Long poem by
Ed Ebbs | Details |
This is a draft, my computer is being weird, so I put this here...
As a young boy gangs were common and children were easy prey to satisfy their blooming concept of manhood. To survive without bruises, cuts and possibly your life, you had to size up those approaching, by carefully watching each and every move they make, deciding if you are a target. I cross over the other side of the street, they cross over to the other side matching my movement. Oh God, I'm in trouble, I can see their eyes focused on me and everything inside is screaming. My only escape is the storm sewer at the corner of the street I just passed a few moments ago. Without hesitation, I turned ran for my life. At the street corner I squeeze between the sidewalk above and the street below…a few more pounds and I would have been stuck. The storm sewer is a large concrete box at the street corners with a tunnel that goes somewhere else. The gang is all around outside swinging their chains, sticks and blades. They’re acting like a pack of dogs yelping and hollering with their prey trapped in a corner. They start working on the manhole cover with a crowbar that would give them access to me below. Fear is getting the best of me so there was only one choice, I’m not safe here anymore. I quickly entered the large pipe and went deeper into a abyss. The tunnel from above to the street connects to another tunnel large enough for a car to pass through.
They’re following me now so I run down the tunnel into the darkness and then stop to listen. They're not following anymore, but I ran so far I cannot see nothing. I start to walk and bump into a wall in the tunnel. I can’t go back the way I came, but with the nothingness is all around me, and I am not sure what direction that would be. I remember running down the left side of the tunnel before I stopped to listen. When I start to walk again I ran into a wall so that must be the right side. I decide to continue, but felt more comfortable on the left side, so I turn and walk towards the left side, which seems like an eternity until I finally touch the wall. The wall was my security because in the nothingness I can’t see my hands or feet, not even a sound. There is no frame of reference, only the wall and the solid ground under my feet. Thank God this was a time before the vampire movies or those of Freddy Krueger; I had only the Alfred Hichcook movies to pull fears from. Continuing through this nothingness a beam of light begins to appear from above. It’s amazing how much light is coming from this little tiny whole in that manhole cover—it lights up the whole area. I stand there amazed and I take a deep breath in this light, it has been a long journey. As I stand I notice a ladder leading up to a possible escape. Listening carefully before pushing up on the cover...I'm not strong enough. Many of the manhole covers were spot welded by the public works department to prevent an open manhole in the middle of a street. I climb down from the ladder and pause for a few moments in the light absorbing what I could before continuing on; this tunnel must lead somewhere, right? Another beam of light, another welded manhole cover. The fear of the gang is now long past, my only thoughts are those of being lost and hopelessness. I remember a verse I was taught about falling down, that the faithful fall down seven times, but they get up again..at least that is how I remember it. Words from a Sunday school teacher. I was terrible at remembering those scriptures to get those stickers, but I remember what the verses meant. The nothingness continues as I walk, I am missing those little beams of light. The floor below is beginning to get damp, egads, what am I walking on; I can’t see a thing and I'm too afraid to stop touching the wall or even stooping down, the wall is my security. I have forgotten everything and I am only focused on the wall and walking. The dampness becomes wet and the wet to splashing. A moment of fear, I pause to sense any movement of the water, am I going the wrong way, am I about to get swallowed up by a wall of water. The water seems to be static and the nothingness yields no sounds, so I continue. Finally, salvation from a beam of light shining from above reveals little fish in the water below. I'm headed to the ocean, I'm sure, confidence starts to be renewed. The movie Jaws was years away so there were no fears. The nothingness continues until there is a light at the end of the tunnel. The wall is no longer my security, I can follow the light. The water is at my knees as I continue towards the light. I can smell the ocean and feel a breeze. I can see the ocean and the sand,,,and a bar screen blocking my escape—feeling lost and defeated. Looking closely at this bar screen in the way of my freedom, one corner has been pulled away, it’s bent outward under the high tide. I can’t go back there is only nothingness, so I take a deep breath and down I go. My shirt snags on something as I start to reach around to the other side and pull. I struggle, my shirt tears and I am free. I look around at the beach, it’s rather windy, only a few walking along the beach, but it’s sunny! I turn in a circle to get my bearings, it’s sure great to be alive and free. Months later they’re welding bars over these points of escape. I am heavier now, and I would not fit anyway, but I ponder about my escape, what about others. I am sad for them.
Long poem by
Dylan Irvin | Details |
Phantom Journal Entry 1
Wednesday 8:03 A.M.
I found Jesus at a bus stop this morning. He recommended that I comb my hair. I told him if I had any nails I would hand them over. Monty found a shoe full of vomit by a dumpster. Someone had an interesting night. This apartment smells like stale french fries. Frank is still sleeping on the counter next to Mr. Coffee. There is a stray cat clawing at the windowpane. The town is gradually waking up. The park across the street is filled with shirkers. My mind is still living in last night’s conversation. But I don’t remember it very well. Shit, I’m going to be late for
Phantom Journal Entry 2
Wednesday 11:13 P.M.
