Ode to the British Invasion



Ode to the British Invasion


Savor the succulence of Strawberry Fields

The sweetest of the sentiments blooms and builds

The guitar has powers that it wantonly wields

Brothers in their bands are new-age guilds


The clarion call of London lassoed all America

Every beachhead of sands of silica

The tidal waves of sounds blasted the ephemera

Of John Wayne and GI Joe blundering chimera


When Jagger and Jones made swords of songs

That sliced and slew the wars and all their wrongs

Their anthems were banners that always belongs

The bombast and beauty it pulses, prolongs


Lennon and McCartney were the angels of life

Nursing and subverting, making student strife

And every sweet girl wanted to be their wife

And for them I’m my brothers’ true blue knife


They spread a scarlet stain of Ruby and her Tuesdays

Made us roam in routes of uncharted pathways

Against the crass and the coarse it nobly inveighs

It brightens all the drabness of the flannels and grays


The hair was long, the hips humped and thrusted

The Beat was something you adored and trusted

You smoked the herb and were bullied and busted

Your beaten body had the consistency of custard


But Street Fighting Man comes to the rescue

Revolutions rise and devour anew

The Kings and the Cops won’t have a clue

And another invasion is long overdue


Copyright, David Gottfried, 2013



Poetry and AIDS-related Dementia



Poetry and AIDS-related Dementia


AIDS and crystal have fucked my brain

Harder than a man insane

My intellect did wither and wane

My words are greeted with disdain


The poems once came to me in dreams

They wandered-up my pants’ inseams

Or came from clouds of lightest creams

Such gushing, rushing cerebral streams


And I was made of Arrogance

That always dared to take a chance

Assume the heroic stance

But did I ever really advance


This life’s a ball of puss to lance

Take me out of my morbid trance

Rid my mind of castrating can’ts

Proceed without a passing glance

Copyright, David Gottfried, 2013


Jewish Food



The women are cooking tsimmis and borscht and chicken soup

Everything simmers over burners

Of gas

The fluids are reduced

The Yiddish is refined

To a pure German core

And the grease at the bottom of the pan

The organic essence of the chicken fat

(Carbon rings, lording it over oxygen and hydrogen atoms, just a couple of reactions away from the hydrogen cyanide of the camps)

Is Indistinguishable from



Copyright, David Gottfried, 2003


The Gnashing of the Brain Stem



Even my e mails are poetry

Electrical fillips that tingle the brain

And you will never ascertain

The leonine logic of my disdain


There is in every heart a stain

Of blood so blue its freezing cold

You know the story it’s been told

How sadness, evil, grows enfolds


The mediocre people polled

The mendacity, prized, enthroned

The wisest men pilloried, stoned

The sages true quietly groaned


The last line’s trite you telephoned

The sad descent of this a poem

Not premeditated, phlegm

But visceral pangs from my brain stem


Copyright, David Gottfried, 2013


Ode to the Mind



To cerebrate, to ideate, to while away the hours

To reduce and deduce the flotsam into gems

To irradiate and penetrate with cognitive powers

Marching forward from ape-ish brain stems


To conjure, connote to fabricate a fashion

Of flowers, of parasols, of lanes of pennied plenty

To transform delusion into righteous reason

And make stale reason patent heresy


To twist, to torture, every twig of facts

To make a dead leaf ripple like the sea

To take separate branches and weld them into pacts

And build and burnish the most majestic tree


Metaphors are Petit fours the mind loves to eat

Sugary sensations that makes the dull retreat

To turn A to B is the elemental passion

So furious, so foul, my nuclear fission


Copyright, David Gottfried, 2013

Read my Prose


When will someone read my prose

More succulent than the English rose

All they read is my poetry

Scribblings of obscurity


When will someone heal my woes

A ghoulish thing that hatefully glows

The anode and cathode of my battery

Are rusted and weary and I cease to be


This verse approaches daily new lows

Debauchered as a man in pantyhose

When I rhyme, the meter is wee

When I’m rhythmic, rhyme has no glee


So open your mind and just enclose

My essays where the north wind blows

And sweeps aside the fallacy

And phantoms and fools of calumny


What will I relate, disclose

When will mountains be meadows

What truth torn to heresy

What lie will rise to verity


I will write and I won’t pose

I’ll shout my sermon in bellicose blows

With tenacity and temerity

I stalk the gang plank to mortality


Copyright, David Gottfried, 2013

Oh, but we can’t be seen in public with David Gottfried, Oh No!




Oh but we can’t be seen in public with David Gottfried, Oh No!


He just lacks the faggotty savoir faire

Of a lovely pansy from Sheridan square

Doesn’t have the queenly flair

Of little boys spoiled, suburban and fair


Raw Jewish brains and no grace

Such a ghastly, revolting disgrace

He doesn’t understand his place

That Brooklyn brute should leave our space


He lacks love for Madonna, our art so fine

Shows called “Cats,” all fem and feline

Cares not for Boutiques and its bounty divine

But in musty old books his booty he’ll pine


Reading Nieztsche and Marx and other strange stuff

It all seems so heavy, without any fluff

His ideas are so wanton and wicked and rough

But we’d still like to see him appear in the buff


Copyright, David Gottfried, 1995