Water circulates somewhere in the US
Where rain isn't left to condense,
To well, like life leaves space for time.
I'm fanning my hands on a street in
London, Soho, where we never went
But an unplaceable conversation is in the tides of heat, one that spoke of Her.
I decided I needed something disposable -
A balloon-buoy swayed with an unease that carries -
Eyes that make mothers cross the road.
I bought one and he gave me two more, haggled, too hot to... fight. Paid, left with this in my hand.
On the bridge. Wish I had a weight.
It's a pain to hold but I don't want to watch my money sweep past Big Ben and the disgustingly scenic city scape.
Water circulates like these e-bikes.
Round the pre-plotted roads -
I think of the Romans, dead in the ground.
There's probably a few still in the Thames.
Death feels so historical.
We discovered clouds that hold rain forever.
I have everything in my pocket.
Within arms
Reach
The reason I can’t use drugs,
Is because even when sober,
I find reality,
So unrecognizable from fantasy.
Unprovoked, your image emerges,
That light beam of a smile,
A face I can’t stop staring at,
Even when I’m kissing it.
I’m really not one to lust (lies),
But I hope for a feeling more meaningful,
Still, WOW! What a sweet small of a back,
My hands are forever grateful.
I am writing this, really, because I feel stuck,
Because attempting to move deeper,
Is a gamble with luck,
It's a contest with option A who hovers around you af.
It's a demanding of affection,
An admittance to needing your attention,
A hoping to adhered expectation,
And disgustingly open communication.
I can’t have that,
I was gonna be a bad this year,
As red as I wanted to get this month,
I'm saving my tear.
"I can stand any ride at the fair,"
said my brother, so he took my dare.
He rode on the Comet,
and then he hurled vomit
stuck disgustingly in his date's hair.
The voices.
The loud,
screaming,
noises.
The images,
The disgustingly comforting images.
I hate this.
This numbing,
suffering feeling,
I get from these thoughts.
I want it to stop.
I need it to stop.
But it won’t.
It never will.
How does it feel to be a man? Let me resonate the ways.
I can't hide myself from the depression and anxiety
Not needing time where I knew nobody and their barking words
And the pain of a man goes unnoticed.
I face the tides of total silence, and I had to log off
As the password changed, and I wandered off the streets
They took my kindness and threw it disgustingly back into my face.
It hurt me to leave but was killing me to stay.
Avoiding the times that I cried with liquor bottles on the floor
Not allowed to feel, be real, explain, express as I lose the upper hand.
Calling me pathetic, trash, weak always broke me into my knees
As the page of my story got ripped out and thrown in emotional flames
But in my honesty, a sense of hatred isn't an option
Only God helps me with my grief and healing.
Why in his presence, did her soft heart, always like sweet
cotton candy melt?
Orchestral songs engendered the tenderest feelings, to her
heart, so aquamarine velvet.
Such starlit, subtle, shameless, suggestive glances!
An antennae in every way was she, inviting kaleidoscopic,
tsunamic romances.
On the fog cradled ship, with a cape of fog, blessing her
chiseled,moonbeam face,
His arms enclosed her in a velveteen gold, cuddled in his
silent, starshine embrace.
Oh, poetess, penning of feelings of deep intimacy.
Your poem, will be stamped “romantic “?
A term, you loathe and find so very meaningless and worse,
utterly curt and disgustingly pedantic!
But only a poet who knows your heart to its scarlet
inner flaming core,
Has the outstanding bravissimo to knock on your truly
insatiable, heart’s-door!
Dare he try his wings and wish for such magically,
exotic, sensual satisfaction?
Wrapped in those twilight, wild, moonbeamed curls
of Eurydice’s Olympian extraction!
6/4/2024
he might have been a felon, a freak, a frizzle wiper or a fraud.
we did not know him actually said speaker, young judgmental Maude.
he had a look about him that made me clutch my purse.
she assesses strangers quickly, treating people mean and worse.
he might have been an angel, a do-gooder, a friend, a partner, I say.
trying to uplift judgmental Maude’s mind a teensy tiny bit today.
he might have been sent by God to test you, to see how kind you are.
she gave me an eye-roll and talked about his eye patch and his scar.
Jesus might have had an eye patch and a scar, I told her then.
but the scar was an upside down cross, right across his chin.
is could have been a test I argue. Maybe you should have said hello.
She sniffed her disagreement saying “he was a disgustingly old fellow.”
Maude and I are not friends by accident or choice, but by proximity.
live next door to each other, but we have nothing on which we can agree.
her perspective is flat-out negative, because her ideas are so fringed.
I cannot hear her opinions long before my peace of mind is tinged.
I'm scared to sleep, 'cause I'll slowly creep
Deeper & deeper into a frightening world
Where Alice is Malice & Wonderland is Underland
Where your nightmares come disgustingly alive
They'll claw your skin & tangle your hair
They'll scream & chase - they'll push & race
Just to have a reason to be in your face
The disgrace you'll feel, when it becomes real
A sizzling slap in your head
The whiff of a fiery dragon's breath
There's no more solace you have left
Driftin' & dancin' - Honeymoon romancin'
A reflection of what you want to complete
A ghostly white face in the sheets
All the lights are on, but I still fall asleep
Falling, crashing, & tumbling down underneath
Understand you're falling & twisting to Underland
Petty-ness, politics, posh & peculier to me
A little girl thrashed in bloody sheets
Chasing a Cheshire Cat through the tangled trees
Young disgustingly handsome
hooked-up with youthful adorably ugly,
both happily mixed and matched
the years away.