Work sucked. I think the bartender is an alcoholic. She hides a flask in her bra. It fell out when we were in the stall together. Frank is sprawled across the kitchen floor. Monty steps over him to grab a beer. The stray cat is now sleeping on the windowpane. Nothing ever changes from morning to night. Except Monty is drinking coffee and not beer.
Phantom Journal Entry 3
Good Friday 9:47 P.M.
The ocean left the brine. The girls here are all made of smoke, and their dreams are living in my beer. The worms are drunk on the stove. Frank passed out hugging the toilet. Monty takes a piss right next to his face. Some girl just asked me what I was writing. I told her that I was rewriting the Bible. She seemed confused. Her hair wasn’t combed either. The guy at the bus stop would be ashamed. I can’t remember his name though. The television can’t stop spewing poorly scripted ‘reality’ shows. This Friday isn’t very Good.
Phantom Journal Entry 4
Monday 3:12 A.M.
My eyes are broken garage doors off the tracks. I’ve drank too much Red Bull. She keeps waking up and asking me for water. Apparently her mouth is in a drought. A dead soldier lays between her breasts. Frank keeps drooling on the carpet. My favorite ash tray is tipped over next to Mr. Coffee. This desk keeps hiding words from me. Monty wonders how much a plane ticket to Hell costs. He never sleeps.
Phantom Journal Entry 5
Thursday 12:31 A.M.
It smells of raw fish and bleach in here. My palms are sore. Monty told me to stab myself with pencils to make sure I could still bleed. So I did. That girl ordered me a pizza. But I forgot it under the couch. The medicine chest is nearly empty. When Frank wakes up he is taking a trip to 5th Street to get more. I wonder if they sell bandages there? Will Mr. Coffee brew marijuana for us? My brain is starting to throw up.
Phantom Journal Entry 6
Thursday 12:38 A.M.
This desk keeps mocking me. I offered it to the guy at the bus stop, but he said he didn’t want anymore wood. The dishes are now a chemistry project. But Mr. Coffee is always clean. I can’t get this girl to stop showing me her tattoos. I miss the bartender at work. She got fired tomorrow. So I bought her a new bra. The medicine chest is empty now. Frank is never awake when I write.
Phantom Journal Entry 7
Thursday 4:30 P.M.
I finally got the garage doors fixed. I guess they weren’t closed enough. There is a ghost that keeps haunting the hallway in my dreams. She is pretty hot. Except she keeps tilting the pictures on the wall.
The thirsty girl still won’t leave. Neither will the cat. We may have found the cure for cancer in our dishes. But probably not. Frank is talking in his sleep about stepping on rats. Monty is listening to Beethoven while he attempts to write poetry. He is an awful writer.
Phantom Journal Entry 8
Monday 1:49 A.M.
The guy at the bus stop asked me if I wanted to drink his blood. I told him I wasn’t thirsty. The water was running from the shower. Frank was dreaming in the tub. Monty ate chicken wings with the tattooed girl. I can’t remember her name. I think that cat is hungry too. Mr. Coffee wants to go to sleep. There is broken glass sticking out of my feet. The sky is bleeding white. My mind begins to masturbate.
Phantom Journal Entry 9
Sunday 3:33 A.M.
The brine is looking for the ocean. The girls here are all made of smoke, and their realities are dead on the floor. This desk is growing a face. The medicine chest is full. Monty picks up a filthy habit from the black lake. I haven’t seen Frank for a few days. He must be under the couch. I robbed the guy at the bus stop. Turns out he didn’t really save much. The thirsty tattooed girl shattered Mr. Coffee last night. I will miss him dearly. Now my shot glass is spawning worms.
Phantom Journal Entry 10
Tuesday and I don’t know what time it is
It’s been 369 days since I last wrote an entry. I’ve simply had nothing to say. Monty is living in the streets somewhere. I think of him every time I buy a loaf of bread. I wonder if he found out how much tickets cost? That cat finally starved a few weeks ago. I married that thirsty tattooed girl. I still don’t remember her name though. Frank went to sleep in someone elses apartment. Never did talk to him much. The worms are all marching in a line. Someone stole my medicine chest. I think it was Monty. The guy at the bus stop was thrown into an asylum. But somehow vanished one day. The garage doors are now closed on a regular basis. That ghost finally straightened out the tilted pictures. I think I’ve been combing my hair a lot better lately. I am still a phantom to society. But that’s okay. Nobody knows my name.
Long poem by
Ralph Sergi | Details |
By the lamppost at night
with the pale moon shining bright
but obscured by the fog
I saw her in the harbor
standing where my boat lay moored
but she knew that
her azure eyes beckoned me to come
smoke from the cigarette in her hand
trailing upward and blending with the mist
and the gold braid around her wrist
I remembered my gift
I stood transfixed
if only for a moment
then I walked to her slowly
and tipped my fedora
and the little joke we shared in love
I asked,"Where have you been all my life?"
