Best Dossier Poems
(Best read with this poem's theme music playing)
"BLACK SWAN THEORY"
Free Agent
Black Swan Theory
White Pearl rolling in
Some kind of Black Pearl World
Black Swan Theory
Decoded, Fragile Love Songs Broken in
Some Kind of Black Pearl World
Red Shoes Dance Home with the Witch-Way Girl
Decoded, Fragile Love Songs Broken in
Free Agents' Escape Dossier, you’re handed free tokens
Red Shoes Dance Home with the Witch-Way Girl
Vapid Vanilla Kisses, Black Marzipan my Villain's Secret Kisses Unfurl
Free Agents' Escape Dossier, you’re handed free tokens
Love’s Bullets melting Hot Ice Heart
Vapid Vanilla Kisses, Black Marzipan my Villain's Secret Kisses Unfurl
Diamond Hieroglyphics My Windows on Your World
(Lovejoy-Burton/April 2018)
"rara avis in terris nigroque simillima cygno"
"Subway"/Peter Murphy
https://youtu.be/iiUOUNubUW4
https://genius.com/Peter-murphy-subway-epilogue-lyrics
Imagine all the people
who trade in human life,
imagine all the reasons
given to this particular vice.
I visualize the rivers
that run with coagulated blood,
I visualize the tyrant
that stir the waters good!
Imagine all the evil
where nightmares are conceived,
imagine all the weepers
locked in harmony.
I visualize a great peace
when man is down and out,
I visualize a yearning
to stir up warring lout!
Imagine all the carrion
fleeing this earthly scroll,
imagine all the zombies
them humans without soul.
I visualize the populous
with only one track mind,
I visualize the despotic master
not too far behind!
Imagine all the wrongdoers
that wait for the morrow,
imagine all the innocent
with aggravated sorrow.
I visualize his disciples
locked in earthly battle,
I visualize all intellect
smitten with ancient prattle!
Imagine all the dreamers
that dream in psycho colours,
imagine all the dead ones
John Lennon and others.
I visualize the sky
that reflect the sombre waters,
I visualize the time
they’ll be no virgin daughters!
Imagine all the children
born with colour blindness,
imagine all the peace
driven by human kindness.
I visualize a new order
maybe for the best?
I visualize the establishment
being put to the test!
Imagine all the people
with lives of eternal bliss,
imagine all the barriers
created when living with this.
I visualize heaven here
in this heathen place,
I visualize the angel
in pure virgin white lace!
Imagine all the new born
scanner pattern at birth,
imagine all of today’s crime
eliminated through death.
I visualize a dossier
of PLC news speak,
I visualize authoritarianism
of every aspect!
Imagine all the cloning
created for human part,
imagine all the respect
donated to this particular art.
I visualize the unscrupulous
desperate for existence,
I visualize the farm of haste
the plough of insistence!
Imagine, Mother Shipton
prophecies all came true,
imagine only one statement fails
the end of the world.
I visualize even then
common sense will prevail.
I visualize only Jesus Christ
will forecast the ultimate end!
© Harry J Horsman 1993
My wife may go, but I must stay
My unused ticket in my hand
Her flight is finally underway
The Nazis held my full dossier
The word had come from high command
My wife may go, but I must stay
Our cigarettes within the tray
With lipstick stains upon her brand
Her flight is finally underway
My passport stamped with letter "J"
A clerk is typing - I am banned
My wife may go, but I must stay
One golden earring gone today
The other one tight in my hand
Her flight is finally underway
I lied: "It's just a short delay."
Perhaps one day she'll understand
My wife may go, but I must stay
Her flight is finally underway
November 29, 2014
Notes:
1936 - Jews no longer allowed electrical/optical equipment, bicycles, typewriters or records
1938 - Jews' passports stamped with a red letter 'J'. May not be used to re-enter Germany.
Some have passports removed to prevent them leaving the country.
