Best Half Cocked Poems
I crawl into a cave called myself.
It’s dry and dusty, cobwebbed.
So afraid to be, alone in the dark,
“Who am I,” is my cry.
Then Trixie’s best friend comes along,*
like a cowgirl set out on a romantic adventure.
This changeling becomes a pirate or
a faerie tale...mingling with the deer and frogs.
but not too sweet, ‘cause she’s a spark plug.
She squeezes out a saturated rag of tears and snot,
for this cowgirl spots the forgotten one -
a little child who needs a hug,
and she has a way of embracing the child in me.
...and her poetry like taffy pulls,
twists in a delicious way, half-cocked.
I’ve learned from her to grab the stars and fly
as if Tinkerbell dusted me with rare pastels.
In my mind we’re dressed in
kicka$$ gowns and fascinators
merrily sipping sherry in
the garden of Make-Believe.
And by the way, I love my souper friends. Don’t feel left out.
So many touch me in so many ways. God bless you all.
And one last shout out to Caren Krutsinger!
Just Chris
Nothing very special here,
I’m young as old can be
Grey is just a state of mind
that’s come to set me free
Laughing at the future
as I’m tearing down the walls
Standing on a corner
with my cardboard sign and all
It reads, “I’ll work for poetry”
although that is a lie
Just a silly message sent
as you are driving by
Some insist a heart of gold
does beat inside my chest
I am merely but a man
who hopes to pass the test
Tapping on a keyboard
placing verses on this place
Wishing you to read them,
though some you may erase
I always try to wear a smile
yet often times I frown
Happiness is happiness
but sadness gets me down
Know that I am very rich
though I don’t have a dime
My fortune is the people here
that I call friends of mine
A worn out shirt is what you see,
a half cocked smirking smile
Fraying on the edges fast
and going out of style
I dream too much, I know it’s true
these visions that I see
Hope that when my life is through
you will remember me
But if you don’t, well that’s ok
my tombstone will dismiss
Carved in stone for all to see
the words will read “Just Chris”
On a barren mountain top,
boulders gray and strewn with rocks,
thermal winds that rose and dropped,
sat the Raven, head half-cocked.
The Raven watched the butterfly
as it softly fluttered by,
he heard the gulf wind's gentle sigh,
as soothing as a lullaby.
He fluffed his feathers, began to preen,
so black, they're blue, his feathers gleamed,
high above the great ravine,
he stoically surveyed the scene.
The Raven cherished shiny things,
like Reynolds Wrap and Christmas string,
one time, he found a tiny ring,
another time, a ballpoint's spring.
Sunset found him in his nest,
among the treasures he loved best,
head tucked into his feathered breast,
content, he took his final breath.
Half Cocked
If life was sweet as buttercups
we wouldna have to say wassup
and as I slipped into your room
your figure shining with the moon
you gasped with seeming utter shock
as i smoked a pipe of havelock.............(old tobacco)
we came together neath the stars
and Jupiter he belted Mars
they put me in the JPs dock
said johnson had gone off half cocked
Don Johnson ....
Thank you sultry sweet Janine
your comments sweet, i'll lay between
and love will flow serenely not
steam and passion hot hot hot...
love Don
All England, blinking nervously, is out!
A little mild spell, much to our surprise,
has brightened frowsy February skies.
We sniff the air with nostrils schooled in doubt.
Baffled by balm, the fruit trees have misfired.
Like foolish virgins, hurrying on their scarves,
They've pushed out blooms half-petaled and half-starved.
The coming frosts will slice them like cheese-wire.
And I have loved you far too eagerly.
My half-cocked hopes have withered on the bough.
I should have doled my sweets more meagerly -
then, had I granted space, and time, and light,
your hobbled feelings might have taken flight,
in any time or place - but England. Now.
i am bonded
in memories
of my yesterdays
not through desire
i still choke
on that air
as it falls
steel force
like a bullet
in wind
the smell
of stale beer
and cigarettes
as you
rolled barrels back
and flicked
more than bics
i remember
your mind
fully loaded
half-cocked
as you raged
within
i felt trapped
like the moon
on a stormy night
thunder rang out
then silence fell
through the smoky trail
as it blazed by
i lifted the veil
and mourned
the part of me
that died
i still live
bonded
in memories
of my yesterdays
though not by desire
Any Poetess knows her writing style.
