when I don’t see them around up there

once one starved a lot of peasants, the other fooled a lot of folks

down below, I roll cigarettes, light ’em and enjoy my coffin-nail tokes

~

Holy Mary, I believe, wouldn’t mind appearing in a peasant’s vision

but in the United States, ha! we only believe in subtraction and addition

the subtraction of God & thee addition of money in the bank

plus dope and television and nobody upstairs to humbly thank

~

Except the buzzards, Vladimir & Elmer, oh and here comes Harry

Harry?  Where’d he come from?  Oh no!  Also here comes Gary

there’s all kinds of buzzards around here but I see no road kill

and out of the pure blue appears a real beauty whose name is Jill

~

Well, it’s good to know there’ll be no funeral expenses when I go

it’s good to know I’ll nourish some o’ God’s creatures at my final show

they’re so peaceful, they don’t bother anybody, don’t make a sound

I’ll just have one more cup of coffee as they peacefully glide around

…

(copyright clyde collins 1999)

god bless kaia ra

Posted on by
Reply

rawclyde!

~

VALLEY OF DEMOCRACY NO. 9

~

Ah, to be a vibrant spiritual energy beneath the sun and moon

perfect as an angel whether it be midnight or high noon

rather than a tranquilized benumbed stumbling baboon

pissing all over myself, unable to find my spoon

~

Ah, to accept with graceful nonchalance the imperfection in others

to gently warm with my humble presence all sisters and all brothers

rather than buying a sawed-off shotgun to blow off some drunk’s head

‘cuz I think the world is better off if his worthless hide lay dead

~

So I killed a scoundrel, who cares?  I’m Jack Butt

I love my wife, Jane, such a pretty power-hungry slut

I love it when she humps one of her black bucks n’ then comes home

sits on my face as my whip of a tongue fastidiously makes her groan

~

When she sits down in a short skirt that advertizes the texture of her panties

framed by fuzzy wonderment that pulverizes a poor man’s fantasies

when she tells me what she wants for dinner & demands my tongue for dessert

how cannot I kneel & slither up beneath that magic skirt?

~

Oh I try to be good, love Mother Mary & Jesus too

but apparently I married the wrong woman, ’tis true

the hot wet demonettes of her soul screamed down my throat of doom

and then the sawed-off shotgun I purchased, well, booooooom!

~

I didn’t mind her gettin’ it on with Harry, the amiable Indian drunk

I’m willing to share, but he was such a disrespectful skunk

besides screwing my wife he kept asking me for money for beer

relentlessly I bought the cah-boomer, now he’s a memory, I fear

~

Ahhhhhhh, it’s the gouche moment that kills for-ever-more

why’d I marry Jane, the saucy power-crazed whore?

i could’a been a saint, i truly believe ’tis oh so true

instead, I’m a vanished hobo beneath this desert blue

~

Oh, to be a vibrant spiritual energy beneath the sun and moon

perfect as an angel whether it be midnight or high noon

rather than a tranquilized benumbed stumbling baboon

pissing all over myself, unable to find my spoon

…

(Copyright Clyde Collins 1999)

from the out-of-print book

A Love Song To The American Lizard

by

Rawclyde!

smiling camel adventure

Posted on by
Reply

~

VALLEY of DEMOCRACY # 6

by rawclyde !

~

Take Salvador, a maintenance man at Campland On The Bay

when someone tries to get him to do something without a delay

but he’s got something else to do, he’ll just sympathetically say:

“sorry, senior, I’m on a mission from God,” and drive away

~

And plugging along down the Campland lane on a little golf cart

loaded with tools and me beside him playing a viable part

off to the rescue of someone’s plugged drain, I whine as we go:

“i would’ve liked one more cup of coffee before we left for this valley below”

…

text: (copyright clyde collins 1999)

post editor: spitball fury

from: a love song to the american lizard, an out-of-print book by rawclyde !

~