For complete list see http://www.bl.uk/learning/histcitizen/voices/info/decrees/decrees.html
Words would fail me if I might assay
To articulate the courage of this man.
The numerous facets of his dossier
Are subject for song in a distant land.
Awakened in youth from serene dreams
By the melodious blast of Israel’s horn.
Tall standing received earth’s esteems,
Accepting God’s charge wherefore he was born.
His marble image cleaves the bluest sky,
And his halo is now a crown about his brow.
His peace of mind earth can no longer deny,
For he has now fulfilled his earthly vow.
It can only suppose with the midnight of the mind,
What may be reason’s welcome morning star.
One day he may return even more divine,
With a holier task from God who reigns from afar.
There’s no thunder heard from Sinai’s height,
And we see no parting waves at Jordan’s bank.
We have followed no truer soldier in our darkest night,
And now are marching on bravely in file and rank.
Rolling on in faith toward the welcome dawn,
The good fight won he’s earned the honor of Moses.
Now trekking the soul’s desert to the divine throne,
He follows God’s light up the street of yellow roses.
The Perfectionist is Listening
the rich are committing suicide
and taking us with them
the prosthetic limbed bastards
Fort Darwin tottering on fewer stilts
once the masters of the universe
presently picking through garbage
looking for an Icarus to pilot
some way back among the clouds
their telepathic goon squads
armed with the hard on of God
squat in the darkness of doorways
lightning strikes all around
even their machines were clairvoyant
several thousand watts went up my leg
shorting out the only attention span I own
left me perforated but not lacy
wearing all my masks all the time
fragments of self are selves
in a bulemic deconstruction
where form and content
mud wrestle incessantly for attention
on the crazy train to 3 color hell
the protagonists the antagonists
fornicators masturbators liquidators
pariahs and unlicensed poets
preaching hellstone and brimfire
apparently the ancient gods still rule
in their madhouse heaven
petulant and stupid gods
thought their figures included all the angles
sword point conversions gun point perversions
now their carcasses are steppingstones
what quirk of an infinite being
makes this burning plague village
of a planet so alone and necessary
of course none of this is protection
it's psywar out there kids
better find where they hid your dossier
mesmerized of the world unite
you have nothing to lose
but your failed methods of addressing reality
said his twisting tongue
struggling for ratings like any media
the soul cannot erase it can only go sightless
a phantom trapped in melancholy
when we were built to dance
with the twinkling stars
he finally learned to undestroy memory
being an ascended master of non sequitur
carried aloft in the arms of Mother Goose
his metabolic hurricane of why
an inferno of intrigue and superstition
our embryo-headed UFO ruling class
have me inside their fence of skulls
an investment in diagram futures
the idiots
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
"Liaison"
All seeing,
one eye watching
isn’t blind
I close mine
then open them,
shut the mind
there’s a certain bad romance
in the all seeing
just being, drags you in
then you get tangled
up in the full clandestine tryst,
liaison with some nebulous King
covert,
the dossier opened
and read,
"la grande histoire d'amour
avec la recommencer étant,
je suis, celui"
an irregular puzzle,
the curious and
the curiouser;
a mystery;
the flirtatious mind
shut out, boggles
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
“It is by going down into the abyss
that we recover the treasures of life.
Where you stumble, there lies your treasure.
Whoever fights monsters
should see to it, that in the process,
he does not become a monster.
And if you gaze long enough into an abyss,
the abyss will gaze back into you.”
The alleyways within the maze are paved with rats and mice.
Evangelists with moneyed fists collect the sacrifice
from losers scorned and rubes reborn, and promise paradise,
while in the back they cook some crack, inhale, and roll the dice.
A bum called Boe has stubbed his toe, he’s stumbled in the gutter;
with broken neck, he looks a wreck, the sparrows all aflutter,
the passers-by, they close an eye, and turn their heads and mutter:
“Let’s pray for rains to wash the lanes, to clear away the clutter.”
A river slows neath mountain snows, and leaves begin to shudder.
