Stucco Poems | Examples

Tired War, Release the Monkeys

Tired War,Release the Monkeys

They tried to nail my boot to the floor
No nail puller  
My influence won the day
I was the monkey man

Earn the right
I want to ask 
Just for a little more time
Growing life growing tree
just to lose it 
Can't you see
Life got to be better
Once I lit that cigarette Ocean of tomorrows 
Swells 
Fasten our belts
There's air escaping This world has a leak
Just before a cats shadow beyond the hill 
Against the grayish stucco plastered wall
Fortune of forever
Now its in your face
Fear fear fear
its all coming together 
Together
Why I fear completion
Or falling apart
Put your mind in another place
Seeing the sun cut out to shade
I promise to do enough 
oxygen enough empty space for you
To have another cigarette
Well I can't say that you suck
Unless I can do better
But even then
I saw monkeys
Hooked up to masks
I wondered who is actually murdering their ass
Well the monkey mysteriously went away
Hope take me away from tragedy
My old friend stayed
Giving death sentences like belonging to some hell bent regime
The trumpets sounded
I let it finish
I faded into forget

monz'el tov

.

            and i look'd
                  look
              piercingly
          mine see fix'd
                   az
                stucco 

     az the skill'd plasterer
               haz laid
                    I 
             mine eyne
                lock'd
             knowingly
             unto hern
                flesh

Pale Daughters Part 7

Hit your head against the proverbial wall
Your everyday Nafferti in stucco
carries the wind
but being only seventeen
whose opinions ran counter to the realm

Pale daughters yawn diligently
They've lost the art of commitment
Are they truly free ?
Talking in whispers
the World does not care

Sticks and Stucco

wind wisps dark locks
from her brow
green eyes gaze 
across 
saguaro spiked slopes 
over 
sticks and stucco 
where once was a river 
and corn grew tall
her mama's native blood
her dad's rugged heart
she belongs to this land
pushed her baby
up this mountain
where two centuries ago 
sentinels kept guard 
now come here to see 
sticks and stucco grow
and watch her generation
manage water 
(Meade was full last
the year she was born)
see her nurse her dream
graduation
career launch 
marriage
money
pay too much for 
sticks and stucco
raise above average kids
walk them all
up this mountain
on Thanksgiving
while today 
her baby's stroller
chases grandpa 
down the hill
so full of giggles
tomorrow grandbaby
stands on this peak
on the brink of her 
sticks and stucco
and I pray
grandpa’s here 
too

Tercet

Pink flamingos prance with Hooper cranes
high above a vaulted mall ceiling,
a China-blue sky paints fluff upon stucco clouds.

I hold your hand playing hide and seek,
intimate inmates in our open cage,
we are concealed inside a crowd of glitter tramps.

There are rampant plaster angels,
there are neon rainbow fountains,
there are screaming cherubs.

Eyes mob shop windows.
I lose you in the crush and crowd.
Jewelry dazzles on blue velvet carousels.

Spied you on the edge of a mirror,
you’re seeking my fractured reflection
yet too many fake diamonds impede.

Murals crumble under a thronging press,
exit doors spin, spun by a midday sun
no one but I can see the ghost riders.

Found you under a plastic palm.
I thought you carried a child in your arms -
it was just my love that you held so tight.

High Tide

6/5/22


Underneath the night sky
No more Mr. Nice guy
My my, how time flies
F*** all these white lies
To you it seems out of this world and Sci-Fi
To me it's natural like a hippie wearing tie-dye
Another high tide
Rarely on the sidelines
Hardly feeling likewise
Much to accomplish in a lifetime

Took some tumbles
Held on didn't fumble
No longer puzzled
Disgruntled
I often mumble
Liquor I guzzle
Then smoke some diamonds or sugar, f*** crumble
Around the corner is often trouble
Feathers easily getting ruffled
Leading to a rumble
We'll see who is the king of the jungle
And who is humbled
Go ahead and chuckle
But how quickly you'll struggle
Then buckle
Before seeing double

Me and a bucko
Finished the job with stucco
Just know
Can't afford to be a Dumbo
Need to do it with gusto
House needs to be jumbo
Bank account needs to be Mutumbo
Got to keep it a hundo
Or I'm donzo

Terra Cotta

Naples perches in its own white washed stucco
Brilliant white. It almost hurts the eyes.
An irregular pitch of cliffs subsumed into terra cotta tiles
Orangish-red like scales of some headless fish
Arising from a rocky classic shore.
This, like the first Ulyssess would see of dear Penelope.
Her would-be suitors frothing like a sea.
These roofing tiles, the faithful terra cotta hue.
Not like the terra cotta Chinese warriors
Who, though sculpted in a terra cotta clay,
Stand immobile in a ghostly mummy dust.
Colors have more to do with light
Than material with which a thing is made.

North of Nogales

Ye old West signposts, green with needle-spurs:
Santa Rita prickly pear, pancake prickly,
plenteous buckets and sunset pink occurs.

