Dear California,
We must be meant to be.
I hear songs about you,
and I know they're sung just for me.
And in the night of waiting,
I long to be with thee.
I'm hesitating,
but I know you're for me.

I'll take you once a year,
if that's all I can have.
In my heart you're so dear,
I can't wait to come back.
Even while I'm there.
Oh, California
It must be in the air.
Dear California,
I'll meet you there.
Wait for me California.

I'll be with there someday.

We must've spun around about 78 times
The morning was a majestic disaster
Broken glass on the floor,
Paired with fallen curtains,
Scattered reading material,
Chocolate wrappers all over the rug

There was a sense of expired enjoyment
All over the living room
My eyes were all beat up
And the pain laid quietly beneath them

There was a tremble in my hands
All I could think about was
The window that doesn't open
Sean Daley's depression as a happy mess
Knowing today needed a mute button

Aaron LA Lux
Aaron LA Lux
Dec 27, 2016

The City of Demonios

“Why are some people waiters,
and some people are waited on,
why are some people Haters,
and some people hated on?”

I was awaited on,
before they knew they were waiting,
pinch from dreams or so it seems,
because it appears the people are awaking,

I’ve awaken,
in some sort of dreaming,
and I’m trying to not let them get me,
but it seems they get everyone eventually,

preyed on by hungry demons,
Fallen Angels that haven’t found peace,
from the city of Los Angeles,
to the beaches in the East,

a feast,
I offer up my body for Death,
see only through the death of the physical,
can the Soul truly ascend,

ascend,
do not fear the Reaper,
friend,
let’s make them all Believers,

I see her,
like a nightmarish dream,
I love Her I hate her I have to have her,
she stares in my eyes and makes the Silence scream,

scream,
isn’t that a painting,
a dream,
isn’t that just waiting,

let’s not,
let our,
hopes only be hopes,

manifest,
all of this,
before Death ties His rope,

around your neck,
suffocation,
please let me free,
we need liberation,

but for now,
I’ll just take a glass of water,
I’m parched it’s a desert out here,
and I’m wondering if the trouble’s worth the bother,

“Waiter,
please a glass of water.”,
I turn to you after ordering a glass,
and say “Isn’t it ironic.”,

“Why are some people waiters,
and some people are waited on,
why are some people Haters,
and some people hated on?”…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

Hello from the other side...
Aaron LA Lux
Aaron LA Lux
Jun 10, 2016

I know baby it can be hard to maintain in your frame,
in this world that's insane it's hard to stay sane,
difficult to be modest in all honestness with all this fame,
especially when they've seen your face,
heard the rumors and know your name...

∆ Aaron La Lux ∆

from Hollywood Heartbeats; volume 1 available 7/7/16

Brent Kincaid
Brent Kincaid
May 20, 2016

There is an ancient woman
In the market near my home
Who walks the timeless amble
Of a battered soul alone.
Her pasted orange tresses
A marmalade cascade
Fall so stiffly down to where
Her hand is always laid
Clutching her treasure bag
She goes her way careless
Ignoring chiding glances
At her faded evening dress.

Her story hides in rumors
Whispered by those who work
In the shops and restaurants
Here near McArthur Park.
They say she was a movie queen
Or an extra in the silent days
And an accident at the studio
Made her bald unto this day.
She refused to remove the wig
She ran out crying, in costume
And now she is still wearing it
Hoping he will find her soon.

The woman at the pharmacy
Said her hair caught on fire
At a movie in the twenties
Her boss calls her a liar;
Says the leading man did it
In a fit of rage and jealousy
When she wouldn't marry him
He set fire to the scenery.
Others heard that she was fired,
But she wouldn't leave the set
So deep inside her mind
She really hasn't left it yet.

Some have tried to talk to her
But she never speaks that much
Except inquiring prices and colors
Of the goods she chances to touch.
To direct questions and advances
She turns sadly away and leaves.
You can tell she is sensitive
You can tell by her face she grieves.
It is easy to see she is living
In some world that is not ours
Her world seems a place of gloom
Of thunderstorms and showers.

She caresses with her fingertips
Along the banisters she passes
And she seldom lets her gaze linger
Behind her smoked sunglasses.
Her satin dress has faded,
Like the color of her hair.
She still lingers in each moment
When she walks down the stair.
She never seems to notice those
Who stop and goggle at her
And they are many, these gawkers
But they just don’t' seem to matter.

She seems to have accepted
What her life has now become.
She has been coming to the park
For decades more than some.
This may be a playground
For popeyed urban gnomes.
But this is where she shops
This decaying place her home.
This park is very much like her
Many ages past its prime.
The vestiges of past glory
Have not been erased by time.

I wrote this in 1972 and consider it one of my best poems ever. I do hope some kind tunesmith puts music to it someday.
Egeria Litha
Egeria Litha
Sep 1, 2015

I need to believe in release
like California needs the rain

Nourishing water give me growth
like desert plants wander the heat
Curled up on the ground
patiently waiting for a tear drop
from the sky
the shape of a tear resembles an acoustic
someone somewhere chanting,
praying for rain

Nature remind, reflects, reveals
we can live through dry environments
by hiding in our turtle shells
patiently waiting for the right conditions
to unleash the colors, magnificent design,
length and contribution that blooms inside
to thrive in the world.

