robby-cale
American
I Grew up in Texas, but am now living in Northern Montana. I Work with psych patients, but am currently working on my material to travel and perform in the slam circuit across the US. I always enjoy meeting fellow poets, so drop me a line any time (at [email protected]).
I smile at you
Watching me
Watch you
Smile right back at me,
Sharing the briefest of secrets.
Well ZOWIE KAPOW!
That's all it took.
Suddenly your mystery compels me
To tell you
Things you wouldn't understand.
Like how your salty wet leather scent
Keeps fragrancing my dreams.
How we may be strangers,
But our making native nasty
Knuckle noose love
Keeps coursing, red-roaring through.
And when I come to,
Forcibly forgoing my fantasy of you,
I exhale my ethereal bliss,
Left savoring only this:
Your wicked wiles, whispering winks,
And God in the curl of your lips.
Mar 4, 2010
Mar 4, 2010 at 12:19 PM UTC
I...
I..
Aye aye aye.
I am..
What I am..
I am dracula.
And I bid you welcome
To the first day
of the rest of your
Life, liberty, and the pursuit of
The best of times, it was the worst of times,
No.
This time, it's personal.
Actually, there is no time
Like the
Present arms
Out as a gesture of good
Will you please just give me a line?
No.
I just have to think.
I just have to think.
I think,
Therefore I am
Saving a bunch of money on my car insurance.
And ba-da-ba-ba-ba I'm lovin' it!
And I love the smell of nav..
Navels in the morning.
And I like big butts and I cannot lie
How like I like what is in the work.
The chance to do unto others as you would
You please just give me a line?
Come on.
There's gotta be a line that
you..
B-line!
As the crow flies!
Because the longest way round is
The shortest way home.
And there's no place like home
Of the braves.
Brave.
I just gotta be brave
And keep this up
Up, and Away
Way better to
Reign in hell, than serve
Some of the other white meat.
Because no,
I can always just
Open up a can of worms,
Which by any other name
Would taste as sweet.
And just feast on life,
You know?
Because the way to a man's heart is through his
bloodstream.
Which is thicker than water.
So you can lead a horse to water,
But you can't make it
......
Walk on it.
And don't walk on eggshells.
Walk lively!
Walk on the moon!
Walk on cloud
Nine ways to skin a cat.
Because they make take our lives,
All nine,
But they'll never take our freedom
To go cuckoo for cocoa
Puff
The magic dragon,
Who lived by the
See what a tangled web we
We've got to stick together if we're
Gonna get through
This
Is the long and the short of it.
This, above all else,
To thine own self be
Ware the ides of march.
No.
To thine own self be
Or not to be,
That is the
...
...
something.
..
..
Something's rotten in denmark!
No, There's something on the wing!
No, something wicked this way
Come what, Come may,
Come Watson, come.
The game is afoot.
But frankly, my dear,
I don't give a ****
Because you're ****** if you do,
And ****** if you
Don't you hear me calling for line?
Come one, it's survival of the fittest up here!
..
..
No, I'll just be strong.
I'll just be STRONG! Yeah, Army
Strong enough for man, but made for a woman,
Because you know what, honey,
it's not you.
It's me.
The number one prescribed band
Doctors choose most
for their night time,
sniffling,
Sneezing,
coughing,
aching,
stuffy-head,
Fever,
so you can rest medicine!
I'll be the king
In this world,
You gotta hope for the best,
And prepare for the worst,
And just take whatever god
Send me a line!
Please!
Thank you.
Avas me mateys,
Alas dear lads,
There she blows,
Off with her head,
But where's the cream filling?
I jest.
Rest assured you're in good hands with
All's fair in love and war
Because you gotta keep your friends close and your
Lovers closer,
Because hey.
Any friend of yours is a
Friends don't let friends drive!
So grab a plane!.
If he leaves and you're not on that plane,
you'll regret it.
Maybe not today,
Maybe not tomorrow,
But soon.
And for the rest of your
Life comes fast,
so grab
A horse! A horse!
My kingdom for a horse!
Or better yet, beam me up, Scotty!
Scotty.
.......
.....
...
..
