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John Lusardi Poem
Dark side of Oakleys.
The black, short linen dress,
floats and careses her thighs,
a moition so sweet!
In the eveloping heat.
Fine african beads,
dance loose on dark skin,
caress the breasts above
from a heart beat within.
She sways, and he staggers
In a moment he stands
amongst all the sand that has
fallen, and crumbled off
the sandcastle Man.
Copyright © John Lusardi | Year Posted 2022
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John Lusardi Poem
SCENT.
Its Bluebell month ;
My feet break twigs
long laying brittle in,
leafy brown beds !
In a wave of nostril scent, my
youth and childhood flood back,
sweeten my steps of years,
But! break me.
Copyright © John Lusardi | Year Posted 2022
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John Lusardi Poem
Ethos of 10
They sat, bemused,
in their inocence;
wearing their guilt,
braided tight.
Sealed in a pointed star;
Waiting on the Wolf and Its teeth,
to severe the braids of gold.
Oh the crimson spurting;
wasted for free breath.
Copyright © John Lusardi | Year Posted 2023
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John Lusardi Poem
What memories and thought pools we swim in
Between two distant unreachable shores
A sandy future palmed and green
Or the rocky crags of endless chores.
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 25'
1/26/2022
Copyright © John Lusardi | Year Posted 2021
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John Lusardi Poem
Black Wheat
A flash ; and crash; booming
thundering of ear drums broken.
Burning feet ; enveloping heat ;
winds of razors shredding skin.
Fields of scorch; distant fusion torch;
Ploughs melt bleached bones scatter.
Earth seared; parts human appeared;
lasered ,vast hunger reigns.
A million Suns ; burning as one;
Steamed oceans vanish, rivers to.
Lotts wife repeated; all food depleated;
Its the time ! The
Birth of , Black Wheat
Copyright © John Lusardi | Year Posted 2023
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John Lusardi Poem
Four Cafe’s
It was post digestion time, 10pm ! uncomfortable bloating causing a staggering stand,supported by the apartment windows brass clasp, the torn green velvet digestion chair lilted just beneath. Nested above the Canal Madeline, perched in a loft atop hundreds of lonely books, which i have not browsed ! their prison the De Krook. Afar beyond the cracked glass, out into the January month night, wildly dancing snowflakes cause a cataract pin pointed view of the culprit of indigestion
“ Cafe Croix de Fer”!
Along the frozen cobbles, Ale fuelled, in-firms trudge and trip precariously, fuelled “by many Trappist brews” towards “ Cafe Le repaire des ames perdues” I myself, visit this lair to regularly, its chestnut doors, spit tainted in past blood, open 24 hrs per day 364 days each year , “ No ! The one day is not Noel ! Its Cask day “ And, on this one day, i visit " Cafe Noir"
My tipple of choice is a hand of cards ! held in gloves tattered and fingerless. This addiction to be found in the basement of the Library, a Cafe,174 worn steps below me, name “ Enfer” my light purse, confirms this.
Count.
Copyright © John Lusardi | Year Posted 2023
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John Lusardi Poem
Four Cafe’s
It was post digestion time, 6pm ! uncomfortable bloating causing a staggering stand,supported by the apartment windows brass clasp, the torn green velvet digestion chair lilted just beneath. Nested above the Canal Madeline, perched in a loft atop hundreds of lonely books, which i have not browsed ! their prison the De Krook. Afar beyond the cracked glass, out into the January month night, wildly dancing snowflakes cause a cataract pin pointed view of the culprit of indigestion
“ Cafe Croix de Fer”!
Along the frozen cobbles, “Chartreuse” fuelled, in-firms trudge and trip precariously, Monkeyfied by the Green Devil; towards “ Cafe Le repaire des ames perdues” I myself, visit this lair to regularly, its chestnut doors, spit tainted in past blood, open 24 hrs per day 364 days each year , “ No ! Not Noel ! Its Cask day “ And, on this day, i visit four cafe’s.
My tipple of choice Absinth ! And a deck of cards ! held in gloves tattered and fingerless. This addiction to be found in the basement of the Bookshop. A Cafe, 174 worn steps below me, its name “ Enfer” my light purse, confirms this.
Count.
Copyright © John Lusardi | Year Posted 2023
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John Lusardi Poem
Scars and those Skirts.
And ! At the closing while the waves break, causing tables to rock the bubbled hood off your cappucio, and the sound dipping, a stranger picks up a shell, from the frothy foreshores and gently presses it to their ear, releasing comforting pink noise. A tricolore gestures in the early morning breeze. There are only shadows laying in the shade of boats, no skin lovers, that are restless for nautical distances. The wrapping swirl, of cloth soothes the suns bitting teeth, Away Africa peeps beyond the clouds afar on that magic line. And the weight, of the ever days, subsides. But scars show in your expression..
Copyright © John Lusardi | Year Posted 2023
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John Lusardi Poem
Scrape, bye ; The Calendar
ticks with no inky point,
segments broken into
whatever minuet, or waggle
and slithers of whats left for you.
You can gaze through,
honey coombes yellow
along a long one way troop
of seedless sunflowers,
their low heads hung,
corroded and long Bee,d.
Winter in broken boxes
spilt, blind, even,
warm to strangers
Spring a season of
Infinite meaning,
Based, on nothing
but the viewpoint of a Bee.
13/7/21
Copyright © John Lusardi | Year Posted 2021
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John Lusardi Poem
The hours have dissolved
Like sugar in my many cups
And, all thats left are
Jumbled words and ideas.
9/5/21
Liberum divisa contest
From The significance of table 8
Copyright © John Lusardi | Year Posted 2021
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