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Judge Santiago Burdon Poem
I NEVER WRITE LOVE POEMS
You say I never write love poems.
It doesn't mean I don't feel that way.
With all the love you've shown me darlin'.
You are my reason to live every day.
When we're lying holdin' each other
We feel the moment
We don't need the words.
You say I never write love poems.
I know you've given me reason to.
It's not that I'm uninspired
There's just no poem that comes close to you.
When you kiss me it's such a feeling,
Words can't express
What you do to me.
You say I never write love poems,
Declaring my desire for you .
You are my living poem
A breathing Sonnet
I'm just a sentence lost within a verse.
My pen is idle while my heart beats in rhythm
To the sound of your voice
Like the melody of a song
You say I never write love poems
I plead you forgive my indigent hand
Empty of words to create a love poem
Filled with the emotion of a Cupid's scribe.
After all the love we've shared together
You can read the story
Written in my smile.
Some day the words,
They may come easy.
In the whisper of a gentle breeze.
Until then I live with the sin
Of the love poem my soul has kept hidden
Your love poem
The one,
That was never written.
Copyright © Judge Santiago Burdon | Year Posted 2018
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Judge Santiago Burdon Poem
DOES HE
Does he touch you with deep cabernet dreams,
or is it all white wine passion?
does your heart race from his nearness?
is there surrender in his scent?
does he tempt you?
does he leave you breathless?
are you tantalized with jalapeno kisses,
like butterflies stinging spicy pleasure on your inner thighs?
does he entice you?
do you feel wicked and waxened?
do you scream bruja's incantations
moan verses of ancient runes?
is your ****** seismic?
does he read like a mystery with a hint of gypsy blood?
does he consume you?
can he make you laugh in color?
does he feed your madness calm your storm?
does he feel betrayed by your shadow?
is he envious and jealous of your light?
does he sit in stillness while you listen to your muse?
does he make you feel whole?
does he?
does he?
i once did!
didn't i?
2/6/18
Copyright © Judge Santiago Burdon | Year Posted 2018
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Judge Santiago Burdon Poem
The Restaurant Menu has a picture.
Three golden brown Pancakes
A large corn colored slice of butter
Melting on top running over the sides.
Griddle Cakes doing a Nathalie Wood impersonation
Drowning in a sea of thick maple syrup
Cartoon like ribbons of aroma rising upward.
The old man made them every Sunday morning before church.
Which he never attended
Black hair slicked back
Partially stained white Dago-Tee
Cigarette dangling from his lips.
The ash worming longer with each Popeye exhale
From the side of his mouth
Large bowl on his left hip
Attacking the batter with grunts of enthusiasm.
Tattoos on his arms flexing larger then smaller
Giving the appearance they were dancing.
Tatted when he was a Cook in the Navy
During World War II.
I imagined him storming the beaches of the South Pacific
With spatula in hand
"Don't need to cut'em with a damn knife.
Use your fork "
He'd holler wrestling the knife from my hand
Then throwing it into the sink.
Slapping the back of my head in anger
No Waitress wait!
I'll have the Waffles instead
With strawberries if you have them.
Yes, Waffles
We never had a Waffle Iron.
Copyright © Judge Santiago Burdon | Year Posted 2021
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Judge Santiago Burdon Poem
Invitation To A Funeral
The night cold with it's sharp corners
Cutting comfort through my skin
With drunken footsteps of a soldier
I'm a tourist at your door again
My knock is full of empty
A vacant echo its reply
Consequence provides the answer
Circumstance the reason why.
Can't mend my bleeding ego.
Pieces of me cupped in the hands of my mind
Memories dripping through my fingers
A painful pleasure suicide
Your broken promise castaway upon the waters
Now washed up on desolate shores.
I've become the company
That misery enjoys
My imagination without wonder
Muffled thunder in broken skies
Love is an invitation to a funeral
A memorial service where death is eulogized.
