About Harry: A member of Words Aloud poetry collective, the Headwaters Writers Guild, Writers Ink Alton, and Associate Member of the League of Canadian Poets, Harry is the author of five books, including poetry, novels and short stories. He has written and produced five spoken word audio CDs, and will be publishing his third novel THE AUROCH UNBOUND in the spring. Harry’s books and CDs are available at www.posnerbooks.com. He lives in Caledon, Ontario.
Where Is Our Howl (for Allen Ginsberg) in this digitized punch drunk parched and pixilated webcast of a dream world where is our Howl our jesters outing bare-assed kings who’d eat our hearts for hors d’oeuvres fling the leftovers into toxic rivers where is our Howl our shape-shifting shrieks our screeching vultures wheeling through the machinery of night our fight or die hips belted with clips filled with killer queries our Moloch hunters the connectors the love junkies immune to IED’s buried in the sands of samadhi where is our Howl our driving beat jazzed with horizons songs that turn data-drugged minds away from cranked-up cities away from who gives a shit and where is our anthem for peace John and Yoko dans une chambre Quebecoise folded into the question mark of each other naked in the pool sitting seiza in the matrix goin’ down the road like a tripped-out fool and all we are saying is that we are mad as hell and we’re not going to take it anymore where is our hundredth monkey in the Octagon choking out Hector ‘The Doomsayer’ Crivo where is our chance for atonement for letting down a generation born into 9/11 and Rwanda fed cyberfood and cyberthought logo-dressed by corporate hacks and where is our chance to admit that we failed you in our acts of blindness where is our Howl our penultimate fate sluicing down concrete culverts sentences dancing dangerous in air words to inspire an unbending will to galvanize steely truth to incite the flare of incendiary devices tossed under the body of the Beast as it slouches towards Midnight dragging our souls like tin cans behind a funeral car’s farting buttocks? where is our Howl our prayer for a new millennium our secret wish incanted from cliff tops decanted into the sacred chalice evolutionary Soma proto-cultural psilocybin the high so high that down is up and the lies of the governors float away like milkweed puffs on the winds of change where is our Howl the new language that crouches in the cracks like Nietzschean ninjas in the bush waiting to drop onto muscled backs and with a silent flick of blade cut throats bloated with contempt bury them hide the tracks where is our burn-song our take back die Nacht der Langen Messer the one key moment the play of ideas in the lock that unhexes and dezombifies that shows us that we could be as brilliant as whales as bee hives as turtles as wise as owls and as relentless in the hunt where is our Howl our now-song bleeding red our heart-sick warriors sacking another Rome our artists making millions while marketeers beg for bread on the craven streets inside their iphones and those who pass by the hungry suddenly lose their looks and the world is seen for what it is a wall of pretty anaesthetizing meat hooks where is our Howl our here is what is our migration-ready wings buzzing like reeds in a sax crazy bebop band where is our music, the new currency our quality of mercy our well of good will and who will stand up and speak for the Moon goddess grow a Jewish beat poet beard wear androgynous sandals become the black wolf swaying to the swoon of civilization’s discontent take Gaia’s battered face in his hands kiss her full on the mouth make love to her voluptuous lands and bray through her orgasm into the concupiscent darkness of our times WHERE IS OUR HOWL harry posner
