oh no
what is that caught in my beard?
a chocolate chip and some salsa dip
winter woolly coats and a herd of goats
seaside rocks and a pair of stripy socks
a large corn husk and a double decker bus
a day oh a day feeling very very weird
but how did all that get caught in my beard?
1974 and the Guardian newspaper
On a ship, where I was employed, docked
In Lisbon, a few days after the Carnation Revolution
The air was full of anticipation
I took a double-decker bus to the town center
A throng of cheerful people filled the narrow streets
At a paper stall, pornographic mags had moved in
getting the most out of newfound freedom
I ate Fesjoada tras montania (bean stew), drank
a bottle of Sagres beer, and later walked around
streets, but with so much noise, I bought
The Guardian newspaper, which I thought was
a harbinger of the truth
Back then, The Guardian was a fresh, brave paper,
These days, it is rather staid in the political line
pro-American, but it is still a better paper
than the Ghastly "Sun" and the Sunday papers
I still read that paper online, which has good art pages
But politically, we parted ways a long time ago
I am grateful for having had the opportunity this summer
to travel with my family to London and Paris…
and as we road the tube, in cabs, atop a double decker bus,
in a punt upon the Thames,
the Metro, a boat upon the Seine
and in an plane across the ocean….
I was happily reminded how
traveling with those you love
is and always will be…
poetry in motion.
i'm talking world war three blues
and how the baubles resemble the planet neptune
one kid has trashed the grotto
flameless LED tea light candles on the mantlepiece
another exclaims, 'can we stop talking and just take
the photo?'
a girl says she wants a telescope
a boy says he wants a crane
another says a fraggle stick car
helicopter parent and coo coo bonko
my daughter doesn't recognise me
tears of a clown stuff
a kid claims the beard is fake and i say, 'look...',
i tell a family from germany
we can take a hundred photos, i don't mind,
i will get the son that red double-decker bus
you're wonderful people
they leave
the boss pokes his head round the door and says,
'brilliant, boy.'
The red double-decker, is not crowded,
A late night and I am riding home dog tired.
She's sitting two rows ahead of me,
but I can see her reflection in the window,
it's easy to see that she is as cute as hell
but of course, she's an Afghan
and well groomed.
I ponder whose hands concertina time.
Sometimes my brain wakes up 40 years younger
for a few moments I am vital,
perfectly formed and a smile for every eye.
Other times though, I arrive in the world
already clawing at my coffin lid.
I'm riding a double-decker London bus,
there's a girl beside me
and she is rubbing the inside of my thighs
while she talks of Kafka.
Now I'm in a train, liver-spotted hands
trembling, as I myopically read a book
about bloody Kafka;
I am gonna have to read some of his stuff one day.
It’s another morning,
and I am hill running with my 10 year old son.
Breathless we get to the top
he is laughing and I am winded.
Now I recall Kafka's book, 'The Metamorphosis',
still don't have to read it,
I understand perfectly well
that the hands of time
are always squeezing us into what we were
by what we became.
Wildlife 8
A musical young green woodpecker,
Loved the music of old Desmond Decker,
He would sing every song,
But the words he got wrong,
So his friends called him 'Desmond the Wrecker'!
Mom's photo album (in the attic, somewhere?)
Ah! Found it by an overdue book (from a library, somewhere?)
There's mom with a Mountie (in Canada, somewhere?)
Mom by a natural spring (in Maine, somewhere?)
Mom in the kitchen (at Aunt's, somewhere?)
Mom is saluted, holds a folded flag (Vietnam memorial, somewhere?)
Mom at the church (outside, somewhere?)
Mom playing the church piano (inside, somewhere?)
Mom waves her hands by a sea (in Israel, somewhere?)
Mom eating souvlaki (in Greece, somewhere?)
Mom on a double-decker bus (in London, somewhere?)
Mom and the grandkids (in Honolulu, somewhere?)
I know there's more of mom's albums (in the house, somewhere?)
I'll finish this cake, whilst looking at pictures, until the nighttide bears, for this day is her birthday, and I know that she's with dad and they both are smiling, --from somewhere in Heaven, up there.
