yesterday's
too far away
and i'm gone
tomorrow
you're sleeping
all alone
hold to the music in our hearts
because sometimes
there is nothing else left to
In 1952 a robot stopped by the Sinclair gas station.
Walked up to the pumps and had an instant celebration.
Gas station attendant was horrified but stayed away.
As the creature filled up on gasoline that weird Tuesday.
"28:06:42:12" OR "the red death"
hookah's pookha
hocus pocus
an opium dream
or backyard rabbit
sincerely Sinclair
habitate but not quite
suburban but a matter
of fact so i ask:
red rover red rover
come over to eat
some crimson
clover and
relax
Beyond the sky
The plain ground calls,
Like drop of water falls,
Offering bed of roses,
A real or an imaginary paradise it poses,
Below, I wasn’t ready to break more walls.
The blue bowel above remained visible,
Reminding me to soar – it’s advisable,
A much more deadly path to thread,
Many ascended, felled but I dared,
Leaving my footprints there - indelible.
Life has never been fair,
A heavy oppression seemed to brood upon the air,
Covered time and space determines our fate,
Not a mere figment of a poet's fancy that you should hate,
But I have made my choice like the wretched bearing Sinclair.
I choose, my decision -- going beyond the tumultuous sky,
Bearing all the stifling sensation of pains, I still fly,
Because in destitution, I see no sudden gleam of insight,
Since I know only by flying higher can I see the light,
With the inspired ray in my eyes, I need to try.
I’m done dallying in maudlin regret over the past,
Since my life is moving too fast,
On a fathomless speed of movement,
To a realm of golden improvement,
There I will be self actualized at last.
A Stewart Annie Everestus's poem © 2019
God?
Love?
Surprise Surprise (Sweet Bird of Paradox)!
Mother?
How Do You Sleep?
I Found Out
Me - a Working Class Hero
I'm Losing You!
This once Jealous Guy
Now a ghost
to my grown Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)
Spirit Now lives
Tight A$ Steel and Glass Isolation!
Imagine? Nobody Told Me
I'm Moving On Borrowed Time
While Watching The Wheels go by!
Remember: John Sinclair?
My #9 Dream about Instant Karma of mine?
Whatever Gets You Thru The Night Woman!
Power to the People!
Hold On!
Grow Old With Me?
Give Peace A Chance!
Gimme Some Truth!
Ah…(Just Like) Starting Over?
Or going Cold Turkey?!
Post Thanksgiving demise.
Fair Miss Sinclair
Bare your brown hair
There, let me stare
Bare your twin pair
Fair Miss Sinclair
Here, let me leer
Leer, and then share
Stare at my "care"
Fair Miss Sinclair
Stare, let me hear
Air(sigh) when you dare
Flare my care with your pair
Fair Miss Sinclair
Fare for your flair
Or fair if it's earned?
They now lie vacant and still.
In the past, drivers came for a fill.
With clean restrooms and soda machines,
these stops were once places with lively scenes.
“Let me check your oil and clean your windshield.”
That is what attendants said at Esso and Richfield.
There was also Sinclair, Atlantic, and Flying-A.
These names are all part of an earlier day.
They were there to help motorists on their way.
Whether they drove a Hudson, Studebaker, or Thunderbird,
service was always the key word.
The pumps are rusty and the windows are boarded.
The old signs are now damaged and distorted.
Walls of the buildings are overgrown with ivy.
Business was brisk at the height of their activity.
However, all that was there is only a memory.
I respect only poets
Who know how to rhyme
Warm, fuzzy writings
That read just like mine.
Other forms are too easy
Like spending a dime
Don’t bother to read them
They’re wasting my time.
For example the Beatniks
Ginsberg, Kerouac or Sinclair
Stoned out of their minds,
For them I don’t care.
It’s about velvet, lilies, the sun and the moon
Which inspire true poets
To rhyme and to bloom.
So please let’s not argue
Which poet’s the best
I dream about verses,
The hell with the rest.
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