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Best Poems Written by London F. Buss

Below are the all-time best London F. Buss poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | London F. Buss Poem

Mockingbird can't fly,
Mockingbird can't sing,
She's not allowed to do anything.
Cold naked, all alone,
in dark dirty room that,
daddy calls her home.
Strapped in a straitjacket,
and chained to a chair,
hosed down and beaten every day,
never allowed to cry.
Mockingbird was never allowed to walk,
Mockingbird was never allowed to talk,
not a word,
Her daddy wanted it that way.
Daddy called it love,
The last exit to hell in,
in the city of angels, a city called L.A.
for twelve long years,
daddy kept her that way.
And she blames herself for the echo's
of her life that never was.
At night her daddy force feeds her slops
then chains her to her bed.
They found her when she turned thirteen
Labelled her the feral wild, child.
The experts and lawyers
fought over her night and day,
At the last exit to hell in the
City of Angels a town they call L.A.
Mockingbird cant sing
Mockingbird cant talk
Mockingbird can walk she hop's like a
rabbit.
She is now a free bird,
but she is still locked away,
At the last exit to hell in a town called L.A.
She dreams in echo's,
of a life that might have been, a mocking jay
In the city of angels,
a town called L.A.
And the mocking bird is now a Mocking Jay
she's in dark dirty room
that's black, blue and gray
The State of California calls her home
Locked away in the City of Angels
They call L.A.

Note.. this is a true story, when she was discovered she couldn't walk (she could hop like a rabbit). She was chained to a chair For 13 years. She couldn't feed herself, she couldn't cry, she couldn't talk (even now she cannot speak whole sentences. She is regarded as highly intelligent State of California still has her locked away in hell echoes of a life that might have been...

Details | London F. Buss Poem

The Night In Question

“The Night in Question”.

  You ask again,
  about the night in question?
  that night in question, three thousand years ago,
  when drawing down the moon was forbidden,
  forbidden to you,
  so very, very long ago.
  Your fingertips touching his thigh, 
  as you watched me g... dying leaves,
  fall as winter tears, falling, stabbing at the snow,
  making the deadly icicles, 
  hidden just below.
  Was that the night in question so very long ago?
  I see you: lonely, vulnerable, and standing, 
  standing too close to him,
  as I am hidden in the ice ,
  in the ice, under the snow,

  Your warm fingertips just touching his thigh, 
  I am hidden just below.
  The Raven now is silent.
  Her muse is sleeping, 
  her bed the gentle wind,
  but I can hear her still: 
  the Raven singing, 
  singing under the ice, under the snow,
  And I can hear her still: 
  the Raven singing, 
  singing under the ice, under the snow,	
  Was that the night in question?
  So very very long ago?

Details | London F. Buss Poem

Cherry Blossoms

“Cherry Blossoms”. 

 Cherry Blossoms 
 Pink
 With smiles, Of innocence.
 flutter,
 and flutter,
 waltzing,
 with the breeze, 
 as if ?
 Dancing on a slack line,
 without Mercy, 
 Trying desperately….

 not to sneeze.
 And fall….. too soon,
 Falling, falling, zigzagging,
 Into the arms of spring.
 And as fate decrees,
 at Last surrendering…..
 To, 
 Newtons Third law.
 All Quiet on the Western Front.

Details | London F. Buss Poem

The Girl From Coochie Road

Note: Coochie Road is a real place.

                  "The Girl From Coochie Road"

     Under a Void Moon, dying in a midnight sky,
     Rain falls like burning snow.
     Her burning tears fall down a wet rainbow.
     She sleeps in the sage brush, where nobody knows?
     She lives way down on Coochie Road.
     In the desert heat, dust devils rise,
     In mirages Mustangs dance with burning eyes.
     You can't see love when your lost in the dark,
     Hanging by your finger nails on the edge of love.     
     Snow fall's down like burning rain.
     As this barefoot girl walks like a dream way down coochie road.

     She's the girl with with emerald green eyes.
     There's a dying moon, in a midnight sky.
     The men from town drive by; they stop and stare,
     at this girl with long black hair, a ragged coat
     a torn dress, and her hair's a mess.
     Her burning tears fall down a wet rainbow.
     She lives way down on Coochie Road.
     The preacher drives by, but he don't dare.
     Spring loaded mouth, Fists full of fury, Finger on the trigger,
     Glock in the pocket of her sweat stained coat.
     This barefoot girl turns her back her and walk's 
     away and smiles with a sneer.

     Emerald green eyes, wind in her long black hair, 
     Men just stop... stop and stare, 
     The fog never clears this time of year.
     If it's lust or fear they can't decide?
     To ask this girl to, to, take a ride,
     She's an Amaretto dream, in a whiskey nightmare. 
     They've lost their head's, lost their mind's.
     The barefoot girl lives way down on coochie road.
     She walks to the corner and takes down the sign! 
     Now they can't find their way back, back to Coochie Road.
     Her burning tears fall down a wet rainbow.
     The barefoot girl lives way down on coochie road.

     A White Witch with warm green eyes, 
     is naked: dancing alone, drawing down the moon,
     In a midnight sky way down on Coochie Road..
     And; The preacher is drunk, with bible in his hand
     but all he knows is, is
     She's an Amaretto dream in a preachers nightmare.
     Her burning tears fall down a wet rainbow.
     A White Witch with warm green eyes, 
     is naked: dancing alone, drawing down the moon,
     Under a Void Moon, dying in a midnight sky,
     Rain falls like burning snow.
     A girl is dancing; naked under a void moon.
     Memories of a lost love so long ago,

     She lives way down Coochie Road.

Details | London F. Buss Poem

The Sandpipers Call

The Sandpipers Call

 Sandpipers Call amongst the garbage
 along the shore,
 Tumbleweeds dance from dusk till dawn 
 Tumbleweeds roll as time goes by,
 And time should stand still for love?
 But:
 Only Tumbleweeds roll roll back and fro making love to the wind.
 Flying lost, in a blue sky, 
 never knowing why,
 Doves fly when curtains Call 
 Crying doves. Scatter, as curtains fall,
 Peregrine falcon,, hits  and death calls,,
 And a spray of bloody feathers,,
 In a garden of angels,, watch them fall,,
 As a cold east wind blows from the west 
 Marking the spot where Sandpipers Call.
 And Tumbleweeds yawn at break of dawn 
 And race each other down empty streets,
 only stopping to keep each other warm,
 Lost again where broken hearts meet 
 Dust storms. Whistle a warning,
 Broken windmills answer with creaking rusting calls that last forever.
 For time is the enemy of broken hearts,
 Leaving you breathless as,
 Strangers walk hand in hand among the garbage along the shore,
 where, Sandpipers Call.
 Tumbleweeds play hide and seek,
 .....until dawn, in the cemetery on the hill where old cowboys lie, 
 waiting for Jesus lost in the garbage along the shore.
 And Sandpipers mourn for dying doves.
 As Tumbleweeds the traveling kind 
 Remind us that love is blind as they March through broken windows
 and open doors, a spray of bloody feathers fall.
 Tumbleweeds play hide and seek until dawn
 Dust devil's whistle a warning, broken windmills answer with
 squeaking rusting  calls and they'll sing that way for broken hearts. 
 Lost forever.
 At last the Tumbleweeds, call to the dying Sandpipers, dying in 
 the rotting garbage and seaweeds strewn along the shore..   
 Home..

Best Poems Written by London F. Buss

The Queen Size Bed

The Night In Question

Walking on Water

Cream Pie

Hell Is For Children

Mockingbird

The Night In Question

Cherry Blossoms

The Girl From Coochie Road

The Sandpipers Call