She knows her swagger.
Her arrogance is in her words.
She struts even when she is not being vulgar.
She is a Poetry Diva.
Visionary
A Dreamer
True Reformer
Excellent
Diva of Poetry
Her mind is preoccupied to her theme.
She is topical in her poetry scheme.
She mesmerizes her vocabulary.
She is a Foreign Indian's Fairy.
A Poetry Diva's libretti conjure.
Unique
First-class
Idyllic Rhymester
A Wordsmith of Poetry
Bard – A Diva
Many times, she deciphers.
More than often, she’ll depict.
It would be her expression she lives within.
She is refined.
Within veracity, a Poetry Diva speaks her mind.
Versifier
Set your soul afire
Awaken your spirit into night
Lyricist
Diva Poetess
Ill-mannered she is not.
She does not write half-cocked.
She can be so male gaited.
Golden is her unique way.
A Poetry Diva is a platformer.
Wonderful
Magnificent
Ideal Utopian
Such a romantic lover,
Poetry Diva is enamored!
_______________|
Penned April 24, 2014!
For Kelly Deschler Contest Poems About Poetry
2nd Place
Fair Apollo, may I borrow your golden lyre
So I might strum a heavenly chord full of fire
Else, let me pluck a laurel from your grove
Towards greatness, ever I strove
But alas my fingers are not nimble and quick
My wire sung words sting and stick
O Apollo were I as fair as the tree
Perhaps with second sight I could see
Fair Apollo lend me a voice as sweet and rich
A harpy in church, I rasp and –*****
I’ll drown in myself if I not throw it out soon
I’m hopelessly blocked
And Half cocked at noon
Fair Apollo, may I borrow your golden lyre
So I might strum a heavenly chord full of fire
Else, take me under your bright wing
With your guidance, let this Philomel sing
when instant gratification
just isn't fast enough
the sun still heats your morning
the full moon calls your bluff
the saguaro has no answers
the nightingale has been snuffed
you call upon me for wisdom
you don't have the right stuff
momma raised you better
but you go off half cocked
leaving all around you
pretty much shell-shocked
you've been running for miles
just not outside of your block
and you are always racing...
racing against the clock
in the end you loved
exactly what you picked
fate is a lonely hunter
consequence makes you sick
you're in way too deep
fog grows white and thick
the second hand keeps running
as the minutes slowly click
When my heels tromped down the dark narrow path
Where the buck- even – trod
It was early fall, and the trees were half trimmed.
The sun flickered through the barren tops,
and the greenish- brown canopy hung low and half dressed
However, it was not ashamed
The leaves crinkled and they crunched
where my feet and I traveled
And not too far, as I lagged along
I came upon an empty nest
It lay in decay
from the wind and the rain
For how long,
only as long as the eggs were gone
And while I stood there with my head half cocked
I looked close at the old dilapidated twigs that rot
I remembered the boy in the velvet red vest
O’ how nicely it was weaved
it fit snug around his delegate chest
I see him every spring
And no matter how old I get
He still wears the same velvet red vest
Slow down cowboy and reload she mocked
and next time try not to go off half-cocked.
Then she said with a snig-ger
you’re too fast on the trigger
but who fu-ckin cares, my world was rocked!
Written: April 2015
Both our brains hazy (and you may be crazy,)
But damned if I don’t seem to love you, dear friend,
Each of us “nutter” on other one’s clutter
But both can be true, with no need to offend.
Our kitchen’s well stocked, but arrangement’s half-cocked,
But a truce still survives for the world is our oyster.
What’s flaccid on grill can be spiced up with pill,
So no need for retirement to monk-dom or cloister!
