it is five o’clock somewhere said the blue parrot staring at me
I had accidentally looked up on my way to the Indian Sea
Pardon, I said, asking him if he was talking to me or whoever
I’m not talking to the rain, the clouds or this horrible weather.
He was a snippy one, this parrot with feathers of blue
Slurring his words a bit, I noted, and staring me through.
Come up here and have some rum if you’re not chicken said the bird.
I climbed the tree and had a drink, which may have been a bit absurd.
Plunge boldly into the thick of life, and seize it where you will, it is always interesting. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
The alarm screams, but I let it fade,
pressing palms to warm sleep-swollen cheeks.
Outside, a crow cracks the dawn in two~
I want to taste its blackberry beak.
Coffee steam writes promises on air,
each sip erasing yesterday’s debt.
My socks mispaired; the universe winks.
The freeway hum stitches the sunset.
Dandelions breach the concrete,
their gold teeth gnawing at parking lots.
I pick up a pebble, smooth as time,
letting it weigh down my what-ifs and nots.
The moon arrives early, drunk on light,
slurring silver across my doorstep.
I step right through tomorrow’s thin skin.
Onion tears fall on deaf ears
Reflex pain and slurring names
And blurry shame
And tainted game
With honey coated tongues
Down acid stained mouths
My muse is drunk this New Year’s Eve
Not caring about my desire to write
Slurring words ideas ruining peach poetry
As lit as fireworks in an onyx night sky
His cigar smells and as he yellow yells
Thinking it a funny whispered joke
Jack Frost a blue friend will sit a spell
Jack Daniel flowing down his throat
Eyes so red glassy seem to blur
His vision of the world this night
Ideals still fly high as a blue bird
Despite fluctuating laughs and cries
I offer him coffee strong and black
Same as his views when not drunk
He drops the cup it now has a crack
New Year’s Eve isn’t going to be fun
sauced and slap happy
slurring sloppy syllables
someone slap pappy
Me a Racist
It was overcast this morning with fine rain
but as an offensive racist, I’m
I forced myself to get up at eight and take
a shower. The water was cold no more gas
I called myself some slurring racist words.
Kicked the mirror, the one in the hall that had seen
me nude and laughed, went out to buy a new
bottle, my racist wife- she is from Kinshasa and
dislike men with red hair- asked why I didn`t
buy two gas bottles and keep one in reserve, like
I should be kind to a racist.
Drinking in a bar,
I was! I...were?...are?
What's this 'fore my vision, blurred?
Say, she's kinda cute -
each fair attribute.
Soon my slurring words are heard,
"You have lubbly hair!"
"You're not looking there,
and don't spill that on my lap."
To clean up, I knelt,
Whereupon, I felt
on my face, another slap.
The rotting of a socialist
I knew of a young man, a rebel who wanted
his country to adopt the Scandinavian model of socialism.
He was elected to great acclaim by the people,
he wanted taxes to rise, especially among
the wealthy and upper middle classes, they rebelled
by slurring him in the newspapers, lurid tales about sex orgies
and a luxury living, people turned against him
not re-elected
After some years’ people found he was not
a bad egg
and he was elected as president again.
Now he was a changed man, didn`t care less about the Left
or the right, he just wanted to be president in his self-belief
gave tax relief to the rich, prices went up, and people
protested they wanted him to go.
He refuses to do so many people are killed
he doesn`t care
turned from a good man into a bloody dictator
who will keep his power at whatever cost and has to
be removed by whatever means.
Viva Nicaragua.
If I should get punctured, laying leaking Crimson Tide,
call me Deacon Blues as I slowly start to die.
If they miss me, take it easy.
All is as it should be.
It's best to cut losses, cut ties, change your name, skip town, and grow a beard.. Like To-day, act now before patience sells out in turn I act out of character, and when I leave this is all that you'll talk about.
Our natural satellite departs slow.
Binds of the parasitic plant; first love ties.
The pulse on your neck is chattering, It's slurring its words.
Downtrodden, ragged, in rags soaking drenched and sitting comfortable in combustible liquid stenches.
Oblivious even in the question, oddly aggressively asking,
a straggly demand, expectant to be handed the light to smoke himself a real 'Death Sentence' cigarette.
The late moon is stunning, floating, acting like you're here and really you're staying, we all know that you're leaving.
What are we even thinking?
The only finger on the pulse plays to the beat of a night that reminds me of older days.
Guarded adversaries; imagine that.
The Heart Elapse.
Collapse.
Old and Grey or Rob the cradle to the grave.
Chaos ensues when she enters the venue
Deep-seated insecurities and childhood issues
She takes the beauty and makes it problematic
Chaos is a defining feature of her habits
She aughts be in pictures an award-winning actress.
She embodies the measurements of a diva in distress
She leaves a path of destruction wherever she goes
like a wildfire burning out of control
Malicious, disparaging, unsightly, and misguided
Anger and confused she realizes her world is divided
She wants the power to conquer everyone’s lions
Yet getting taken down by her demonic giants
She's both cold like frost and fierce like a flame
Slurring, cursing, and scandalizing everyone’s name
She is one-sided, so don't waste your time
Trying to persuade her otherwise
The Cross is the only thing that could save that girl
Truth, that’s brighter than a gem, purer than pearls
It's time to unshackle from that intense cord
Jesus’s sacrifice is a gift it is not your award
You don’t have to be pretentious
Just apply yourself & unborn
No, I haven’t any feta.
Why not? Came the reply
because I prefer chedda
Do you need to know why?
Chedda’s much betta
with burger and beer.
It makes no matta
if salad is near.
So, no, I have no feta.
I plan a sandwich lata.
maybe then I’ll have gouda
and its flava I will sava.
When angst and hate my rancor stirred
Fuming indignation, reddening my face,
Emotions choked as muscles tightened,
Slurring my speech, abandoning grace;
And rational discourse then disappeared
Vowing vengeance to correct a wrong,
Dissonance hollered, yet no one listened,
Donning grimace that discords prolong.
Denouncing voice of the unjust, unfair,
I brewed in anger, drowning in malaise,
Despising disgust that misdeeds convey
Engrossed in egoistic, despicable ways.
When pettiness of feud conscious decried
Longing for peace soon buried my pride,
Conjuring sensibilities of forgiveness divine,
Rejecting impulses cordiality was denied.
As laments mellowed calming ego’s demands,
Mending misunderstandings sanity won
And dialogue sought armistice of win, win
When penitence rued things said and done.
Embracing silence, we hugged in remorse
Vowing to reconcile that which roiled us;
We understood, accepted, found balance,
Questing for benevolence~ loath to fuss.
July 1, 2022
Placed 2nd: Forgiveness Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Stigma;
Kisses from Hell,
slurring devoted fiend;
Your demons linger on my lips,
scald me.
Love's an emotion that is known to all
Since the very first day we are born
The degree of love and intense infatuation
Can be just like a summer storm
From a gentle shower to a thunderous roar
It exhibits the power of the rain
The depth of love can be similar in intensity
Can be powerful or a simple refrain
A feeling that lives down deep in our soul
Like nothing that we've ever felt
It can often leave us weak and trembling
Slurring our words as we melt
Nothing else in our multitude of emotions
Can even come close to this joy
Like the day our child takes it's very first step
Or young love between a girl and a boy
As time marches on, many things diminish
In intensity, in depth, in passion
But one thing that will forever remain
Love will never go out of fashion
Seven slurring stout sociable salty sailors
Standing stealthily silent
Solo
Sharing secret salacious
Stirring sailing stories.
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