Waiting for you, she said
I laughed at her resentfully and said
You left me here from this place
without a note, without a trace
I scoured old haunts, you weren't there
you left as if you didn't care
Remember our walks along the shore
your favorite drink,that special place
in the cafe by the window
where the sun would shine on your hair
and leaving a golden glint
like it did on my boat
when it was in full sail
Then one day you went away
our love became a mystery
that was never solved
now your'e here and I ask you why
There was a war, she said
I lost this guy and you came along
to fill the void and share my sorrow
I loved you, Jake, your silly hat
the way you tipped it, the boat , the cat
who begged for fish after each catch
she paused and lit another smoke .
took a puff and exhaled and said
Then one day , he showed up , his name was Clive
the guy I mentioned had survived
and left his tags with a guy who died
and he became an MIA
he was hiding out in Mandalay
involved in something, he wouldn't say
but he wanted me there, he promised me fame
I was a singer, you know
and all the dough that I could want
or all I could take
I just had to know how to play the game
Then I thought of you Jake
and what we had
and I told him , No
He got mean, Jake
and threatened to expose me
for what I really was
and I couldn't bear for you to hear
my sordid past, my constant fear
we're both alike, you and me, he said
We'll take what the world has to give
and grab it by the throat
or I’ll destroy you if you don’t
As time went by,it didn't take long
to see he was singing a different song
His lies and schemes, the other dolls
I lost my respect and I didn't care
I had to get out, I needed a plan
to rid myself of this rotten man
There was this guy, Buck
who ran the bar, he pitied the plight
that I was in, he hated Clive as much as I
I told him I watched Clive at the end of each night
the cash he hid in a special place
no doubt to leave in a hurry in case things got hot
he would check to see how much was stashed
if it was worth the dare, we would split down the middle
and make our departure at the crack of dawn
I knew a Burmese captain who owned a scow
who asked no questions for a fee
he'd have some cabins for you and me
Just before closing , I feigned getting ill
and called for Clive to aid me somehow
to stay awhile and give me a pill
and while he was there, Buck went to that spot
took the cash and lit out that night to wait for me.
at a pre destined place
My bag was packed in another room
I told Clive I would rest and join him soon
But as soon as he left, I slipped out
to the back, grabbed a cab
headed for freedom away from that man
thinking of you and to make things right
She paused for a moment and put out her smoke
and I thought I saw a drop of blood
form on the corner of her mouth
she quickly wiped her hand across her face
and continued her story at a slower pace
I arrived at the pier where the scow lay docked
took one look behind me and looked at the clock
of the building where we were to meet
checked my watch that matched the time
I saw a jeep pull up and he saw me
two grips in his hand and a smile on his face
he said, I got his dough, I'll leave his jeep
It's the least I can do for that miserable creep
I said there's no time to waste
just show me the dough
we'll split down the middle and get ready to go
he said, "Oh"
I'm ready to go but my plans have changed
I'm traveling alone
but I'll leave just enough to change your luck
this one's for you and this one's for Buck
I suspected as much and I scowled as he grinned
but his mouth shaped an O as he looked down below
the knife in his stomach pulsed blood from his guts
too late I saw his gun come up as he fell
I fell a pain in my side and clutched my coat
I picked up the bags
and summoned up strength to get onto the boat
I looked at the captain and said
There's double the price
if we can get away soon
get up some steam
and head for Rangoon
the captain patched me up
as good as he could
with the aid of some rum and a smoldering wood
to cauterize the wound
I knew it was wrong to take his life
but I was prepared to kill him
to end this strife
as a precaution, I took the knife
that we used to cut bait with
a long time ago
the knife stirred up memories
that you and I had
that pressed my decision to leave that cad
but the wound didn't heal, the lead lay impacted
I was resigned to my fate to see you once more
before it's too late... and here you are
She collapsed in my arms and I held her tight
with tears in my eyes , her audible sighs
gasping for breath and leaning toward death
And before she expired, her hand on my face
Where have you been all life, babe
waiting for you, I cried
waiting for you
A tribute to the black and white movies and dialogue of the late 30’s and 40’s
© Ralph Sergi
Long poem by
Jack Scott | Details |
It is so hard to let go of love,
unpeels more gut more quickly
than reel or reeler ever lost
in all those years of lazy inches
in and out:
winding in and playing out,
hardly fishing, rarely catching
from the deepness out of sight,
hardly ever losing . . .
Blisters lust into the greedy thumb.
the startled brake lets go.
It dives full length into the never,
finds the limit of its leash,
pounds against its half-round prison,
at end of end of rope -
Got you, shrieks the reel and reeler
cranking in the give and take.
The line is taut,
the weight upon it heavy,
and waiting . . .
. . .waiting for adrenaline:
against the angry, smoldering thumb.
