Long Pars Poems

« Porto-Vecchio », song by Julien Doré

(Note : If there’s a melody that can slither/sail past the ear-drums imperceptibly and settle permanently in the hypothalamus, this’s it. The sustained tempo in a low key and...

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I drop bars, that break bars, and start fights in dive bars
“Emotio est pons, amor est finis.” 
I am the spark between the medulla oblongata
and the thalamus. 
The protector of vertebrae,
And the processor behind what...

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" Jesus, Rex Judaeorum," how best could he 
Have shown his qualities than dying on the cross, a fatal fee.   
What could he have said while dying than;
"Deusin manus tuas commendo...

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Far from having a nascent thought that envelops my rabid self,
Like inside of an accurate Swiss watch that had been given -
A present to presidents and diplomats from the 70’s era,
Memories in the kaleidoscope of...

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Flailin’,  flailin’, flailin’;
There goes my ball sailin’
Into a trap, the water or the woods.

Flailin’, flailin’, flailin’;
You can hear me wailin’,
“Why won’t that damn ball go where it should?

Drives go right.  Putts go wrong.
I...

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I lift and rise to being chased,
pops half-way, till full, beamed round-faced,
a fire host heightened its facade,
casting daylight shadows abroad.

Cool Earth plunged hot by its keeper,
heat courses like the Grim Reaper,
smiles at darkness to wait...

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Villanelle: Dare you stain the portals of your deity’s sacrosanct citadel

Dare you stain the portals of your deity’s sacrosanct citadel
Which mortal mammal’s primal address the rapists desecrate
Be not taken aback the yoni passage leads astray...

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My love when you leave
When you walk away
It's my moon vanishing
It's my sun disappearing
I do not eat
And your delicious food sleeps under the covers
I drink hard at night, very late
Like a blotting paper
You are my...

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Together at all odds
dysfunctional applause
confirms its trained reality
to battle as in reckless scowl
the matter bearing flaws!

Think not appraisingly
some truth the real well spring,
Ah so ~ it's force, that brings to wit
a winning that is still...

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Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent – 8

The pain that M’m’selle inflicts on her toes
Twists itches in bums and bosoms of hope
Each in his own way straps on strappados 

Mascaraed serene face trots on stilettos
Embryos...

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Small gauge large sound
could be trivia profound

Stations and shunters
red lights for the punters

Small member large auto
mobile cars pars pro toto

In silly banter we trust
French letters a must

But remember the other
Freud had a mother

In Victorian Vienna...

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The Love from far, from so far, afar invisible eye pars watching, 
                  seemingly flash of light

 ...

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No one ever said anything of any 
importance during those long, lonely years at the 
dinner table.  Awkward ugly silences filled
with talk of pars of roughs of lies

as metaphor for truth
while discussing this club...

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