Scotty.
Scotty, what we have here
Is a failure to communicate.
Scotty!
sniff
Eh tu, scotty?
Parting is such sweet sorrow.
I don't know.
Cry.
sniff
Cry!
Cry havoc,
and let's slip the
Rolling stone gathering no mass.
And just slip me a line!
Someone!
I'm between a
Rock and a hard day's night up here!
Here...
here...
here's the raw end of the deal.
You see I remember a moss of things,
but not distinctly.
So just don't let it end like this.
Tell them
I said
......
something.
Feb 5, 2010
Feb 5, 2010 at 12:39 PM UTC
Somewhere up in here,
All is not well.
It's just a bit too much,
What with those pesky dunce capped gnomes
Prancing about,
Bending gears,
Building steam,
boiling my brain to a blistering sizzling simmer.
I wake up thinner,
Drenched in sweat,
Knowing this will all unfold again tomorrow.
And somewhere up in here,
My friends might actually care about our ever fading dreams,
Because somewhere up in here,
A slip winking sandman keeps whispering my name,
Beckoning me off to New Nevermore
To make peace between the
High minded
Time biding Rhymenians,
And the ever aggressive
Yet articulate Alliterations,
And somewhere up in here,
I Houdini shall lull you into trance.
Ladies and gentlemen!
This shpeel is going just great
As it grates against your senses
Like white wine and cheese
At a dinner party execution.
See I am but a savory hor dourve.
A fleeting morsel between meals
As *** hurts the ones it loves,
A walking talking come on *** conundrum
To come chew you up and stress you out.
Because somewhere up in here,
I mark hours lost in response
To Craigslist fembot synothstitutes..
Wow! You're single too?
We should chat sometime.
Just sign up or register here.
And somewhere up in here,
I'm walk mouthing these very words.
Etching perfection as ogling onlookers
Or misguided miscreants
Manage to mistake me
For a bumbling bluetooth businessman,
Or maybe just another tired old transient
Mumbling profanities to the wind.
And somewhere up in here,
A cop car could almost pass
For a techno rave on wheels,
While your toothbrush keeps taunting
The spinach fondeaux
Haunting my bicuspids.
And somewhere up in here,
I'm sinking these very teeth
Into a good ol' fashioned mystery.
The hunt for the black hounding hole
Wreaking havoc by hide and seeking
From behind my couch,
Pulling back slowly
Only to
Pounce upon my keys, wallet,
Anything in reach.
And somewhere up in here,
My confidential caseload clients
May someday taste freedom
From their self-induced CIA phone taps,
And from those clasp howling clowns in wolves clothing,
Clawing and skat skrat skratching
From behind those thin plaster walls,
impatiently playing for their in-patient souls.
And thinking of them,
Somewhere up in here,
I find good reason to be happy.
As if God truly cares
Even if and when misfortune falls.
So somewhere way down deep,
Below the basement,
Buried beneath old grocery lists and aspirations,
Behind my rusty hotwheels and broken jalopy dreams,
There is a perfect ending
Where you know
Exactly what I'm thinking.
Feb 5, 2010
Feb 5, 2010 at 12:44 AM UTC
My clever words, my genius guise,
Words burrowing, building, burning,
yearning to rise.
But my earth is salted,
My stagnant words halted,
And my novel notion dies.
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 4, 2010 at 10:20 PM UTC
Microsoft Word?
Word.
Microsoft Works?
Meh. It works.
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 4, 2010 at 10:19 PM UTC
Schwinny, Baby,
You were supposed to be
my
Bicycle.
So I don't ask for anthing special.
No dark Harley divas
To whisk me off into the sunset.
But I thought we were at least
On the same road together.
So please.
Don't go droaning on how
Life got too complicated.
I mean,
You've got one flimsy gear.
And don't go moaning how
The road got too bumpy.
I mean,
You went blind bonzai batshit
over burnt black tar pavement.
You just
Let go.
Threw away your
Chain of reasoning
Faster than I could brace for impact.
So am I bleeding?
Yeah, I'm bleeding.
And the worst part is,
I still need you!
No, No, no.