Caught to catcher,
fish to fisher:
let me go!
It tries too hard to turn to something else: away.
Away and bottom still beyond the knot,
the creature climbs toward the light,
her leap, an alchemy:
silver unto gold.
crinkled all about.
Million mile amnesia.
a flash of tooth,
then placid lips close over any sign of youth . . .
. . . as if the fish had never been.
-the fisher wonders:
The line is limp
as if . . .
for all the years of it,
nothing at its other end.
A flash of recognition:
she leaps another time,
not knowing if what held her holds.
Silver fish scales golden ladder
a sunbeam at a time,
and all the rungs of memory -
breaks air an instant.
The line has held
and as she leaps, it claims her,
a thunder clap.
Arrested in her flight,
she drops deadweight into the bucket sea-
fish to air to gold to water,
Of the gold,
an afterglow centered in the thumb.
Did it happen?
Was she really there?
Air turns to air once more,
the fisherman to memory,
pig-a-back the job at hand,
one slender monofilament insisting: no!
and memory, another plastic,
refusing to let go.
my pretty lovely,
so flying and so softly spun,
you seemed the air to me.
So high and free,
so very near the sun,
my tears dissolve the earth’s connection.
The line my hands are holding:
to limit freedom at its height,
impossible without restraint-
the line between us,
subtle and so gossamer.
There, it glinted,
there! So very real.
Real . . .
The hook is realer.
Tangerine transfusion from the fastened lip,
bleeds unreckoned into the larger blue.
The sea - as wide as weakness -
sucks the strength without a hunger.
Tired, the hooked,
and tiring even more,
the line grows stronger,
shortening toward the bobber boat.
I’ve got her, cries the fisherman,
raping at dead weight,
dragging mystery toward the kitchen
-on his mind is steak.
Slaughter, separate from supper,
passion with a knife,
the knife . . .
. . . the knife is ready
held tight between the skinless thumb,
and vendetta fingers -
five Sicilian brothers
waiting for their sister to come home.
The other hand around the rod
is closing on the lover’s throat.
The rod’s erect,
the reel is angry.
Come, my dear, come, come.
She hears the music of the end,
the bowstring whine of gut
still lean and taut from her weight alone,
hears the rhythm of the reel
and tries to run once more
-provoking lust to snatch still harder-
but can’t . . .
. . . is free at last
surrendered with the last of blood:
quicksilver nearing zero-
and two dollars worth of ice.
(a virgin: never dead before)
betrayed and penetrated,
(it’s time now to give in, enjoy)
rests her weight upon the line,
toward the bottom of the boat.
The whore! I see her in the water!
She gave me quite a fight.
The captain, ready with the gaff,
the lover, in his rented swivel chair,
seize her from the water.
The maiden’s heartbeat
is faint and futile as a final cry of rape.
Her breath is fear, yet sounds like passion
at the very end.
Her swoon is now complete.
Her swain is prickled with his heat.
His blood pounds within his thumb.
is left alone with her.
He ponders . . .
. . . while he does,
she pales and sheds her rainbow.
Her eyes turn glassy from the air,
She’s turned to meat.
He lusts at memory for a moment,
then dries the little sweat
and goes forward for a beer,
and band aids.
The captain’s seen it all before,
surgically removes the hook
and tidies up the gear.
He and the mate carry her to the ice
and lay her out within the cold.
The mate disinfects the deck
with sea water and a stiff brush.
Returning with his second beer,
a badge of gauze and Vaseline upon his thumb,
the lover is confused.
The deck, shipshape,
of scales and blood
it all might not have happened.
Then there would be hope.
The mate calls him to the ice chest
for the viewing,
opens it . .
I’ve lost her. There she is.
The smell . . . it must wash off !
Time to go home.
The sea is empty.
It is over.
Long poem by
Shadow Hamilton | Details |
Two friends were travelling to the east seeking unexplored lands
eventually they reached some grim looking tall mountains
slowly they made their way up to the summit and stood there
Breathlessly they were amazed by the panoramic view before them
Vast areas of open lands stretched out with lakes and forests dotted about
"what a wonderful place" said McLeod "lets climb down and explore it "
they set off it took a long time to get down to the valleys below
they set up camp by a crystal clear spring full of big fat fish
"Supper" said McBram "lets try to catch some" with only their hands
they set about fishing, soon four
fat silver fish had been tickled out
lighting a fire they found a good flat stone on which to bake the fish
the teasing enticing smell of the fish soon filled the air
They saved two which they smoked to carry with them
that night as they slept a bear raided the camp stealing
the smoked fish. Luckily sated it did not attack them
"Drat no breakfast" said McLeod " lets catch and cook some more"
Finally ready they set off following the stream down to a lake
there were plenty of familiar fruits and berries for them to gather
also many strange ones that tempted them "best not eat them" said McBram
"They could be poisonousness". "No look the birds are eating them"
Reassured they tucked in eating a few and collecting some for later
suddenly with a mighty sound a mound rose up with a cave in it
the two friends looked at each other in bewilderment . "What's that
where did it come from?" asked McBram as slowly they entered the vast entrance
An eerie light flooded the cave, it was being emitted by some red crystals
they looked at each other and going over to them they touched them
with a flash they were suddenly spinning through time itself
crashing down they found themselves many moons in the past
Before them they could see strange looking people that bowed before them
a weird man dressed in skins with a stick that was shaped like a snake
pointed it at them it seemed alive as it hissed at the friends wreathing
"These are the promised ones" he said "The ones foretold of in prophecies"
"They have come here from the future to fore-fill the ancient legend"
the friends were feted by these people who treated them like kings
and the following day they were led to an ancient monolith
and strapped to it. "What is going on" asked McLeod "why have you tied us up?"
