Long Stake out Poems
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with noticeable burgeoning bosom in the offing, ahoy
this baby faced blubbery bosom beastie boy
fast becoming a bra man,
and might hire himself out
as a male wet nurse for employ
ment, cuz when stark naked on shark tank,
I behold two bopping, brewing, busting
flap jacks in search of a frying pan,
which change in my physiognomy doth annoy
but, suddenly spurring,
this ordinarily calm, cool, and collected chap
positing even a more radical income idea
changing ma name to Chester, letting hooters
get suckled, though,
methinks they qualify as milk duds
tit two siamese twin guys christened ell and roy
offering accompanied with serving of cookies,
where adipose floppy blimps
rank popular as novel cheap toy
where art though washboard stomach,
where brestworks didst sprout
as if overnight a markedly increased
from flat “Joe” six pack chest did an about
face, with squishy, mushy, and doughy
sprang up without doubt
suddenly forcing a sexual identity crisis,
which freaky phenomenon makes me wanna pout
for weird, wicked woebegone
affects the psyche of this lviii aged lout
wondering what other transitions,
this fellow may indeed be on the look out
feigning to traverse (in me mind) badgering
rugged hormonal secretion terrain akin to a girl scout
on the prowl targeting a peeping tom,
whose foolery demands clout,
thus this imposed unfair punishment,
as some half assed irreversible decree
maybe hints of other surprises,
yet tubby revealed, which haint no fallacy
possibly being brewed up by a brood
of bruiting imps of the pervert with glee
some bot sized microscopic
anti bosom buddy hood stolen the genetic key
analogous to a pesky malware,
virus, trojan horse secrete lee
scheming to transform the sexual identity of me
perhaps waking up tomorrow minus
my little peppy ***** , and behold a pussy
should such an outcome prevail,
where media papparazzi
stake out this freak of nature re:
doubling efforts erecting fortifications
in a big old sassy tree,
especially if the press
(i.e. particularly meaning Wikileaks)
discovers ability to experience infinite orgasms
converting sexual predilection into electric utility.
He stood stalwart
watching western dusk
promising pink and red ribbon of light
crevice of Presence
between dual dark starless night
and vaguely outlined Earth's end of bright
for yet another day's journey
through spatial time,
diurnal rhyme.
Boot journeyed feet planted
centering weight and stretching spine
reaching to breach this transitional last gasp
of hope's new day,
grasping for how this time is without precedent
yet timelessly emerging
re-submitting into unto worn-dark cosmic consciousness,
narrow gap of fading pink with blue-grey veins
networking night of sky with Earth
to close this endless day.
Where was he when this time started and closed
and before?
Standing stake-out watching EarthDay's fading string
of time's co-arising light
folding in Earth's darkening rim
rolling toward him
across cold black twilight night
reaching toward his Elder future
staring blind toward endless time
glaring timeless blind back
through his prehistoric story.
At last, he inhaled deaf heaven
and blind Earth's embrace
one more time
less day turning night
breathing light in and out of dreams
through lives of sages
lost to reasoned musing memory.
Treasonally forgetting
to say farewell
and namaste
before gently closing his back yard's western door
with full will and warm co-arising intent
to thank morning's dawn
for showing up
despite his lack of eco-social grace.
His dreams drench absorbing graceful face
smiling Earth's radical revolution
with timeless eternal pace
of dusk's red ribboned grace
warning dawn's threshold of climatic race
toward upside-down political health economies.
Heaven dressing Earth's night
in moon-revolving star light,
while Earth cooperates her most regeneratively sexy synthesis
through sun revolving light's full moon consciousness;
all dressed up
with every Earth revolving
sacred place to go.
He stared through this dual dressed study
until his turn to exhale once more,
while opening dawn's eastern gathering door.
I see ya got sum papers today
We could smoke a li'l sum, on da way
You ever been wit a black gurl or r'ya gay?