Sadly, disgustingly handsome
turned out
to be genetically disposed
to growing a bulbous nose,
while adorably ugly
matured to a be perfect beauty.
Some said it was fate
some blamed karma
for sadly they no longer
complimented each other.
Eventually all turned-out well;
old age came to call
no one could tell
who had made the better deal,
but by then
no one really cared at all.
Forgotten code of honor and pride
Men where are your honor?
Where are you’re code of pride?
Where are you’re animal instincts for fighting what is yours?
Where are the days that we would rather die to protect your pride then face defeat?
Where are the days that we lived by our code and your own strength?
Instead we became mere shells of our former fore fathers
We became too weak to protect our own pride,
Too weak to stand up after a fight,
Too weak to protect our own dignity,
Too weak to stand face to face with your enemy and not attack from behind,
Weak enough to hide behind words and excuses of doing the ‘right’ thing,
How disgustingly weak we became with flesh of unnecessary emotions, cowardliness!
Stand up from the ashes of defeat!
Stand up, fight and claim what is yours’!
Stand up and claim back your honor!
Stand up and claim back your pride!
Stand up and make your fore fathers proud!
Stand up and claim back your forgotten code of honor and pride!
When my father was in a drunken stupor,
He could be a disgusting, nasty pooper
His paranoia would send him into a rage
Everyone was against him took advantage,
So he thought, while inflating his self-worth
A vain man of massive ego and matching girth
He lashed out at those who loved him most,
Of his superior qualities he would often boast.
When he was sober, he could be Mr. Milquetoast
Some said he was one of the finest men on earth
It is true, he could exhibit considerable mirth
We wondered how he could turn the page
He was, indeed, a smart man, …even a sage.
Among friends he was considered a trooper,
But he could be a disgustingly nasty pooper
When my father was in a drunken stupor.
Written March 8, 2022
[Verso-Rhyme]
#68 on List of 100 Best Poems
Poetry Soup
April 1, 2022
Gorgeous Grass Faerie was sent to soothe the little fellow.
He was lost in the bowels of the jungle with snakes of yellow.
His sniffles were heard by elves, faeries, owls and a gnome.
He was lost, for he had wandered rather far from his home.
The first thing we need to do is give him food the faerie said.
She gathered some strawberries that were magnificently red.
She brought them to him and coaxed him into trying a bite.
He was shy, but he looked up and lost a bit of his enormous fright.
We will take care of you until your mother finds you, she said.
Do not worry, nothing will harm you. The owl will not make you dead.
The owl heard this and agreed, going back to sleep with a wink.
He never ate up baby mice, their tummies were disgustingly pink.
Momo Mouse’s magnificent mama found him about an hour later.
She had been frantic, for he had fallen off an oak tree’s open elevator.
I saw you tumbling, but I lost sight of you in the weeds, my son.
She was grateful for everything Grass Faerie and her friends had done.
Lipogram A – Free Verse – I’m Not Sorry
I’m not sorry
For ripping to shreds
the invented future you drew
Between the person I will never be
Plus the person you’ve forever been.
I formed by body to serve—me.
Not you. Not your love. Not
The style in which you disgustingly beg for connection.
Me.
So I’m not sorry.
I felt nothing when you cried
Or implored me to forgo
My own mind
For the hopes I’d rescue yours.
I’m not concerned for yours.
I hope you cry rivers until even the levees
Flood in your misery. Until I’m drowned in your
Self-pity.
I will never be your toy.
I’m not sorry.
June 5, 2021
Lipogram (A) Contest – Emile Pinet
Why am I so fulfilled with love's grandeur?
Tis a question, without a clear answer!
Far too sane, to hunt for the perfect man.
Nay, disgustingly to brag,I once did.
Indeed,the treasure of treasures, the one!
That thou mayest neither touch nor to bed.
Because it is true as the rising moon.
Thou shalt not have him, not now, not yet soon.
In a castle, is our gentle domain.
His name.......a canticle for the stars!
3/22/2021
~4~
Fear walks the earth in such farcical costumes.
Frightening our emotions, forthwith goes
our rationality.
Those in power, shamelessly, stealing our
freedoms.
Showing their total absence of any morality.
Do not trust the media for science, empirical!
Do due diligence online!
Lest you fall for masks, vaccines and yearly
lockdowns.
Find your own knowledge, may it be magical.
The total number of dead is a twisted number,
not true.
Yet we joyfully let politicians allow it
to rule us.
Using the number of dead,as the ultimate,
fiendish, controller.
This poet cannot think of liberty stolen, in a fashion,
so dishonest and disgustingly heinous!
3/3/2021
Quatrains...A, B, C, B
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