"To stop the dragon carrying you off" said the shaman "The prophecy foretells
you must defeat it to rid our lands of its evil purpose. At full moon it takes a maiden
and some of the children and feasts on them. You with your swords of iron can
defeat it." "Well we have never seen on before" said McLeod
"How are we supposed to defeat it" "I have a magic potion" said the shaman
"drink it and its fiery breath will not harm you. With its protection you must
then strike the dragon in both its eye then its heart" Giving them their swords
the villagers scurried off to hide. Soon there was a mighty roar and the dragon
flew down breathing fire, its talons outstretched to grab them. McBram went
for its eye running his sword into it sending it blind, while McLeod struck it deep
in its heart. The dragon fell to the ground and laid there dead. The villagers
came out of hiding and prepared a great feast in their honour
Towards the end of the celebration the shaman gave them both a bowl
"Drink this, he said "It will return you to your own time" So they drank it
and found themselves again spinning through time. They saw many different times
and strange places as they were whirled back to the present
Unconscious they laid on the ground slowly coming to, they were back at their camp
on coming to they looked at each other in puzzled bewilderment. Talking about
what had occurred they decided it must have been an illumination. Until they saw
lying on the ground some dragon scales collecting them up they returned home
Their friends scoffed at their story saying they had dreamt it all, there were no
longer dragons in this land. The two friends showed the others the dragon's scales
which were stared at with awe and amazement. Right there and then the two
friends decided they would stay at home safe with family and friends
Maybe to be continued
Long poem by
T Wignesan | Details |
The Deception of Free Verse: Dreams I, Translation of Etiemble’s L’imposture du vers libre by T. Wignesan
(From René Etiemble’s only poetry collection: le Coeur et la cendre: soixante ans de poésie (the heart and the ash sixty years of poetry). Paris: Les deux animaux, 1984, pp. 123-126.)
Yet He, who contemplated his incandescent world
and the sterile streaming
of the lava,
drunk with the swirling of the primal incense
His shape, during that period, took on all forms
ten thousand beings milling in him, inexistants;
the amoebas mixed with gigantosaurs
awaiting the hour
of the amoebagigantosaurs.
How you were divine, God, before the Creation
of your own non-being,
before your sacrifice, your suicide,
how divinely monstrous:
I see you such as I was you in your entrails
all the bodies of all the fishes in all the seas in all ponds,
blossoming on greenish scales of mackerels, the fins
shining on roaches
and red fish,
in all the wings in all the albatrosses feathery
in all the skies,
the wings of all the chicken,
walking on the thousand feet of all the scolopenders
on the four hairy columns of mammoths,
of rough rhinoceroses
on the four legs of lambs
on the two feet of all pterodactyls
of all ducks,
of all humans,
on the rings of all the earthworms.
Your voice which charms deaf rocks more
than songs of future sirens
sometimes raucously roared;
your caresses bill-cooing turtle-doves
when your ten thouand mouths opened.
hermophrodite inseminated by its universal sperm
bearing plants and beasts, all
and the woman whose womb as yet to be formed
dreamed in this way:
The scintillating effervescence of granite, of basalts,
freeze into position thus:
Mountains of rock, organs of Titan, cristals of fire.
Collapsing clouds, rapid cataracts
tumble down abrupt stony walls.
The earth swells valleys
mother earth made pregnant by ferns of great shadows.
Ocean rivers sweep along continents
open into flanks of mountains’ heroic holes
pour a freshness of love on thirsty roots…
the first pollen grain pollutes the first pistil.
The first flesh dazzled by the light
sketches the quiverings of joy that will be.
Two lives lie in the wet clay
ten thousand lives.
The eye – without becoming the enormous dreamer –
closes over this total image of its death
sees the saurian ichthyophages
horned beaks with sharp teeth
all the theory of winged horses
men without wings
And I, on this earth where I was dropped by mistake
In your dream
however much I raised my eyes higher than the clouds,
however much I scrutinised the celestial transparence
however much I could recall the person who in your
entrails I was as you
no more do I see your face in its ten thousand true
nothing more do I hear
the rustling of so many snowy and metallic scales over
so many feathers.
