Best Dillon Poems
You Only Live Once is apparently my generations motto,
Its why she feels so hollow.
God damn girl, i used to be your man girl!
now i can pick up a magazine anywhere around the world, and see a full spread picture of the girl that used to be my world.
You only live once don't you get it!
So do all of these drugs! yeah! I know you won't regret it!
Now my friend is dead, and i bet you wish you hadn't said it.
You only live once and then your dead!
Of course you should let that random girl give you head!
Now my friend has herpes and he wishes he was dead,
because his girlfriend let him when he ****ed that girl instead.
You only live once Ben come on don't you remember?
Isn't that what you told Dillon that November?
Isn't that what you told Brittney to convince her to take those pictures?
Is that what you told Ryan when he told you that his dick hurt?
You only live once, so don't try and live all at once.
Carlo Santana's Black Magic Woman,
in the 60's and 70's gave magic to his
band..
Drugs were part of this movement it's
fair to say. Getting high for many,
while listening to their music, was the
common way
Peace signs, beads, bell bottoms,
psychedelic shirts, desert boots, and
long hair and marijuana, is what was
in style. Looking back and being part
of that history lifestyle, makes me smile.
Peace protesters against the draft,
and Vietnam war. Jimi Hendrix, Peter,
Paul and Mary, The Beatles, Bob Dillon
The Beach Boys,Led Zepplin, Rolling
Stones,Elvis,Simon and Garfunkel,
Crosby, Stills, Nash and Neil Young,
Leonard Skynyrd, Eric Clapton, Carly
Simon is all we heard.
They kept our soldiers in Viet Nam
mentally occupied. It helped them
overcome their stress, and brought
some pleasure to their lives.
Rock N Roll Music had an impact
everywhere.The melodies and lyrics
represented a culture reflecting people,
who really cared.
Neil Young, Eric Clapton, Aerosmith,
Neil Diamond, Barbara Striesand,
Jim Croce made the scene. Years later
Disco and the Bee Gee's came dancing
in.
Disco died, it didn't last long, during
this time Rock N Roll kept rolling on.
Rush, The Eagles, The Police, Peter
Frampton, Boston, Reo Speedwagon,
Blue OysterCult, Fleetwood Mac, Bob
Seger, Steve Miller band, we listened
to. I can't forget Journey, Bruce
Springsteen, Foreigner or the Who.
Bon Jovi, Creed, Madonna, Red Chili
Peppers, Van Halen, Black Eye Peas,
Were hot then. Rock N Roll songs, will
keep on playing, and be appreciated
over and over again.
Time reflects the Lyrics in the songs,
of the good times and the wrongs.
Woodstock brought them all together,
a lasting bond to last forever.. .
Homeward Bound Simon and Garfunkel
was the favorite song with the soldiers. Also
John mentioned The Lion SleepsTonight by
the Tokens. Robert Lindley also mentioned
their groups that were left out. Please read his
comments below. I also thank Robert for his
valued input.
I just want to add that the 60's and
70's were my personal favorite years.
I say this because people really cared
about the war and each other. They
were right...
Michael Tor 10/16/2015 Nayda Ivette Negron. Contest: Favorite Music Type
Continued from Part 1
Matt Dillon chases Jack LaLane
Around a roller derby lane
I think I need some more cocaine,
So please don’t ever come back Shane
I try to walk another street
When me and Walter Cronkite meet;
He says he thinks the news is neat
And starts to talk about the sleet
I run away as fast I can
When Brinkley and the other man
Say ‘good night Peter, good night Pan’
While Tinker Bell is on the can
A dog starts crapping up the yard,
He must have eaten too much Pard
But watch out, here comes Pat Boone, bard,
He’s taking steps without regard
I find a jackass facing me
And ride as far as far can be
And find myself beneath the sea,
But now Lloyd Bridges faces me
I think he must be on a hunt
To find a mind that he can stunt;
He says ‘they’re sitting all up front
And you can hear them as they grunt’
Old Ironsides rolls into view
And says he’s looking for a clue;
I close my eyes and say ‘me too’
’cause something seems so much askew
I better buy some brand new specs
’cause Mickey Mouse is rated X
And everybody’s doing sex;
Ben Casey gives the VD checks
Hey, Milton Berle is throwing rocks
And Elvis Presley’s chased by flocks
Of girls in teeny bopper socks;
Please help, I’m sick, I need two docs
A weirdo asks me ‘what’s my line
If Ricky Nelson drinks my wine
And Lucy is my concubine;
Paola’s great if I get mine’
I’m looking for a place to hide
I stick my thumb out for a ride
When Jackie Gleason pulls up beside
‘If two squared’s four, can you divide?’