Architect of an archetype
patterns made of missing pauses
Shapes that form unformed shapes
and lies that never hold their heads in shame
The world a distraction from the vapid interaction
Past present and future
not linear
but coexistence
The triple Decker bus that wraps itself around our lives
Reality bubbles sworn my path
no large red buttons never to be pressed
have missed my fingers caress
all the lines lie dormant in my shadow
Fearful of the time without fear
Just a thought mid verse
am i the only one that hopes for nuclear war
to see if i get superpowers
My preamble was a ramble
And my point
the futility of the futile
and the sickness of this universe bile
Your human race makes me smile
Go on Back....
Sit among the dandelions
listen to the bees
thank the broken pavement
for the scars upon my knees
walk along three decker canyons
in a sticky August haze
hop within the hopscotch chalk
a dance form to amaze
hit some rocks with a long flat stick
raise hands shouting “Going, going gone”
throw some rocks at a lily pad
in a muddy road side pond
catch a frog, chase butterflies
play fetch with a mongrel dog
use your fingers as a net
and chase the pollywogs
run a stick along a picket fence
hear a train in the slow “click-clack”
pull the cord, blow the whistle
“All aboard” we’re going back…..
John G. Lawless
©7/23/2018
There once was a bold picidae*
Who pounded his beak just for play
on a double-decker
bus, now his pecker
resembles a flawed fricassee
(*picidae - woodpecker)
The timeless quantity of a pinnacle is palatable only to a plunging pliable posted picture. But posted pictures are neither explosive nor even emerging emery boards for boards are created to alight in chaos currents and who could ever really rely on a double decker train that is reliant upon trainers upon tracks in a momentum swerve. All must now nosedive into a pancake pile and take a kilo of ham, an array of lemons, and a mere teaspoon of sugar. Carry the ladle wisely at this time for ladles.are leaping limpets. And leaping limpets lining linkerage lean. Playful promises promised playing pudding puffed pine. No ha. Xxxxx complications xxxxx z at xerox point two on a mild bridge. X
There once was a bus trip to taken
two groups was trouble in the making
All women, need I say more
whose beauty men could not ignore
Brunettes thought to be smarter
blondes needed to try harder
To this they were unaware
just trying to be fair
A massive double decker bus
to safety all would entrust
The final decision made
brunettes on bottom, blondes on top
driver delighted, these women are hot
As the trip began, screaming was heard
from the ones above, how absurd
thought the dark haired beauties
Those blondes act so snooty
and they're well, kind of dumb
to this fact we've become numb
But now there is all this drama
have to care for them like their mamas
Brunettes inquire as to what was wrong
this trip was planned for so long
We are having a blast, can you
try to enjoy this while it lasts
Blondes exclaiming
we want off this bus !!
our safety we no longer entrust
You chose the bottom on purpose
so you could sit back and hurt us
You schemers and connivers
at least you have a driver !!!!!
He was a great man, a "prophet".
Known by his real name "Japhet".
Started his ministry whilst in the market
Full of anointing like water filled in a "bucket".
Many words do not fill a "basket".
Preaching the word of God was his "mandate".
At his presence, demons would "vacate".
The word of God is sharper than a "machete".
A good man he was, a public "figure".
He never touched any "liquor".
The more he prayed, the more he became
"meeker".
Knowing that avoiding the word, he would become
"weaker".
Every time he was in a closet like a Muslim
facing "mecca".
With a big heart, he carried peoples "burdens"
like a double decker.
He knew the obligation given by his "maker."
woke up to a full day but i can tell the sun's only come half bright
on the cemented pavements and shameless statements of the
buildings towering high.
lately pacing shadows of motion
with squeezing tight objectives
lay themselves amaze to stamper so sluggishly unexpected
and rest their bodies inside
these big red rectangular double decker boxes
that commence to shudder along
with a sense of dying, clinical combustion;
hence to be condensed;
surrounded but all alone;
in the city that's countlessly counseled;
'Et in Arcadia Ego'
so I walk out of her door,
scramble my pockets for some cigarette paper
whilst standing under the warmth
of the dormant electric heater
finally pick up my deck and wheels
spark up in time to ride
with a rustic shallow breath
the barren concrete comes to life
as this skater rides on over
i'm just waiting to be swallowed whole
'cause even here death appears
in Skater Arcadia
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