Best Ayers Poems

I flip the history of Bojangles
On a cool Sunday evening
Los Angeles coming down
A flow of oboes breathing
Through the lung of the street
The hobo not stopping for air
Fingers moving in a dance
Across the strings of consciousness
Milking the music of his brain
Onto a breast 
Of dilated ears.

Mr....

Continue reading...

The never ending red and torrid dust
Ants, marching, lines, each one inch long
The rock stands tall in dusty land
people fight and bicker where they live
yet strength is gained from giving what we give
each day the marching lines we seem to make
the never ending waste of...

Continue reading...

Red rock
changing hue
morning sun
sky of blue.








Peter Dome .copyright. 2013. Dec....

Continue reading...

Mr Ayers staggers across
The evening news
Unwrapped
Like a bojangles
from his blues
Pictures of things to fly
Tangled in the hair
Like bats
Lips on golden fruits
His finger moves
And from the basoon rise
A string
Of melodies blending
on surprise.

Do not stereotype the sound
Classic Bethoven
On the melting ground
Winged to light
Shutting the shades
Of psychiatric nightmares
Sterile...

Continue reading...