Well I know a few, that'll suck for a buck
They do something strange, for some change, when ya suck
Went to a former co-worker's house to smoke da dope, after work
His patio furniture was in the backyard, for us to sit on, I felt like a jerk
There was a rusty, seat-less and underworked exercise bike
An old wooden dining room chair, that I kinda like
Even a leaking, 5 gallon Home-Depot bucket, purchased by li'l Mike
I'm not some closet psychopath
I've got a job, you know
i'm a backyard dentist
An artist of sorts
At least for da mob
The money's good, if you know your math
Everybody's acting like gangs are a new phenomenon
Almost everyone in the USA is affiliated in some way, with an ancient gang from Babylon
We've got the FBI, ATF and the LA bashful police department, that were all illegally installed
Far out Religious groups, Democrats, Republicans, barbering da same old bull, just to keep us enthralled
Everybody's obliged to and got to, have their own little clique
Friggin’ always gang-banging, in their own subtle way, it makes me sick
For the record, about all those so called crimes
I was convicted on two counts, of sexual abuse
In the first degree, for offensive touching, without consent, no excuse
I've been shot at, more than five or six times
By some dudes who were nervously hanging about
You know, just like a Starsky & Hutch comedy stake-out
But my God is great, he sure has the knack
He let me come straight back, wid out no flack
So, I've been selling crack, at the high school gate
Since i was in about, i'd say,"ninth or tenth grade"
I don't know where this journey will end, maybe way before it's due date
So, i've already started digging my grave, with an old rusty, but trusty spade.
Form:
The place, New York City, downtown Brooklyn. The time is two thirty in the
morning, the job, stake out, Red Light district, yeah, you know the place, full
of full of vice, graft, corruption and every other kind of crime. Oh Yeah ! name's
Rodney, Rodney Townsend, my friends call me Brick, don't ask!
I'm here looking for what we call at the twenty third, the Rip. Just our name
for a modern day "Jack the Ripper" Real nasty, I've seen his work, see I work
for the Vice squad, detective sgt., so I got the lucky draw for this assignment,
Six women in all dead, sliced and diced, with one exception. Last week, in
Central Park, same MO, she got lucky....she lived!
In the report she kept saying something about a shadow, a shadow that moved
like the wind.She said this "shadow" attacked her attacker. She said the shadow had a "
Big sword" and took one swing and killed the perp. But when the cops got
there they couldn't find a body, gone, lots of blood, no blood trail, no body. I went
to the park to check it out, nothing much to go on there, strange!
Damn, I gotta go, just heard a scream not to far away. "William thirty Baker, requesting
back up at Lindsey and forth, by Momma Spinelli's bakery" Rounding
the corner, " oh my God" "William thirty Baker, I got a dame covered in blood, and
it aint hers. I also got a stiff, better send the wagon.
One look at the stiff tells me he's been cut, cut deep! From neck to knees, and
he's colder than ice in a scotch on the rocks. "Lady, ya wanna tell me what went
down here?" That's the first thing us cops ask, ya know. A.......A.... Shadow, it...it
was just a Shadow" " Come on lady! " And it had a....a.... Sword!!!!
The Samurai Returns
To be Continued!!!!!
Goddess
What is your psychology? Is this apart of our evolutionary biology?
Don’t you see that this kind of thinking paves the way for pathology ?
To kill with your sword in the name of the lord
A good way to justify all those that have been ignored
Don’t pay mind to the rest because you know this is the test
Of gods theory and gods will and he shall not shut his eyes to the best
Yea we heard the game but what’s in it besides the pain and the fame and the shame
It’s time we reclaim our history and let our minds finally be free
All the mysteries have unraveled you see
It’s time to mix it up and add some her-story
Because her- story isn’t centered around the killings and the beatings of innocent lives that be
The destruction of mankind that we see
Her-story revolves around mastering spirituality
Of Plurality, mentality, and reality
The goddess within and the goddess without pay homage to your surroundings
You know what this is about,
Revolutionaries will do it as nature does, take roots and sprout
Look back and shout, get ready for a stake out because we are devout to the bone
Takin it back to when women were treated as if they were on thrones
Rest aside the implied pride, our cries have been far too long denied
Please allow the sexes to coincide, you know it’s about time.
