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 Apr 2017 SK O'Sullivan
r
I have a son
not too far south
of me, close enough
to jump in my car
and go speak of my love

but I won't put a bit
in his mouth or saddle
him with my troubles

We could cut our palms
open with sharp knives
and be blood brothers
the rest of our lives

and I could find another
woman in the mountains
instead of staying here
with his mother he loves
while he swims his own
sea of life without me

instead I drive long drives
and count the keys
on the black piano
of the highways at night
passing beautiful women
who wave and smile back

but I'm only dreaming
keeping night watch
over my bed,  I dream
about old songs that sing
back to me like one
by Townes Van Zandt
about going down to see
a woman named Kathleen.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=KtrJAkNRqOY
Overcrowded a hollow sound

In the circumference of birdsong

Rising with the Sun

As roosters crow morning

Wake-up calls

There in Cebu / House

Full of family

Pieces of my other me

Feeding many mouths

That overcrowded feeling / not again

A nest that homes

A clutch of poor

Cuckoos

Consuming, so many babies

Paradise islands

Third world poverty

Not so far away

White man and money

A supposed land of milk & honey

Beyond the tundra snow

Bleak / must speak English

The beautiful broken

The overgrowth of crowding

it's called city life

Unlike Manila

Although artifice and hollow

Full of the fragrances

Colored by Birdsong

Oh beautiful life / I am drowning

In the thicknesses of pollutant

Mouths speaking

ill

Humanity misbegotten / Understood

We connect with nuttin'

“nothing is the cure

When nothing was wrong

With you”

Birdsong in twilight

Xylophone-stars across the ocean blue

Teeth of night

The cold chime

Befallen

In the infinite / magic of you

Oh love I let me

Overcrowd

Still this loneliness

Feels so very loud...

Then I hear / halcyon Birdsong

The soft feelings of truth

Oh love!

Oh god!

Oh my!

*Goodness you.
Revised still work in progress
Druid is Derwydd
in our tongue
the Welsh of my fathers

Our land is called Cymru
and we have thrived here
since ancient times

We live by our cattle
first
our hearts and families
second
and our crops a poor third

We are taught that
a mist descended on our land
in the before times
and cleansed the earth of life

And that a new people came
our people
and brought with them
cattle
all of the trades
and a gift for song

We were called Celts
but now we are proudly
Welsh
the dragon is our badge
and red war our way of life

The Derwydd
are our guides
they follow the stars
know the mystic tides
teach our young
and ease our old
into the afterworld

Never cross a Druid
they say
or feel your tongue
curl into burnt leather
in your mouth

Please a Druid
and luck will
lay by your side

I am called Caedmon
wise warrior
son of Lhur
born in the shade
of a great oak

I was taught all of the high arts
poetry
music
and war

If ever you travel
through our fortress-locked land
you will be welcome
at my hearth

Come
bring your sweet pipes
and play
bare your sword arm
and raid with us

When we return
cattle rich
then the feast will begin
then the bards will sing
and poetry will open your mind
to the harmonies of heaven.
For my Welsh forbears.
 Apr 2017 SK O'Sullivan
CK Baker
Leg off the table
you red face recruit!
put on the offensive
and break down
the bolted door!
you are the soul saver
the peddle maker
the calibrator
with colored handbills
and front line
rhetoric

join the masquerade
in ivy league style!
politicking with
cunning guile
invisalign smile
blackened vile
bleeding the funnel
with gold plate omega
and crocodile shoes

get on stage
and dance you fool!
you are the headline maker
the pantomime juggler
the compromised closer
pull out that 5 page review
(bullet points only please)
and polish those weathered lines!

did you give it your all?
the door tags
and pleasantries
the tidings
and clippings
the irrevocable claims
and postured blames
all those impressionable basics
put to the test?

you know the call
(straight from
those cold academics)
the pie chart gurus
and contract killers
(complete with bone in finger)
whipping their
frenzied crew
in an all night
charade

old yellar
and the gatekeeper
sure seem amused
(sharpening their inquest
behind closed doors)
firing up the shiit storm
with those hostile priicks
and a slew
of insatiable
cures

there’s laughter from the back room
the dripping nose
and wavering hand
the cut white lines
and checkpoint tales
the pipeline romance
and lacking form
(of a basic essential
character!)

soundboard
and narratives
for logging time
slouching on the
steel case
over moot points
ready to play
the 3 weight
butter card
(if need be)

might I remind you
it’s only an inquiry
(with a slight hint of concern!)
surely no
malfeasance
or deception intended
so step back from
the melt down
and cut to the chase!

headlines to breadlines
penthouse to outhouse
those immoral pursuits
have taken their toll
(haven’t they?)
madman or rogue
(you take your pick)
for the scores
and tabulations
are final

shame on you
for the foul play
the bold hypocrisy
and order desk games
the back stabbing blames
and spurious names
just sign on the dotted line ~
this banter
is killing me
 Apr 2017 SK O'Sullivan
CK Baker
It’s all you’ve ever seen
in a midnight’s dream
the zero sum games
and exorcised demons
asinine plunges
on tunkwa brides
phantom fingers cradling
the ragged red dress

shadow hands
clasp at the floodgates
lava fields boil
through scorched amber veins
needles pierce
the look out
where flames dance wildly
over boneyard grounds

deep red pedestals
behind bleeding walls
empty halls and doorways
throughout the sinful nest
bulging eyes and blood rush
in a dark crimson sky
a funeral, before I die
 Apr 2017 SK O'Sullivan
CK Baker
to exonerate the clippings
they took the back road to oswega
the tudor house rabbits
had long lost their heads
(presumably to the *****)
and what remained
of the landscape
was dead
and dry
and orange

that happy home
on the brink
of cattle loop
was now gull grey
the needles
and stragglers
from shady bay
remained (in growing numbers)
on the outskirts
of the driven back park

the once fabled town
of horse drawn tours
and dignitaries
was stone washed ~
on the back of it's
government docks
sat decrepit toppers
set against the high tide
beside the lighthouse
and its measured song

flutes and fiddlers
and acoustic sitars
ride the accompaniment
nose rings
and signage
in the hands of
staged protesters
the sickly spit strewn
with tidal run
and ocean bags

hedgerows trimmed
along the sea side
rolling hills fade
adjacent the chuck
mint juleps
and flop hats
peak on the parade
clydesdales
and royals
blinded in the back
 Apr 2017 SK O'Sullivan
CK Baker
Willets cull the seawall
snapper on the grill
rock ***** swoon
in shallow lagoons
long boats pass
under quiet
palm shade

Plovers dance and flutter
handrails frayed and torn
graffiti spots
at lovers rock
frigate-birds fall
from a high
noon sun

Thatched roof on a mud wall
fish flags settle score
anchors arch
in front line march
pillar cracks form
under rust brown scars

Elegant tern and grebe
watchmen fall in cue
children play
on crested waves
whimbrels and notchers
perch above Tentaciones

Striped pelícanos
the bandits of the sea!
merchants grow
in steady flow
siblings jostle
in a tide cooled sand

Heerman gull and boobie
durango smoke in yurt
boiler shrimp
and puffer blimp
castle buckets and scrapers
under a dusk light cheroot

Six pulls on a lead line
painted toes in sand
shearwater run
in a rainbow sun
the portly mexicano
flaunts his tacos
and wares

Rooster house for swordfish
bamboo shoots and sails
broken shells
and ocean swells
rise
on the
perfect
La Ropa bay
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