‘Of course I can, I’ve been to school
And I am not nobody’s fool’
I feel I am a molecule
Just floating through a vestibule
So Jackie says ‘you are a kid
But older than a pyramid,
Too bad you’re not a phallic squid;
I say, ah, can you spare a lid?’
Some girls are wearing panty hose
They shave their hair which overgrows
And spray away their bod’s B.O.s;
I want to fade inside my clothes
Continued in Part 3
I was watching the TV the other day
When a certain Rerun began to play.
It brought me back to one of my brain's stifled bans
Because it was about Lucas McCain...the Rifleman.
All of a sudden I was drenched by a flood
of Western Shows that have been long since dead.
I'll just begin with a few you may remember
Like Marshall Dillon - later Gun Smoke as it came on one September.
But I remember The Cisco Kid
and how Poncho always did what he did
we can't forget the masked stranger
who of course turned out to be The Lone Ranger
Then there was Wyatt Earp, Cimmaron Strip, and Rawhide too,
The Guns of Will Sonnet and a Wagon Train rumbling through.
Will anyone ever forget Paladin in Have Gun - Will Travel
or Trackdown or Wanted Dead or Alive with Josh Randall?
Can we ever forget The Big Valley,
or the Ponderosa's size when Bonanza came on the tele.
There were Tales of Texas Rangers and even an F Troop,
Let's not forget Rin Tin Tin and how down on the bad guys he'd swoop.
I still can see Lash Larue and Hopalong Cassidy with his black hat
There were Three Mesquiters to watch when I sometimes sat.
Do you remember Yancy Derringer and his friend Pahoo
or Johnny Yuma, The Rebel who never yelled "Yahoo"!
Maverick, Sugarfoot, and Cheyenne were favorites of mine
There are too many more here for me to rhyme.
Many a big star began on that little screen
If it hadn't been for the Westerns...What would they have been?
It can be fun thinking about some of those shows
Because they are a part of TV nostalgia as everyone knows.
They have come and gone like the heroes they'd portray
I remember the Westerns...and their horse's neigh.
the horse hunkering
rain drenched muddy
up on the hill ears down.
Theme: HORSE
Bob Renard
Constance’s Contest entitled:
Horses or Snowflakes or Horses and Snowflakes Poetry Contest
There was a day on TV
Where westerns were all the rage
You could take your pick
From your TV paper page
Together our masked hero the Lone Ranger
With Tonto kept outlaws in a spin
Have Gun Will Travel was the card
For black dressed professional gunfighter Paladin
Wagon Train kept rolling along
Seth Adams the leader
Flint McCullough chief scout
Old Charlie Wooster was the feeder
Rawhide kept the cattle moving
Gil and Randy kept control
In Dodge City it was Gunsmoke
Marshall Matt Dillon was key role
On the ponderosa it was Bonanza
Where Ben Cartwright was the boss
With his family of three boys
Adam, little Joe and Hoss
Wells Fargo was the stagecoach
Where Jim Hardie was the star
Now these are only some
For they were many more by far
They were the Virginian and the Rifleman
Laramie, Maverick and Cheyenne
The High Chaparral not to mention alias Smith and Jones
These made us all a fan
Cowboys where are you?
Memories of you is our lot
On TV we can’t see
Is this our last shot?
poetgord@2013
They were hippies
and societal dropouts.
Scholars, poets and
pot smoking draft dodgers.
Civil right activists,
and anti-war protesters.
Patriots and soldiers
fighting an unpopular war.
Relationships were confused
and marriage became open.
Morality lost meaning and
God was largely forgotten
except to grape Kool-Aid drinkers.
They liked to “groove”
on a Sunday afternoon
and kids hid under desks
for H-bomb drills.
They were good and bad
and pretty and ugly.
They were raised on Dillon,
Joplin, Hendrix and Doors.
Motown was happening
with The Beach Boys, Zeplin,
and the Rollin Stones.
Paul Revere had his Raiders,
Love was a Spoonful and
Three Dog was the Night.
The Beatles reigned supreme.
Sullivan was a king maker,
Elvis was a soldier,
and Archie and Meathead
were "All in the Family."