Though rip-off shops and crooked cops are paid not once but thrice,
the painted girl with flaxen curl is paring down her price
and loosely tempts cold hands unkempt to touch the merchandise.
A crazy guy cries “where am I”, a schizo titters twice,
and double quick a lunatic affects a fight with lice.
The jungle teems, a siren screams, the air is filled with meth.
The Reverent Priest and nuns unleash the Holy Shibboleth.
And Righteous Jane who is insane, as well as Sister Beth,
while telling tales to no avail of everlasting death,
at least imbue Hagg Avenue with whisky on their breath.
The Reverent Priest combats the Beast, they’re kneeling down to prey,
to fight the truth with fang and tooth, to toil for yesterday,
to etch their mark within the dark, to paint their résumé
on shrouds and sheets which then completes the devil’s dossier.
Old dan, he's drunk and in a funk, all mired in the mud.
A Monk begins to wash Dan’s sins, and asks “How are you, Bud?”
“I’m feeling pain and crying rain till soon there is a flood.
And no god’s there who seems to care I’m always coughing blood.”
The Monk, he turns, Dan’s words he spurns and lets the bible thud.
Well, Banjo Boy, he will annoy with jangled rhymes that fray:
“The clanging bells of carousels lead blind men’s minds astray
to rings of gold they’ll never hold in fingers made of clay.
But crest and crown will crumble down, when withered roots decay.”
Continued
"Babylon Candy"
“My god you
babble on”
he said.
the guy
thought he was
a giant,
as far as writers go.
She chirped,
“it’s all post humus
humour, from here on in
you know”.
Code-named,
“The Owl”,
she rolled her eyes
and hooted,
“You may as well play
with your marbles
before you lose them.”
“God only knows -
I Am.”
he replied,
“me, myself and I!
By the way,” he adds
quite flippantly,
“you think they could
choose better music...
and what is it
they’re putting
in drinks these days?
The Green Fairy?”
the response,
“Yes, The Green Fairy,
I hear he’s somewhere, here.
Lethal agent that one, excels
at camouflage.”
she elaborated further,
“The Lights don’t help.
You'd think they could
turn them down.”
Meanwhile,
back on the dance floor
of the U.a.U.
(Unicorns are Us)
Publisher’s Ball,
dressed to the 9’s
in 6 inch heels,
a silent observer,
unrevealed
sweet and sour Candy
stood sucking
on a high ball,
some long island iced T
watching on bemused,
waiting
for The Owl’s
next move…
in the bird’s
pocket, not very
well hidden, fully loaded
like a water diviner
perched
the inevitable
big gun
seeking out
The Resistance
burned,
a slow rising story.
flashforward
Hypodiegesis
Chekov’s gun -
"all guts"
the dossier read,
"and by God...
all glory."
Everything
for the
story.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
I always wonder in a philosophical way
Who I am? Does God have my dossier?
I exist, of this I am sure
The IRS calls yearly asking for more
I dreamed of being Poet and King
Seems one has to be Royal to wear that ring
The purpose of life, well seems so unsure
A night out with me though, is never a bore
I have painted towns red, as I drowned in last calls
I always had company, cute lasses and dolls
Life is full of twists and turns
There is no map as we are led to the urn
I was quite surprised, at this time in my life
To find out my fate is to bring you all strife
So batten the windows
And board up your doors
For I am full of wind and hot air
I shall come from the sea and I am on a tear
I am Arthur, no poet or King
I am the Hurricane, and its hell that I bring
July 4. 2014, Arthur became a Category 2 hurricane Thursday evening. The U.S. National Hurricane Center predicted it would swipe the coast early Friday with winds of up to 136 km/h.
“The Burning Bush”
At the Burning Bush
the dance cards
were passed
from palm to palm
the flowers plucked
from the wall by green
lounge lizards grinning
“music saved my life”, she said
“poetic”, the Comme des Garçons
like a boy on roller skates said
circling like a shark with
two in hand for what it’s worth
the Burning Bush girl remonstrates
she understands,
“Tango Down?
