"We shall meet in a place where there is no darkness '' ( Georges Orwell )
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Oh youth ,springtime of beauty !
You,who are going to pick the flowers
of peace and love in the devastated ricefields
and burning djebels ! .
The enemy is clearly identified ,
Let's go to Utopia to live out our ideal !
even though people still confuse
the Buddha with the great helmsman !
the world will be beautiful in 1984 .
we have faith in you big brother ,
devotees who believe in happy consumption !
'' You let us rest in a green suburb
between a wallmart and a trap spot ''
Amen .
Those were the good old days .
sputnik on the clock .
the rock was emerging in the wind .
The fiberglass towers hadn't been born yet ,
I start moving to a twist beat ,
while the extrasensory were sending us Bobby Fischer
in an episode of the twilight zone ...
Did the angel press to hard when it placed its finger
under my lips ?
do you remember the story of a man and a lolita ,
last year in the hushed atmosphere of a love hotel
in Marienbad ?
Next year ,perhaps,the eternal awaits us
in that sacrilegious temple where the remains
of the last supper are rotting away ...
God old days ...
Treacherous dealers of the temple
you fled,abandoning the child to lust !
Gold old days ...
Collective nostalgia feeds on forgotten massgraves .
everything that memory shoves into its shameful
storerooms ...
I am talking about a time where we didn't need
a chatbot to make us even dumber ...
That's how I found myself in the enchanted world
of Mary Poppins ,which felt like a cognitive dissonance
with Janis Joplin ...
I was getting ready to become an old jerk daydreaming
about Ursula Andress stepping out of the bath...
who knows...Maybe ,I was lucky enough
to die before I got to experience the good old days...
the wall came down and as did the towers ...
The trap spot has turned
into a supranational organization ...
I didn't go out of my way for that .
Since I still have a shabby life to waste ,
I write nonsense that nobody gives a damn about...
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Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 9th, 2026 11:06
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
- Users favorite of this poem: Ellen Marsell, Tristan Robert Lange
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Comments5
Dappled words painted with stripes flow into this poem of names famous and infamous all make a pond still and calm. Nice my friend
A sudden bout of cognitive dissent ...
Cheese and prunes the solution to all problems.
That keeps the therapist away !
Can we trust our memory of the past when it keeps turning a complicated history into a beautiful legend?
We need to comfort ourselves with the illusion of the good old days ...
The “good old days” never really existed in the strictest sense. There is only the past we have edited so that we can live with it.
I enjoyed reading it
'' God '' is not a poem that romanticizes a better past but rather one that reassures us that this past truly existed !
the rose tinted glasses of the good old days
Unfortunately it's often a crimson cup !
so true
Lorenz, this is a wild and incisive journey through the mythology of yesterday. History, faith, consumerism, and culture all crash together until the comforting illusion cannot survive. Darkly funny, painfully honest, and brilliantly done, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Nostalgia is not innocent.It is selective .
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