There will always be a last time
Fragile web, I can't confirm strength
threads spun together into the complex tapestry
Existential thinkers of the abyss
searching for light in the dark
and attempts to stake out a way forward
Phoenix bird, more than just an act
Picture becomes incomplete
the pieces scattered by the wind
Don't lose track
one question at a time, a wine glass half finished
where stars explode
Caught in this swirling undiluted power
unfiltered heart that is deeply rooted
The lighthouse must be lit
Swallowed poisonous syllables
the light from the computer screen stings the eyes
long-term parking - accept your own limitations
Silver eyed blackbirds from above
and beige browned turtle doves
stake out the yard searching in need
between the fallen leaves for seed.
Red winged orange cardinals appear
calm awaiting their turns to spear
as burnt umber wrens rush
with burnished sparrows hiding in the brush,
A half dozen burly furred squirrels race
with each other straddling trees in the chase;
peeking in and out the thicket for cues
where tag and play ensues.
Aggressive blue jays screech
pushing everyone aside in their reach,
pouncing on squirrel and bird alike
save the dominant silver eyes blackbird spike.
Few are brave enough to stand and hold their ground
taking in the yard that abounds
as they run or fly rather than stay
to quick escape to sky or tree away.
With the sudden early wintry chills
each recognize the familiar thrills
no longer come at dawning
skipping in the earlier mornings.
The yard is still alive
with chatter and play
as creatures of the garden thrive
ready to greet the challenge of the day.
When the summer sun and heat get to be too much it’s time to hit the beach.
Pack up all your beach things from blankets, towels, beach toys, a beach umbrella, food and don’t forget the sun screen.
When you hit the beach first thing you do is stake out a spot and put up your beach umbrella & lay out your beach towel.
Then you can just relax for the day and spend your time swimming in the ocean, exploring the tidal pools or sitting under your umbrella reading a book and just people watching.
You see little kids having fun chasing waves & building some awesome sand castles, teenagers are hanging out playing Frisbee or beach volleyball, older folks are strolling along the boardwalk holding hands.
Seagulls are being their general pesky selves; swooping around the air, looking for food and sometimes even dive bombing someone holding a hot dog in their hands.
Spending time at the beach is pure magic, because nowhere else on Earth compares to the majesty of the sand, surf and tidal pools of the beach.
Ancient Jurassic stone
casts out the grime
long gone the fog
of industrial crime.
Main thoroughfare
now left in peace
no local blues to sing
in the old coachman’s Fleece*.
When moonlight bathes
within the silver stream
and moor lane glistens
invoking its crystal beam.
The low moor awakes
shadows cast aside
the morning new
lays waste the genocide.
Yet productive time lords
stake out progression
cloudless valley
unfolds the beast.
Quaint radiant faces
cry out for comfort
summer solace
bequest the east.
The strangers come
in flight from fear
a different way
their actions to sway.
Dialect gives away
its tradition
rustic voice
forever gone astray.
Salacious stiletto
the thorn of the city
each atrocity fuels
the seeds of pity.
Country roses
nurtured in rural delight
wafting delirious
amidst the argillite.
*pub, ale house.
© Harry J Horsman 1993
Pigeon caught on a subway platform
bobbing in a landscape of feet
Escape cut off,
bobbing through risks
weaving clear of grinding boots
Liberated from nature,
pigeon transit-frenetic
like a novice in deep end swimming
no warning signs posted
A bird in need of rescue
from commuters who barely break
their stride
a tumbled push of bodies
Breathless souls in a hectic stake out
for metallic space
unfiltered anxiety
plundered sense of validation
no warning signs heeded
Beaked captives who rush the subway train
perpetually severed
from
their
wings.
Poem revised: March 23, 2021