They welcomed the British invasion
and hung out at Woodstock -
sometimes in the nude.
Many were students
who got high and
routinely cut class.
Most of them were psyche majors
trying to “find themselves?”
LSD was a bad trip
that many took.
Sex was free
and there was a lot of it.
They were spoiled, selfish,
lazy and genius.
They grew up late,
but at least grew up.
They hid their past
and regretted much of it.
They were artistic,clever
and very inventive.
They are also to blame for
much that is wrong.
Many are in denial
and most have regrets.
They were the boomers
of the baby boom generation.
Early days as a flaneur;
I recall the couple
On the Metro
When I was still innocent
Of its labyrinthine complexities;
Slim pretty white girl,
Clad head to toe
In new blue denim,
Wistfully smiling
While her muscular black beau
Stared straight through me
With fathomless, fulgorous orbs;
And one of them spoke
(Almost in a whisper):
"Qu'est-ce que t'en pense?"
Then it dawned on me...
The slender young Parisienne
With the distant desirous eyes
Was no less male than I.
Being screamed at in Pigalle,
And then howled at again
By some kind of wild-eyed
Drifter who told me to go
To the Bois de Boulogne to seek
What he clearly saw as my destiny;
Getting soused in Les Halles
With Sara
Who'd just seen Dillon as
Rusty James,
And was walking around in a daze;
Sara again with Jade
At the Caveau de la Huchette.
Cash squandered
On a cheap gold-plated toothbrush,
Portrait sketched at the Place du Tertre,
Paperback books
By Symbolist poets,
Second hand volumes
By Trakl and Deleve,
And a leather jacket from
The flea market
At the Porte de Clignancourt.
Metro taken to Montparnasse,
Where I slowly sipped
A demi blonde
In one of those brasseries
(Perhaps)
Immortalised by Brassai;
Bewhiskered old man
In a naval officer's cap,
His table bestrewn
With empty wine bottles
And cigarette butts,
Repeatedly screeched the name
"Phillippe!" until a bartender
With patent leather hair,
Filled his wineglass to the brim,
With a mock-obsequious:
"Voila, mon Captaine!"
I cut into the Rue du Bac,
Traversed the Pont Royal,
Briefly beheld
Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois,
With its gothic tower,
Constructed only latterly,
In order that
The 6th Century church
Might complement
The style of the remainder
Of the 1er Arrondissement,
Before steering for the
Place du Chatelet,
And onwards...Les Halles!
my paris begins with
those early days
as a conscious flaneur
i recall the couple
seated opposite me
on the metro
when i was still innocent
of its labyrinthine complexity
slim pretty white girl
clad head to toe in denim
smiling wistfully
while her muscular black beau
stared through me
with fathomless orbs
and one of them spoke
almost in a whisper
qu'est-ce-que t'en pense
and it dawned on me
yes the young parisienne
with the distant desirous eyes
was no less male than me
dismal movies
in the forum des halles
being screamed at in pigalle
and then howled at again
by some kind of madman
or vagrant who told me
to go to the bois de boulogne
to meet what he saw
as my destiny
menaced
by a sinister skinhead
for trying on tessa's
wide-brimmed hat
getting soused in les halles
with sara
who'd just seen
dillon as rusty james
and was walking in a daze
sara again with jade
at the caveau
de la huchette jazz cellar
cash squandered
on a gold tootbrush
two tone shoes
from close by
to the place d'italie
portrait sketched
at the place du tertre
paperback books
by symbolist poets
but second hand volumes
by trakl and deleve
and a leather jacket
from the marche aux puces
porte de clignancourt
losing gary's address
scrawled on a page
of musset's confession
walking the length
and breadth of the rue st denis,
what an artist's paradise
(as juliette once wrote me).