We eat out a lot and prefer Queen to cot,
Where our snuggling makes time in the sack, time of giving,
Though thoughts of dream home can make both want to roam
Very best’s when your home is wherever she’s living.
Good friends come over, we’re rolling in clover
For friends, hers or mine, always magnify bliss.
Easy to measure, a feeling you treasure,
The rapture you felt when you got first French kiss!
Long Tooth
June 5, 2017
Conceived In Sin -
Cincinnati, Ohio
(most Up To Date Virgin)
Any attempt for fecund woman
to successfully counteract biologic
reproductive force to whit
deserves grudging testes
meant to garner at least tidbit
sans, ejaculated kudos (by Dickens),
where aborted squirt,
viz skin flute, gets writ
off as sad sack pit
tiff full seaman unwittingly spit
outside sought after vasocongestion
swollen phallic doth intuit
thwarted down thrust trend,
where offspring of genetic
inheritance since Eve soffit
a dam nibble prickly outcome
braking abrupt copulation,
where half cocked drill bit
attempts to hit
bulls eye included with animalistic kit
and caboodle born toward illicit
propagation of species,
this indomitable overbearing gen nit
till foreplay to liberate dill lib writ
lee, pointedly and instinctually
continue human race,
where a bajillion threads did knit
world wide web steeped with lit
richer replete with orgiastic nit
tee gritty prurient details
recounting bacchanalian debauchery
nun such breakable classless habit
ah what a dog send to gift
and empower women to inhibit
unwanted pregnancy (of childbearing age)
equipped with superhuman heft quit,
while erect phallus unable to lyft
uber penetration, no doubt miffed,
especially in throbbing throes far drift
from coital provenance, one agitated fitbit
feeling royally screwed
particularly virility predicated
on loose sing penile glue stick
within secrete slit.
Only God Knows So Here Goes
If you read my poems half-cocked;
you must have had your lips locked;
Further exploring;
Found her adoring;
Found her nude and each small pock.
God is only one who my poems knows,
So again started writing and here goes;
Christ on a Cross,
Saw an albatross;
Read mine with or without any clothes.
Jim Horn
Trump seems like he has much pull,
And he can even act like an animal;
Best on a SAT
Did a Democrat;
When he will talk is a bunch of bull.
Jim Horn
Hurt Then Hurt Some More
What many seem to do is digging up dirt,
And object has beeen to hurt, hurt, hurt;
They are obscene,
And do demean;
Destroy them and they loose their shirt.
Jim Horn
Had been paining house board by board;
Looked up in sky and there was the Lord;
When I croak,
Will be broke;
With God anything you can always afford.
Jim Horn
Brought In Many Sheaves
We had been bring in so many sheaves,
When we did end up having the heaves;
Time we had,
Was all bad;
And last one cleans up before he leaves.
Jim Horn
We saw an eloping goat trying to escape;
Caught and accused of committing rape;
For nightcap,
Had a mishap;
Was Trump a slob probably in poor shape.
Hope Trump's appearance better will get;
Found to be fool who did fumble and fret;
Sold his soul;
Took its tool,
And had been worst moron we ever met.
Trump and Advisory Board
Trump found out he needed an advisory board;
What has infant idiot done now causing discord;
On us it did dawn,
Has been moron;
Always was looking way back and never forward.
Jim Horn
Shoot Em Down
Going off half cocked !!!
My spirit, you rocked !!!
Thought processes a mess ion.
Dangerous as a Smith & Wesson.
Tongue – explosive 45 caliber ammunition
tearing, ripping through to submission.
The flesh, the spirit of this old soul,
you cannot see, do not see, may not know
how much you have torn this spirit apart.
How it is experienced in this aged one’s heart.
Time’s passing has made it possible, not to be shocked
at the spirit, the soul, the heart you have socked
with all that has become, you should never start.
I am blind, not to bright, but now is time to part.
And so my dear, I wonder ?, how will it end ???
In days to come, will I still be considered a friend ?
Or will I be considered your foe ?
Is this what I will come to know ?
B. J. “A” 2
April 16th 2004