Not like Pom Pom pammy
Needs her purple-plated pogo stick
Nor like Princess Paris
And her prissy pink prom queen limo,
No.
I mean I need I need you like
Alibaba needs his golden cherub camel,
Like Ben Hur his crimson-fury chariot.
Because work is 37. Blocks. Away.
And it starts in 16 minutes.
And the bus is really unreliable.
So we ride again,
Guts against the wind.
But now I've got all ten fingers and toes
Crossed,
Two by two,
And point in fact,
Racing down Guadalupe with
Forked Philanges
Gets really hairy.
But your suicidal tendancies simply scare me.
Your thirst to incur first degree burns,
Fractured femurs,
And flayed skin whittles my patience
To tire track thin!
Think I'll
Roll my dice with a Segway.
She'd be a quaint, play it safe kind of girl.
Type to show off
To a Mom and Dad
Reveling in rosemary jubilation.
Aw, son.
We knew you'd land a keeper. That's my boy.
But in ten days tops,
I'd begin to miss your fiery imbalanced breath.
I'd yearn for your bipolar 180 turns that
Make my heart skip that terrible, syncopated beat.
So let's just say,
I'll give it one more shot.
But ***** just promise you'll stick around a little longer.
It's storming outside and
We both got a few blocks to go.
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 4, 2010 at 10:17 PM UTC
Look, I just want to move you.
Woo you.
Shake you loose but never lose you.
I want to
Savor the glazed reverent silence
Of your gasping, ungrasped breath.
Sip it down till there's nothing left
Yet still explain all the rest.
See, it's time I unearth some gold.
Nothing here sold.
Just given freely to slurp up,
served up cold.
But I dare not go it alone.
Not when there's so many heplping hands
Beyond my own.
So I first court Eloquence.
She's an easy mark to find,
volubly masticating volumes
while leisurely lathering her tanned,
Leather skin.
Dolloping her monocle-bodied features
In librarian sin.
She says...
"My dear boy.
Berate them NOT
with your false start,
lethargic oddities.
Your penchant,
Melancholic falsities.
You must but grunt through the trudgery
Of your muddy misgivings,
And birth only accessible
Pertinent notions.
Neither precarious nor
Incongruous to the truth!
Robby.
You must simply relinquish your
Intrepid, frenzied paucities!
So I dismiss the diss.
Since
her big scary words are kinda lost to me.
Evidently, though,
I must need a Joe Blow.
An Everyman.
A Streetcorner Clairvoyant.
I turn to
(drum roll)
Raunchiness.
His beer belly **** and **** jokes
And dollar store aftershave suggest
A pleasing 'pull-my-finger' charm
that just might turn the trick.
He licks his lips,
And chides through a buck-tooth,
Spit shine smile.
Sheeeooot, boy,
That there one's easy.
All you gotsta do is
Go down deep
And speak from your gut.
Tell em how you feel..
How you REALLY feel.
Tell em..
shoot, tell em they rub you just right,
You might well feel as ***** as
Your gas gauge after a good pump.
As ***** as a McD's wrapper
Corner-pinch-discarded like
A used diaper hammock.
Yeah! You tell em your as ******
As a receptacle
For used diaper hammocks!
Hells yeah.
Girls will eat that **** up!
And say you're as gay as rainbow gold
As straight as an arrow-head.
As misled as finding your folks are still *** fiends
or as contradictory as ***** like me!
Boy, you are as con-fused as the
Lumpy, stumpy, pimply dimpled teen who finds out
Santa Claus IS real!
And he's hanging out loose
In every single Hustler Magazine!
Now hear me boy.
If they still don't care,
Or they see that you're scared,
Just say you feel as guilty as midnight dials
From parents of Girls-Gone-Wild,
sneering,
"Well shoot, sugar plum.
You sure ain't been feeling
Real secure in awhile."
And as he loosely labels me
As awkward as **** thermometers,
As misunderstood as **** plugs,
I give Raunchiness a dismissive shrug,
And return to the mystery
Of what I've missed from me,
Whatever still may be
My own poetic style.
Feb 4, 2010
Feb 4, 2010 at 10:08 PM UTC