Copyright © Judge Santiago Burdon | Year Posted 2018
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Judge Santiago Burdon Poem
Stone of Nihilism
Stained glass lies
Colored shards of broken truth
Puzzle pieces arranged in
Sanctimonious expression
Designed to camouflage falsehoods
The perjury of Priests
Disguised deceit in windows of brilliant rainbow hues
Lighted by a sunlight of fraudulent confession
Hypocrisy designed with prismatic glass of fragile faith
Proudly hang in your Church of Shame
My single stone of Nihilism
Shatters the pigmented panes of your tinted atrocities
©2019
Copyright © Judge Santiago Burdon | Year Posted 2019
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Judge Santiago Burdon Poem
A Statue Speaks
The morning takes it's first breath of daylight
Exhaling the sunrise that fills the sky with colored
brilliance.
Chirping often mistaken as singing by winged troubadours.
disrupts the gloaming's silence
Shrill announcement of their agendas prior to flight.
I stand in bronzed stillness
Aware of the onslaught about to befall me
A daily routine of humiliation.
Statues are City scarecrows .
Just as ineffective as their country counterparts
Pigeons are first to perch on my structure.
Cooing laughter while they on my oxidized green copper surface.
Their feces leaving white spots about my body
As though I was infected with Vitiligo
These rats without wings are indigent of respect
I'm a creation of spirituality for Christ’s sake
a pious image of an Arc Angel
Crows and Magpies swoop in like gang members
commandeering territory the Pigeons
vacated in a cowardly fashion
They squawk in triumph and sharpen
their beaks on my alloyed body,
committing the same sacrilege as the prior visitors
Milky excrement drips into crevices
slides downward scoring long white lines
An expression of their contempt
a display of discourteous action without apologies.
The Bible contains many verses and references
pertaining to their reverence.
“Look to the air and the birds
Your heavenly father feeds them.”
But God like an undisciplined child
takes no responsibility
for cleaning up after their mess
He’s occupied creating Divine catastrophes
that doesn’t leave dirt under his fingernails.
The day is evicted by the Sun's stealth exit
a grey landscape surrenders to the night.
Another vandal with equal disregard for public art
employs a method of deviant behavior
in contrast to the winged assailants.
They're referred to as “taggers”
The weapon they holster is a can of spray paint.
scribbling nonsense and irrelevant messages
containing misspelled words,
profanities out of context
grammar of an illiterate
accompanied by hissing of the spray
I’m transformed into a marquee
Displaying their stupidity in color.
Their graffiti leaves a scar difficult to erase
I’m painted in areas that cause me to be embarrassed
Enter the drunks, addicts, thieves,
homeless and the mentally deranged
Each group staging a unique performance.
some voicing prayer like a child asking Santa for presents,
believing that their requests will actually be answered.
Assuming I’ve got a direct connection to God’s ear.
Others curse, swear and scream at me with contempt
suspecting that I am the cause of their misfortune.
As if had a hand in their bad luck and demise
They choose me to be the victim of their displaced aggression
I am the one to blame.
They reward me with piss and vomit.
Breaking bottles against my metal frame.
Under the cover of foliage behind me.
Young lovers moan with pleasure from the engaging in sex.
They scream with delight
Young voices expressing the sensation
Hookers provide discounts for acts of oral gratification.
my stature keeping them hidden and undetected.
I'm sentenced to constant exposure to the forces of nature.
No matter the weather I stand vigilant braving the elements,
being at the mercy of each season’s unpredictable climate
. Assaulted without relief never provided with shelter
against the atmospheric conditions.
If in the near future you pass an anchored figurine.
Take a moment to notice it’s grandeur,
admire the curves, the expression, the attention to detail
And comment on the creativity of the artist
Now being aware of a statue’s stiff existence.
Your appreciation will give purpose to it’s frozen pose.