It’s mountain time to sip some wine dearly
as the cacti shadows wax in the desert
and the elephant head’s fading quickly.

Breakfast in the stucco casa like dessert -
a dutch baby with segmented mandarin fruit.
Golden Retriever’s friendly and the striped cat’s curt.

Kabob sidles through crack - cat’s bedroom route,
lies on the visitor’s quilt - comfortably cute.

2/9/2022

Song of Songs

The church I went to as a teenager
was full of sex.
It seeped through the worn wooden pews
into the pours of our hands.
It sluiced around the stucco walls
and fake stained-glass windows.

The aroma of young girls at prayer
was overpowering.
On the surface older people
seemed oblivious to this sea of sensuality,
yet when I looked closer
peeping over the edge of my hymnal
I saw folks with closed eyes,
backs arching, many
holding onto some unexpected
yet well-known arousal.
A stirring gravity enthralled us
as we orbited a magnetic divinity.

That day I knew intuitively
that the holiness of life was a passion
gifted to us by an even greater passion -
one that loves us.

Oldtown

Tall and narrow,
the houses stand,
wall against wall,
hunched together
on the edge of the 
cobbled street,
as if armed against
the unknown.
Tiny balconies
Where laundry 
Used hang on railings 
To dry, now bursting
With potted plants 
Walls bright yellows, 
greens and blues, 
stucco and stone
mortared together
hundreds of years ago
by stout men in
leather aprons
with the rudest of
implements,
they lean inward 
over the street, 
which once ran with mud,
the contents of
slop jars, and wash water.
Now teeming with tourists
who hobble on the cobbles,
peering into first floors,
converted into tiny shops
crammed with hats
and shirts and sandals,
soaps and wine and bracelets,
postcards and paintings,
candy and local delicasies.
Oldtown suddenly finds itself
squarely in the middle 
off the twenty-first century.

The Promise of Spring

A palette of sounds, smells, and colors;
Spring fills the canvas of my mind
with Her stoic beauty.
And once more, Her fabulous frescos,
fuel my passion for impressionism:
when She dapples Winter's wet stucco
with vibrant splashes of color.  
And my heart is stimulated
by Her earthy sweet-scented breath.
Nothing feels as refreshing
as a Spring shower;
the feel of renewal
is encapsulated within each drop. 
Robin-Redbreasts and daffodils;
early harbingers of Spring,
magically, change the landscape.
Flowers bloom in copious colors;
and songbirds add a vibrant pulse
to the heart of Spring!
I cherish Spring's sweet smile;
for smiles are made of hope:
and hope is the promise of Spring.

Photosynthesis

the still life paints in water colour as moments dissect the day

an autumn leave falls quietly in tangible peace of the quiet soul

a tranquil hand brushes a humble canvass serene and at peace

memories from summer springs wait for winter and fire place


a gracious log rest on its grate and gathers ashes of yesteryear

ember and glowing desire transcend an amber and transient hue

like a squirrel collecting acorns a poet inks lush pots of gold 

an oak tree watches through a window of sash and dark wood


rain showers droplets onto the pane dissolves pain and sorrow

weaves an intricate pattern and frames time season and glimmer

hope enters through a crack in the mantle-piece flickers reflection

onto brickwork and tiles that have survived the test of past times


shadow play suggests a pantomime on picture rails and stucco

imprints harvest and garnering solitude where light parts darkness

it seems to encourage to take a leaf out of nature and offer thanks

to life change ambient eternal growth and impermanent worship


of nature and one day the foliage will be ever so green once again


18th October 2020

Dual Obsessions:Santorini and You

Dual Obsessions: Santorini And You


Dreaming of us walking in warm, sandaled feet. 
Between alabaster white stucco homes on a narrow 
street in Greece. 

Sun, so graciously blessing our love. 
Families have aquamarine shutters on the windows, 
to have their privacy. 

Ahead~a lovely white bench for us, just a few more feet 
away. 
To cool ourselves beneath a tall, lush, magenta flowering 
tree. 
Just you and me, how holy can this all be? 

How much more blessed can we be? 
Eternally in love, in blessed, Santorini!


          February 23, 2020
            1pm PST

Dual Obsession:You and Santorini

Dreaming of us walking in warm, sandaled feet.
Between alabaster white stucco
homes on a narrow street in Greece.
Sun, so graciously blessing our love.
Families have aquamarine shutters on the windows, to
have their privacy.
Ahead~a lovely white bench for us, just a few more feet away.
To cool ourselves beneath a
a lush, magenta flowered tree.
Just you and me, how holy can this all be?
Eternally in love, in blessed, glorious, Santorini.




August 9, 2019
5pm PST

Sansossio In the Valley

Nestled in the valley
with spring water fountains
a view of the mountains
San Sossio quaint and vibrant

Stucco colored houses
red roof tiled
on balconies pots in flower
graceful swallows in flight

My home on the ascent 
at the edge of town serene
from fountain fetched the water 
with neighbors bartered needs

Sparks of distant  stars
memories of smiles and songs
history to repeat is known
village life will return

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