“No! No! Not this reckless Golgotha!
God! You are mistaken.
God! I surrender myself (only) to you yourself.”
But the winds wailed with the wolves
“Just as well!”
At last my egoism refuses to accept the cross the spear
and the sponge
with the venom
Why then every evening the same stars
entice themselves into the self-same ponds?
Stars, make yourselves scarce!
I know all about you and your promenades.
Too docile, horses offer their jaw bits on flanks where
spurs caress the necks.
Water which flows so miraculously so fastidiously servile:
seas part themselves,
alcarazas freeze lips.
Every night when fatigue overcomes me with sleep
retracts its golden claws in order not to derange my
Drunk with power
like a Ceasar like a Nero like a Caligula
I make myself small
“O! such as I was you in your entrails
allow me the remembrance and the regret.”
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2014
Long poem by
Loch David Crane | Details |
The Mojo Trick
Loch David Crane
Sweat-sticky and hot! The P. I. is not
a comfortable place to be;
but sit here and perspire (as though by the fire)
and I'll tell a tale to thee.
I was coming alive in a Philippine dive
after Mojo and San Miguels;
the raging fire in my stomach went higher
but my sea legs rode out the swells.
I began with a pitcher of Mojo that hit
a spot in my appetite;
and glass after glass I drank till the last
and soon was feeling just right.
Then a hostess sat down in a low-cut gown
and asked "I sit with you tonight?"
And I nodded OK in a nonchalant way
so she seated herself on my right.
Now the hostesses here are all drink San Miguel beer
And the same is served all around;
but it don't show much class to charge five times' a glass
when serving's the same size per round.
So you pay a dear price to drink beer over ice
which is how it is served in P.I.;
if you buy a girl beer when she says "I work here,"
then she knows you're a Big Spender guy.
So I looked at this girl and my mind began to whirl
and the Mojo played a trick.
Her face was so funny – a nose like a bunny –
I wouldn't let her flick my Bic!
I won’t call her ugly, but with that funny mug she'd
make customers run and hide;
you could send that girl in to a crowded room; then
watch as horrified man stepped outside.
So as I drank my beer with a grin ear to ear
I said "My name is Billy, I think."
She was hardly demure; she said "My name is La Tour.
I love you no lie. Buy me drink."
Well I should have said "no," and let the chick go
but I wasn't alone in the place;
and the thought of all night with this dog was a fright
though her body was nice – but that face!
I thought "just one more brew,” cause I'd only had two,
and I said that I'd buy her a drink.
Then she gave me a grin with her toothless brown chin
and my self image started to sink.
But because I was shy (I'm just that sort of guy)
I just couldn't tell her to leave;
so I stared at the band and I drummed with my hand
and I brushed off the lint from my sleeve.
Well the music was fine; but the bar girl's next line
was to say "Are you married, young man?"
And I saw my way out and lied with a pout –
told her I had a wife in Japan.
So she finished her beer, and was soon gone from here,
and I ordered two beers to celebrate;
I was lucky, I thought, not to get caught
between her and a magistrate.
For the Philippine girls wear long dresses and curls
and use perfume and makeup for baits;
for to marry a guy, seaman or G.I.,
means a free trip back to the States.
Then a man from the crew asked me "What's wrong with you?
Why did you let that girl go?"
And I told him her face was scare spots off an ace
but he looked back at me and said "No."
I called for "beer 12" and started to delve
into my pocket for money;
my friend said "I'll buy," and his cash didn't lie,
and "Mind if I sit with your honey?"
I said "you can do just what you want to do,"
and I said that I couldn’t look at her;
but he thought she was cute, had a nice bod to boot,
so I nodded to go ahead after.
But beer thirteen made my vision grow keen,
and I saw what a prize I had missed;
"I have drunk too much brew! She was beautiful, too."
as I saw him voluptuously kissed.
I thought "How could this be? She said she loved me! "
My hand shook; my ice cubes went clink.
I heard her say to him "My name is Tuptim.
I love you no lie. By me drink."
So I smiled. I was glad; I was no longer mad
'cause the Mojo had clouded my eyes;
I realized then she was after my friend,
and I hoped he was quick with his lies.
So it's "sailor beware!" In Olongopo there;
where the girls fish for guys in the bars;
and though I often roam, I always come home,
– single! Thanking my lucky stars.
– By the Phantom of the O2 level
(O1 and O2 are Officer’s and Civilians’ quarters on the USS Kitty Hawk; I taught English aboard several ships at sea, in the Program Afloat for College Education.)