That’s not a question.
Now.” she demands
“It’s a right Charlie Foxtrot,”
he says skating backwards,
“Look at all that Chest Candy,
it’s enough to make you
want to put on your
Jesus Slippers.” Front on
she bats her eyes, like
its a home run, she replies,
“It’s a real Soup Sandwich
out there Oscar Tango Mike
the Alpha Charlie Ate-up Bravo Zulu
deploy your Sky Blossom,”
she says, back to the wall,
“Tango Uniform
Delta,
Tango Down
Charlie Mike
Oscar Mike
Kaos captive,
Agt 99, H.Q.
holding Control
down”
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush"
codes embedded in dossier boxes, below
Russia pays 500K for a Hillary exhortation
Unknown millions to the Clinton Foundation
Russia bought 20% uranium from our nation
Both Clinton/Obama in Federal occupation
Deals with Russia - no MSM revelation
Clinton is caught rigging DNC nomination
Stealing it from Sanders at the DNC convention
Russia/DNC/Clinton with dossier summation
Continue their Trump campaign vilification
Media does Clinton's bidding loud and clear
Daily Trump/Russia collusion is all we hear
Funny no action by Pres.Obama that year
Loser Clinton tells anti-Trumpers far and near
Unstable Trump with button is what to fear
Clinton's emails lost for years, server disappears
Trump not Clinton investigation Mueller steers
Comey says Clinton guilty - couldn't find intent
Hiliary never lies except when its convenient
Liberals start talking about Trump impeachment
How could anyone ever want her to be president?
“A” less Museless Poem
(a lipogram)
How is to be without;
the use of my muse?
Will it be the bedrock
of future thoughts?
Would it be foreboding;
or be more-or-less just.
To shorten this penury;
of my written text.
I need thoughts to flow
from both hemispheres
to the mighty pen.
To be delivered upon
This folio of one sheet
Printed with electronic ink
referent to the book; no
criterion to the tome; no
The proto-dossier; yes
Of mine on going discovery
To plot and etch written
To-morrows upon this my
One sheet of electronic vellum; is
The conundrum to use only 24 letters;
Should be quite the simple feet.
Here within this mid-majors town, their driving her homeless down....
Chasing the broken children hearts, all about ? Truth, amid his Babylon's
Historic terms aside from such razzle dazzle hypocritic apostasy ? Vanguard's
Vexation degree and, philosophies: Phooey, your fine tuned circus choreographed
Puppet acts no pun intended; to palliate pain through Frankenstein's palsy, pageantry ?
Riding indubitable's infectious high horse spawned their poison sumac: simon-pure simple
Fractions his dossier have it your way today plexus pressage ? Stepping past a portal of where.
October 2015. Several people who are no longer at satellite cafe have asked the cafe to give their poems to them. If you wish to back your poems up you will have to do this on your own. We are a website to post poetry and grow as a writer but we are not a website to back up personal work .......(gee Samantha , YA THINK) the only way to assure this is by beds ,hard copy , flash drive or other duplicator means.
Thank you from the management of
Thestarlitecafe.com
Dossier city
Louisiana
"Crazy in the Time of Covid"
“You’re crazy” he said
“Is that code?” nonchalantly, she replied
“Not when you have your hands tied”, he cried
Cabin Fever had well and truly set in…
“If you are a good special agent”, she grinned
“I’ll untie your hands, you can do some callisthenics
and practice your covert moves on the floor
...with some smooth dancin’ “
Meanwhile, on the other side of the globe
at KAOS H.Q. in a room with spectacular views
99 was dispatching assignments to the very brave few
(LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
The Dossier:
"We ought to dance with rapture that we might be alive...
and part of the living, incarnate cosmos."
D. H. Lawrence
"Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically.
The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins,
we start to build up new little habitats,
to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work:
there is now no smooth road into the future:
but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles.
We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen."
D.H. Lawrence
....We've got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.