This poem is about being surrounded by the wrong people and environments and knowing that there is always a way out. Waiting for the right environment to come alive again.
Jeanette
Jeanette
Jul 20, 2015

It was late November in Los Angeles,
back when it still used to rain.
In that old apartment in which everything felt
filtered yellow, like coffee stained teeth.
The walls, like you, were too thin;
at times I could hear your neighbor crying.

We used to drink, and head up to the rooftop,
where we would smoke too many cigarettes
and loudly declare our love.
Our aesthetic was broke and romantic.
Drunkenly admiring one another like
we admired the city
by romanticizing it's flawed demeanor.

"...don't you remember me babe,
I remember you quite well..."
I sang to you while I ran my cold fingers
through your soft waves.
You hated Dylan but joked
that I nailed it, and
began warm my hands with your breath.

[IN]
Blowing up her phone for a chance to meet,
What I didn't know then; I was already beat,
Resending messages, no way I'll take defeat,
It wasn't an option, I was dying for the meat,
Spinning the wheel of fortune, I was dying for the greet,
Talking about tryna take you out in my 2seater,
Tell me where you wanna go, I’ll take you on my feet,
Said you like movies, well let's hit the theater,
Your ass is cold in that dress, I got leather heaters,
Lucky Charm on my chest & my ’01 beaters,
Movie was great but you're not sleepy,
So we hit a nearby bowling alley,
Played a few rounds & it went by speedy,
Don't forget I have to drive back to the valley,
Take your ass home, maybe you'll tell me to come in,
& that'll be the finale…

[&]
But no, you wanted more,
The nerve of some women,
I just wanted to score,
There was no way I’d go home empty-handed,
But she was really taking everything for granted,
So what's next? At my cousin's spot, we landed,
Already three in the morning, I might leave this broad stranded,
I'm getting played aren't I?
But then she complimented my eyes & my patchy beard,
I know it's all a disguise but I wasn't ready to disappear,
It was too late & she was grinding my gears,
Two dates & an after party, not even a kiss on the cheek,
& her smile was so fake, it made me so weak,
She was so fake & I was so weak…

[OUT]
We got inside in an instant, yeah I'm special treatment,
Found a few of her friends, I swear she's a demon,
It's like she knew all along that they would be present,
So she played the "I'm gonna sleep at my girl's" card,
& I'm thinking how pleasant,
I got fucked over in the blink of an eye, you'd think I learned my lesson,

I didn’t.

I paid for her hookah & her Monster too,
& she didn't look twice my way, I feel like a monster too,
I got fed up so I told her I was leaving, she gave me a handshake,
I couldn't believe it, for fuck's sake, I'm so heated,
All I could take home with me is an empty pocket & a heart on the verge of break,
I don't know how I slept through the night, woke up wishing she would've flaked,
But she didn't because she knew what she was doing,
This wasn't brand new, my confidence was ruined,
& to top it all off, she ignored my every call & text,
Probably went on to the next,
Did the same with him, now we're both in wrecks,
I feel you my G, I feel the regrets,
I was never enough but who am I kidding?
She was master of the bluff,
My homies asked how my weekend was, man that shit was rough,
Looking back at when times were so tough,
& I got every girl in the world I could imagine,
I guess it all worked out in the end,
FUCK YOU JASMINE.

@moesdeph ~ http://moesdeph.tumblr.com
mmohamadali94@gmail.com

Copyright © 2015 Mohamad M. Ali. All rights reserved.

#love   #heartbreak   #poem   #poetry   #poet   #lost   #losangeles   #la   #california   #kanyewest  
Iris Blanche
Iris Blanche
Apr 1, 2015

There are many things that humans touch,
in the sea, in the sky, and the land.
There are many things that humans touch,
and build, and travel in, and stand.

The neon lights shine proud through the darkness.
The planes fly high, distant sound.  
The freeway buzz keeping humans moving on,
Lives revolve on borrowed ground.

There, through the crack in the steel grey cement,
A dandylion delicately stands.
It flourishes with a gentle force,
that is stronger than anything touched by man.

There are many things that humans touch,
in the sea, in the sky, and the land.
The one thing that no human can touch,
is mother nature’s hand.

#life   #flowers   #nature   #beauty   #mother   #losangeles   #touch   #humans   #city  

Lana knows I’m a ruined Bel Air princess. We climb up behind the Hollywood sign and smoke her mother’s cigarettes, waiting for Charlie Manson to save us.

Hot, flat days of fire and the Santa Anas tearing at ragged palm trees. Sat on the roof under a moon too big to bear, we pretend to read each other’s palms. We’ll both die young, we’re too beautiful to grow old.

She’s Charles Bukowski in a negligee but Bukowski is punishing you; Lana still hopes you’ll find her on that revolving bed overlooking Topanga Canyon. She’s been crying for days and her eyeliner has run onto the pink satin, but she’s got fresh lipstick on, a Hollywood smile ready for the lights.

 
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