Long poem by
Stephen Kilmer | Details |
By 9:00PM I was ready to go. Dark pants, shirt, shoes, and watch cap. The classic night on the town combo setup for a not so hip killer. But these days you could get away with it because gothic was a style. I didn’t bring my girl with me. I never kill on the first reconnaissance. I did pack a knife and 32MM Walthers just encase things got dicey. I took my time and slowly slipped up into the hills, no need to get pulled over by LAPD. As I closed in on the house I turned off the lights and the engine and glided to within 50 yards of the target. The upstairs lights were still on and I could see one or two shadows moving around. I would have to get closer. I figured I would give it about an hour after lights out and break in and get a lay out of the house and see who was there. It was dangerous but I had done it before and learned that moving slow was the key.
Lights went out at 11:30 PM on the nose. A man of habit I liked that in a mark. I smoked and waited another hour and then slipped out of the car and moved quickly toward the house. I went over the back fence and stopped and waited. No dog. Even better. Staying in the shadows I moved to the backdoor and picked the lock. Once inside I settled down for a few minutes to get my bearings and listen to the sounds of the house. It is very important to know how the house sounds, how it breathes, moves, and lives before you start to move around in it. It can give you away in heartbeat. I calmed my breathing and started moving slowly through the kitchen. I could smell fish and vinaigrette. Some one had been eating healthy. A bottle of wine was corked on the island. The dishes were put up and everything appeared spotless. Either there was a woman in the house or this guy was gay. I settled for the former and not the latter. There was definitely someone else in the house. A familiar scent caught my attention and then faded away. I needed to be careful. Something wasn’t right about it this hit. Once through the kitchen I made my way to the master bedroom, which would no doubt hold, my victim. He was asleep with a CPAP machine by the bedside and a mask over his face. Apparently he had sleep apnea, which means he was probably taking Ambien and a combination of other sleep drugs. I crept over to his bed stand and slowly took his medication bottles to see what he was taking. I was right. He was sleeping with the prince Ambien. He was out like a log. And even if he did wake he wouldn’t remember a thing. Suddenly I heard footsteps upstairs. I lay flat on the floor and froze. Within a few minutes I heard the toilet flush. He definitely had a friend. Time to chill and then go upstairs. I didn’t want to have to kill two people but sometimes it is necessary.
I don’t know how long I lay there on the floor but it seemed like an eternity. I checked my watch and it had been 30 minutes. Time to move upstairs. Stairs can be tricky because they always creek and groan. I have found that quickly but lightly moving up them causes the least amount of problems. I was on the second floor in a matter of seconds. Again I smelled a familiar odor. What was it? It seemed so familiar. There were three doors in the hallway one closed and the two open. I assumed the other person was behind the closed door. I quickly checked the other two rooms and nothing. A bathroom and a spare bedroom turned into a study. With the patience of a cat I slowly tested the knob on the third door, it opened without any resistance. I slowly pushed it open and stayed close to the floor. I could hear gently breathing in a slow rhythmic pattern. From the sound and the aroma I could tell it was a woman. I was beginning to think I new this woman. As I got closer I realized it was Anna. I hadn’t put it together the last name of Collins but there it was, right in front of me. I pulled up a chair and watched her breathing. All I could hear was her and the clock ticking out the seconds. Time seemed to stand to still. I had a problem. I needed to think.
Long poem by
Shadow Hamilton | Details |
It is Monday, today is pay the bills and light shop.
All this after we have been for the morning run.
The dogs are always keen, they trot beside me
as at ten miles an hour we cover the ground
Always pleased to see their friends we stop and chat.
A full mile we go in a circuit of my village.
Then home for their breakfast while I make lunch.
In the car we stop at the village post office and shop.
Do the essentials like feeding metres and buying cigs.
On into town we hit the supermarket for some staples.
Now the dogs favourite time when we go to our trading estate
which is being knocked down for housing and mainly now vacant.
Here they stretch their legs and chase each other, rabbits beware!
Tired they pile back into the car and doze on the way home.
Chat to a few passer's by as I lock up the gates, then
time to make supper and feed us all, water the garden too many tubs.
Now I settle down its poetry time read a few write if I can.
Total self indulgence as I disappear into the words I read
An hour or so of telly or maybe a computer game its ten pm
dogs go to bed just me and my three cats we watch Tommy Walsh.
A last check on the beloved soup sure to be a good new poem
waiting there, surfeit and happy I again indulge in written words.
Decide if I am staying downstairs on the day bed or going upstairs.
Read some pages of a good novel usually a crime book then to sleep.
Tuesday up bright and early its main shopping day
Trudge around the various stores, head home to unload
In the afternoon we go out maybe up on the hills
or on to Exmoor maybe one of the two reservoirs.
Here I stroll, while they play looking around noting the changes
that have occurred since last I was here, watching the buzzards
swoop and play and if lucky a hawk or two to enjoy.
Often a glimpse of a red deer or some boxing hares.
Home to the nightly routine with a slight difference
tonight, its off to local obedience training as a
well taught dog is pleasant to be around and its fun for us all.
Chit chat with the other handlers praising if they did well.
