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Best Famous Peter Orlovsky Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Peter Orlovsky poems. This is a select list of the best famous Peter Orlovsky poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Peter Orlovsky poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Peter Orlovsky poems.

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by Peter Orlovsky | |

FRIST POEM

 A rainbow comes pouring into my window, I am electrified.
Songs burst from my breast, all my crying stops, mistory fills the air.
I look for my shues under my bed.
A fat colored woman becomes my mother.
I have no false teeth yet.
Suddenly ten children sit on my lap.
I grow a beard in one day.
I drink a hole bottle of wine with my eyes shut.
I draw on paper and I feel I am two again.
I want everybody to talk to me.
I empty the garbage on the tabol.
I invite thousands of bottles into my room, June bugs I call them.
I use the typewritter as my pillow.
A spoon becomes a fork before my eyes.
Bums give all their money to me.
All I need is a mirror for the rest of my life.
My frist five years I lived in chicken coups with not enough bacon.
My mother showed her witch face in the night and told stories of blue beards.
My dreams lifted me right out of my bed.
I dreamt I jumped into the nozzle of a gun to fight it out with a bullet.
I met Kafka and he jumped over a building to get away from me.
My body turned into sugar, poured into tea I found the meaning of life All I needed was ink to be a black boy.
I walk on the street looking for eyes that will caress my face.
I sang in the elevators believing I was going to heaven.
I got off at the 86th floor, walked down the corridor looking for fresh butts.
My comes turns into a silver dollar on the bed.
I look out the window and see nobody, I go down to the street, look up at my window and see nobody.
So I talk to the fire hydrant, asking "Do you have bigger tears then I do?" Nobody around, I piss anywhere.
My Gabriel horns, my Gabriel horns: unfold the cheerfulies, my gay jubilation.
Nov.
24th, 1957, Paris


by Peter Orlovsky | |

My Bed is Covered Yellow

  My bed is covered yellow - Oh Sun, I sit on you
Oh golden field I lay on you
Oh money I dream of you
 More, More, cried the bed - talk to me more -
Oh bed that taked the weight of the world -
 all the lost dreams laid on you
Oh bed that grows no hair, that cannot be fucked
 or can be fucked
Oh bed crumbs of all ages spiled on you
Oh yellow bed march to the sun whear yr journey will be done
Oh 50 lbs.
of bed that takes 400 more lbs- how strong you are Oh bed, only for man & not for animals yellow bed when will the animals have equal rights? Oh 4 legged bed off the floor forever built Oh yellow bed all the news of the world lay on you at one time or another 1957, Paris


by Peter Orlovsky | |

Snail Poem

 Make my grave shape of heart so like a flower be free aired
 & handsome felt,
Grave root pillow, tung up from grave & wigle at
 blown up clowd.
Ear turnes close to underlayer of green felt moss & sound of rain dribble thru this layer down to the roots that will tickle my ear.
Hay grave, my toes need cutting so file away in sound curve or Garbage grave, way above my head, blood will soon trickle in my ear - no choise but the grave, so cat & sheep are daisey turned.
Train will tug my grave, my breath hueing gentil vapor between weel & track.
So kitten string & ball, jumpe over this mound so gently & cutely So my toe can curl & become a snail & go curiousely on its way.
1958 NYC


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