--
Judge Burdon
Copyright © Judge Santiago Burdon | Year Posted 2018
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Judge Santiago Burdon Poem
Defined By Idioms
Naked truth, bent nails
dead men tell no tales
bad Apple, broken mirrors
burnt out light bulbs, crocodile tears
spilt milk, goose chase
two cents worth, rat race
rotten egg, bad to the bone
eagle eye, no place like home.
bat from hell,
pulled punch
big cheese,
no free lunch
can of worms, bleeding heart
knock on wood,
till death do us part
bite the bullet, checkered past
good as gold,
last laugh
burning bridges,
ball of wax
hold your horses start from scratch
wooden nickels ace up your sleeve
hair of the dog
all Greek to me
axe to grind
behind the eight ball
bigger they are
the harder they fall
jack of all trades cat's got your tongue
fair weathered friend
like father like son
small world
on thin ice
speak of the Devil roll of the dice
blood's thicker than water
lie like a rug
dime a dozen
when push comes to shove
dog eared pages
eye for an eye
bury the hatchet how time flies clean as a whistle C
chew the fat
crime doesn't pay. cover my ass
throw me under the bus gentle as a lamb
cold shoulder
hit the fan
buyer beware
woman's work never done
never say never
takes one to know one
come Hell or high water
pissing in the wind
pretty as a picture through thick and thin
beat a dead horse pass the buck
whole nine yards down on my luck
life’s a
don't rock boat
needless to say
go for broke
My life is the sum of trite cliches
Jaded expressions
so worthless so worn
I couldn't give it away
Copyright © Judge Santiago Burdon | Year Posted 2019
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Judge Santiago Burdon Poem
SHE LOVES NASCAR
She loves NASCAR.
I prefer Gaugin or Renoir
but she loves NASCAR.
It's a southern fascination
as Dixie as Faulkner
or sweet potato pie.
I love NASCAR,
She squeals like tires burning,
out of breath.
The only thing that moves
like lightening in the south,
NASCAR.
Guys driving fast
making left hand turns.
I prefer the curves
in a Rodin,
the speed of a swallow’s flight.
She loves NASCAR.
Her eyes smoke
smiling like a checkered flag,
with spark plug laughter.
When the twisted wrecks
have been cleared.
the vroom of the engines still.
In bed,
In my arms she idles.
Her hair smelling of excitement
and exhaust.
I love NASCAR
Her engine revs
I whisper, we have
nothing in common.
Don't be silly
we both love Nascar.
She reaches for me
under the sheets.
GENTLEMEN START YOUR ENGINES!
She draws me inside,
A pitstop. I'm her one man pit crew
We both love NASCAR she sputters.
Yes but, not
for the same reason.
My key in her ignition.
My pistons pounding.
My gears shifting
My heart racing .
Yes, oh yes I love Nascar.
Copyright © Judge Santiago Burdon | Year Posted 2018
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Judge Santiago Burdon Poem
Walking through the city streets late at night,
The rain soaking me to the bone
It's on rainy nights like this
when I think of you most
It makes me want to come by your home
To tell you something that happened
A long time ago
When we parted and went our separate ways
I'm not accusing you of being a kleptomaniac
But you took my Repel Umbrella
and I want it back!
JSB
Copyright © Judge Santiago Burdon | Year Posted 2023
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Judge Santiago Burdon Poem
Sunsplashing
Found myself living
on the right side of paradise.
Swear I haven't thought about you
Well maybe once or twice
Chillaxin' in my hammock
Just waiting for the ocean to sneeze
The waves washed my footprints in the sand
There hasn't been a sign of me.
Sunsplashing away
Sunsplashing my life away
Ben Harper on the radio
singing
He's gonna burn one down
I smoked a joint with my morning coffee.
I see no harm I burn another one now
Don't think I've got no worries
I've got some tough decisions to make
Do I want Mango or Papaya juice
to mix with my next Rum drink?
I'm sunsplashing my life away
Nine degrees north latitude
Is where I make my home
Quepos, Costa Rica
Where the days are lazy and long.
And when the sun it goes to sleep
To rest up for tomorrow's day
We hit the beach
Build a fire and Moonsplash the night away
I like to mind my own business
Don't try to give others advice
But I'd like to share some words of wisdom
I heard from a good friend of mine
He said Santi when life gets too heavy
And you're carrying a troublesome load
Get to beach and sunsplash
And those troubles drift away in the undertow
Sunsplash your life away
Monkeys in the tree tops
All laughing at my white skin
Pretty lil' Ticas walking on the beach
Everybody's wearing a grin
I am like that ole 3 toed sloth
I need a reason to move
Cause I've got everything
I need right here
And baby I don't need you.
Sunplashing my life away.
Copyright © Judge Santiago Burdon | Year Posted 2018
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