Wednesday usual routine then out in the garden to weed and tidy.
Net the leaves from the ponds while watching the fish and newts.
Gather what apples are ripe and give everything a good water.
Early lunch and off to Wales for some ring craft training.
Thursday its the first in the month tonight is poetry group.
First its see to the dogs a walk down the fields by the river.
Sort out which poems I will read tonight at the open mike.
Listen to what the other poets read and to our guest poetry speaker.
Have fun discussing the various new poems and just catching up
Drive home and often inspired, sit down and write a new poem or two.
Feeling well satisfied with my week so far I turn to other poets work
and slip off into the beauty and images they inspire. What a treat!
Friday butchers day to pick up meat and bones for the dogs
They know its in the car their noses twitching in anticipation.
Supermarket yet again running low on fresh staples time to stock up.
Afternoon its usually down to the beach where the dogs chase the waves.
Weekend some grooming prettying up the dogs we are off to a show.
Hanging around waiting for our classes to start then its time we are on.
Proudly they strut their stuff showing off to the judge, will we get placed?
We beat them all at the last show. Yes, yes Minstral has another 1st.
Bundell managed a 3rd he still needs time to mature next year he will do well.
Sunday dawns a day that weekly changes sometimes a BBQ or a family meal.
Another we will be off to Wales for more training or a show perhaps, or
A day to relax and visit friends and catch up with their news.
No matter what the day there's always plenty to do, did I mention housework?
Nah, that's far too mundane its always there hovering, waiting in the wings.
Some days have not enough hours, time relentless ticking on. So much to do.
Yet it is seldom boring living in this madhouse of mine. Bless all animals.
Long poem by
Poetryof Providence | Details |
All that does encompass bespeaks wonder in everything
bubbling brooks and waterfalls does your glory ring
terrestrial and celestial ever fill our eyes with seeing
how can not it's splendor not fill our very being
raindrops in waters with their rippling wake
and mesmerize our souls does the rushing make
gentle breezes lifting dappled leaves in dance
and some say it all came about by chance
How does this effusion elude a single man
when everywhere one turns it's radiance does stand
Nebula and quasar adorns a cloaking sky
and some choose to call the truth a lie
How lofty and profound in it's depth designed
everywhere one turns does God's eminence remind
lavender and magenta do our roses wear
magnificent in color in tended gardens care
In florescent rainbows are a peacocks feathers
multi patterned flowers among the blooming heathers
many hues of blue stretch across the sky
changing shades of azure of the seas close by
In Africa's dense jungle ring tailed lemurs leap
Asia's tarsier in the day does sleep
the giant and red panda in bamboo forests eat
meerkats make their manor underground to keep
Springbok and Okapi migrate within the land
camels and dromedary travel in the sand
kingfishers underwater dives yet he cannot swim
the hoopoe within Europe summers on a limb
Golden plovers and sandpipers do the beaches run
in every nation some great cat naps beneath the sun
the ruby topaz hummingbird and bird of paradise
the chameleon changes turf and puts on his disguise
Through filtered teeth of whales krill don't stand a chance
and so many speculate it's all just circumstance
At the poles do penguins nest upon the ice
beneath the oceans surface unnamed fish do slice
Everywhere in universe within it's laws do move
meticulous and intricate does creation prove
change the axis of the earth and life would not exist
no missing links have been found and yet the lie persist
The precision of it's interface keeps universe intact
so cohesive is the pattern in every little fact
why is mans reason out of line with the universe
turned his mind away from God just before the curse
To his change the animals haven't been unblind
fear of man and his hand knowing he's not kind
mankind lost respect for law and for himself
focus is on surface and not aware of Satan's stealth
Melodious is the speech of birds outside of our homes
the cacophony of nature with it's many tones
explosive is the energy if the atoms split
the power to enclose it will so few admit
Mankind's exploration isn't nearly done
infinity a subject for learning yet to come
we've barely scratched the surface of mathematics sum
to it's fascination have so many become numb
To winds and tides of doctrines do so many move
who will ask the questions and arguments so prove
the laws that governs universe are so well defined
but the souls that live on earth are of double mind
God has stretched the heavens with a movement of his hand
futility against his knowledge cannot a man to stand
wisdom she does cry and her voice puts forth
to examine natural things and upon your course
Listen not to instruction upon whose path you err
take away it will the life you hope to share
Life itself is precious do not you throw away
if you follow fallen man away from life you'll stray
The cry of the cricket do you understand
there is speech in everything that lives within the land
do you think a crocodile you will ever tame
and things undiscovered we have yet to name
How little understanding exists within man's mind
to exult himself against God's knowledge is he blind
before Jah's understanding mankind's is so weak
why from another man should you your answers seek
Bow your will before him lift your voice in praise
take in his instruction if want you length of days
Consider what you are and what you may become
in beginning were created just like God's own Son
sources Psalms and Proverbs and Ecclesiastes
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