The machine lit up
like a small cathedral—
chrome saints hopping
under glass,
the silver gospel
of the pinball
spinning wild
between my hands.
It was my birthday—
twenty-one—
and free beers
rang up like prayers.
Each flipper slap
a hallelujah,
each tilt shrugged off
in neon glare.
The hours blew away
like cheap confetti.
The undulating sidewalk
tilted just before I did,
and the keyhole
danced just out of reach
while my cat waited,
unimpressed.
I woke up hours later
to my worried cat
meowing and
looking up at me.
I leaned in close
to reassure him—
and showered his head
with vomit, dismayed.
He left his verdict
in my shoes—
a damp reminder,
sharp and clear.
Tail high,
he walked away avenged,
his conscience
undisturbed by guilt.
He eventually
forgave me—
as creatures wiser
than us often do.
I cleaned my shoes,
drank far less beer,
and never puked on
my cat again.
Dry mouth,
shallow breathing;
In your dessert mirage
I thought I saw a waterfall;
Dizzy,
I’m completely decimated;
It is too hot to care;
Please wet my lips,
full tilt.
A girl on the Tube stared at my crouch
Her mum sat there and tried not to watch
Then mum's face turned red
As she softly said,
"She thinks that is where I get my Scotch"
i can see Jesus trying
to reach the citizen
caught up in the riot
plumes of tear gas
whirling around living grace
somebody spray painting
a slogan across his scarred back
he's taken a rock to the head
rises to his feet again and again
staggers into rat faced alley
to catch his precious breath
a red-eyed bum dabs the blood from
his comforting lips
wading back into the ignited states of....
finally reaching the baton line
pinballed between chestnut colored riot horses
i lose sight of holiness
rubber bullets and flash bombs rattle
the soul of a city on
tilt
...its payback time
for reckless meanderings of youth
laughter at another's expense
all mouth and no ears punk
now a pinball called karma
flashes a tilt sign inside my head...
a favorite hobby was banging heart strings
until their heart chambers bled
now mine is liquifying
into a reservoir of regret..
its payback time
for poisons once poured into
this temple of flesh
self inflicted
now its beginning to be a struggle
to recall
to walk
to think is to produce fog
life is thickening
around the petals of time
its payback time
i once prayed for solitude
to escape from desperate masses
this bait ball called living
now as my circle steadily shrinks
i wonder what i was thinking
dying alone is a disease of its own
alone is just beyond the blood horizon
a couple of ticks until midnight
the bait ball whittled to one
its payback time
Drifting vacant skies, forever on wings,
Is little blackbird, whose heart ever sings!
Soaring in mellow sunshine, nowhere a care,
Like a Parkside picnic in the sunny glare!
Darling of the blue, and marshmallow clouds,
At times seen alone, oftentimes in crowds!
Pretty blackbird, which place is your home?
And whatever wanderlust causes you to roam?
Gracefully you fly on gold skies of late July,
As the last moments of one summer day tick by;
But, too soon the whole world loses its light,
And you vanish into the ebony, kindred night!
listing to starboard
an elm beseeches the sun
a leafy mime
John G. Lawless
©8/24/2018
Rock the boat, tilt the world,
Break my heart, tear my souls,
Steal my hope, ruin my dreams,
Give me love, show me life,
Lead the direction, brighten my path,
Hold my arm, far from the edge,
Tell me lies to keep me afloat,
Board the ditch which i slowly dug,
I swear a rest is all i need,
Let my life float, if not in vein,
Let it be in faith,
Ifi awake in the morn it shall be due to you,
And the hand you lent me, lacked in timing,
But shook me from the dream,
From under the canoe, which had tipped,
And waterlogged, for what seemed like an eternity
Tilt
Let me slap you upside your head
and get your brain off tilt.
(Quote)
Board To Tilt
Around with each other should start to spar
Regarding what to do with all our PR
When and were business should discus
And also analyze and raise a fuss.
Social gathering not great or appropriate
Might find people who are having a fit
Then those who want to start some stink
Even If an eyelash had began to blink.
Maybe it wasn't a fact and we did suppose;
What had happened on heaven knows
DRB approval never received for a terrace
Made of Plaster of Paris and enough to embarrass.
This thought and thinking is between you and I
And in case you might be wondering why
Had found that my conscience was full of guilt
People are biased and to their side want board to tilt.
In Conclusion: I was not thinking about or had
BOD in mind when I composed this. Go ahead
and read poem anyway if you haven't already.
DRB is Design Review Board
James Thesarious Hilarious Horn
Retired Veteran
PS. And to think, talking about people when
they aren't there to fend for themselves.
a dream as years go by,
water clock drip ticks,
another revolution,
minutes flown away,
hearts fluttered wide,
sepia childhood silhouetted,
a grip lost in snap-the-whip,
and glimpsing restless spirits,
crowding heaven’s gate,
gold plated, iron bound,
others just waiting,
familiar indistinct,
while clouds like knotted cotton,
frame a high blue portico above,
a formless basilica,
slow vision of his spirit,
becomes a shining arrow knock’d,
loosed at that far off shore,
flown true, and gone,
as the wind cries a pure tone,
on that played out jazz piano,
coda to another’s life,
like a tragic symphony,
somehow filled with hope,
his last music…
(I miss it so).
Tonight it starts again.
The longing for something I can’t have.
A life that is meaningful.
I claw and scrape the surface of humanity.
A bubble that wont’ be burst.
I am on the outside looking in.
Tilt-o-whirl dreams spin out of control until I am dizzy.
I need to get my bearings, put away my dreams of other summers
Filter the shadows of my life
Are their lives as messed up as mine?
Is there perfect harmony?
Can it be reached in a Buddhist Temple on a steppe in Tibet?
Would a mantra, robe, and sandals free me?
Or would I long for a cheeseburger, maybe a bag of fries…”could you super size that please?”
These are the burning questions that keep me awake at night.
There’s a brindle dog that sleeps under my house at night.
As long as I don’t let him in he doesn’t know what he is missing.
Toss him a bone and he’s ecstatic.
Me I am full of blue trombone solos that no one wants to hear.
Jeez you would think every now and then someone would want to know why the shadows on my face never change, but no one dares to ask.
They would get an answer they’re not prepared for,
An answer full of blue ruin and rag water.
A BICYCLE TILT FOR TWO
Riding a bike can actually be a lot of fun
I used to ride mine with my friend named Michael
The following question may be considered a pun
But doesn’t a girl who has two periods a month have a bi-cycle?
© 2009……free cee!
TILT
europe weak china
stong america chose ally oz
asia pacific
Peter Dorr 17th November 2011
dinosaurs tilt horns
circle and protect their young....
snarling snapping rex
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