...my paris begins with those early days as as a conscious flaneur I recall the couple seated opposite me on the metro when i was still innocent of its labyrinthine complexity slim pretty white girl clad head to toe in denim smiling wistfully while her muscular black beau stared through me with fathomless orbs and one of them spoke almost in a whisper qu'est-ce-que t'en pense and it dawned on me yes the slender young parisienne with the distant desirous eyes was no less male than me dismal movies in the forum des halles and beyond being screamed at in pigalle and then howled at again by some kind of madman or vagrant who told me to go to the bois de boulogne to meet what he saw as my destiny menaced by a sinister skinhead for trying on tessa's wide-brimmed hat getting soused in les halles with sara who'd just seen dillon as rusty james and was walking in a daze sara again with jade at the caveau de la huchette jazz cellar the cafe de flore with milan who asked for a menu for me and then disappeared back to bretigny cash squandered on a gold tootbrush two tone shoes from close by to the place d'italie portrait sketched at the place du tertre paperback books by symbolist poets such as villiers de l'isle adam but second hand volumes by trakl and deleve and a leather jacket from the marche aux puces porte de clignancourt losing cary's address scrawled on a page of musset's confession walking the length and breadth of the rue st denis, what an artists (sic) paradise (as juliette once wrote me)...
first came Matt Dillon
later on came Joe Friday
they're two true lawmen
Before they used computer chips
and printed circuits too,
TVs worked with different parts
like capacitors and tubes.
Our neighbor was a repairman
and he was quite adept,
he'd given me an old TV
to satisfy a debt.
I wrestled it to the basement,
put some rabbit ears on top,
plugged it in an outlet,
and on the floor I plopped.
Our Philco was a color set
but here I'd rather be,
watching shows all day long,
just me and my TV.
Twilight Zone, my favorite show,
could always make me shiver.
How about the lone masked man
and his trusty steed named Silver!
And don't forget the Cisco Kid,
Matt Dillon, Doc, or Kitty,
Perry Mason was the best,
and wasn't Della pretty.
I laughed at guys named Gleason,
Kovacks, Berle and Benny.
And one guy who was really cool
I think his name was Lenny.
Good things, they say, always end,
and I say this with a sigh,
in the middle of my best year yet
the TV up and died.
That summer stays inside my head,
now you know the reason.
I won't forget the thrills I had
in my first TV season.
Someone please catch me,
For I am slipping.
Death is looking like a solution,
But not a path I want to take.
Someone help me,
For I am slipping.
I can't take the stress anymore,
And I just feel like I want to be under the soiled floor.
Can somebody help me?
I can't find myself.
I just want to die.
Many may ask why?
What outcome is good from a life lost?
None I say,
But I want that fading feeling anyways.
I'm messed up in more ways than one.
I'm slipping,
I'm falling,
And I want to never get up.
I'd be thankful once the darkness takes over me.
To be free from all this torment,
To live a life thats as peaceful as death,
Would be a dream come true,
But I know it won't happen soon.
*I won't commit suicide, though....there's too may people I care about....and 4 people that
mean the world to me: Adalhi, Dillon, Daniel, and Amanda...I love you 4 very much
In the 1960's, in a small West Texas college town of Alpine
Sul Ross State, was known for cowboys and rodeo teams
Had an above average student there, that wanted to be a cop
With a dream to throw all the crooks in jail, make them walk the line
He always wore a white hat in his dreams
And what he was headed for was, "the cream of the crop"
His name is Rick Thompson, I went to school with the guy
At first a university cop, then to the city police force
But deep down inside, money was his need
With all the energy in the world and a lot of try
The old western type of lawman, cowboy and horse
Until his down fall, because of his greed
Then went next door, to Marfa another little cow town
Right on the Mexican border, a drug smuggler's paradise
They need a new sheriff, the Marshal Dillon kind
Won every election,hands down
Wore a cowboy hat, but then he rolled the Devil's dice
He liked that cocaine money and what it could do for his mind
Was voted number one sheriff in Texas, everyone liked Old Rick
The Mafioso did too, they needed his protection
"Why he was ranch raised, just an old cowboy"
But all of that dirty money, he fell for the Devil's trick
Lost his fancy star, got him headed in a new direction
Found out just what it cost to be a "Cocaine Cowboy"
Got caught red handed with a TON OF COCAINE
Back of a horse trailer, street value of 43 million
He lost it all and sold his soul
A good cop gone bad and caused a lot of pain
Lost the white hat, the halo and the image of Marshal Dillon
Now in a Federal Pen somewhere...doing life without parole
By Jenny Dillon
As I reach my arms out to you
As trees sway in the summer breeze
As our love begins to brew
As treasured memories come to me with ease.
If only you were real
And not a person in my dreams
If only you could feel
Were nothing is as it seems.
If someone mildly represented thee
If you were as true as the buttercups
If you were not a fantasy
We’d walk together with our heads up.
If I could take you on a date,
We’d take our chance at luck and fate.
02/08/17