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Apr 2019 · 230
The price of birth
bob Apr 2019
After the party
on the floor
popped balloons, confetti
and the birthday cake
your mom made.

Knock. Knock.
No joke.
For you know who's there.
It's the fire breathing
sickle swinging
cleaning crew
with mops and shovels
to gather and remove
what remains
of your last breath.
Mar 2019 · 158
Shallow Pool - No Diving
bob Mar 2019
If you like surface poetry
you've come to the right place
(like the title says)
unless, of course, you're the type
who ignores what someone tells them

even when you know better.

Like stealing your way
into a forbidden palace
where everyone makes love
to everyone.

So you stay there playing.
Exhilarated. Feeling **** good.
Hand-me-down earbuds
firmly pressed listen for truth.
Ancient sonar echoes for depth.

Not a hint of shame.
Jun 2018 · 804
Looking Back
bob Jun 2018
I plan for the future
but in all honesty
my life has unfolded
like some unforeseen
magic trick.
Jun 2018 · 966
The Flow of Poetry
bob Jun 2018
I wish I had it.
Instead my words grind
in a windmill built on a ****
in Amsterdam.
They grind and grind
far, far, far from here
near the sea of flowing words
swimming freestyle
to flowing hearts
flowing minds.

Not jealous, mind you,
more like knowing
I'm a grinder grinding
all the while admiring
the soulful flowing words
scribed by the best of you.
May 2018 · 8.9k
The Best Poems
bob May 2018
poets come.
Finish inside me.
Swim in me.
Taste me. From
7 to eleven
slurp me
in the convenience store
where some
wrestle to buy
this or that
I remain
gift wrapped

for your
good stuff.
I"m humbled by all the attention.  Thank you all.
Apr 2018 · 2.8k
My Friendly Neighbor
bob Apr 2018
Leaves the gate unlocked.
No need to knock.
No need to make a payment
on the hood of her car
for when the curtain's drawn


and there on the kitchen counter
a cocktail waiting
for my consumption
on an island coaster
made of bamboo.

From the backroom
she calls over Marley's
No Woman No Cry
come here, baby.
And I do.
bob Apr 2017
Inside your pink palace,
I'm a poem.

Oh, little one,
dance to the reggae
of rhyme touching
the chestnut darkness
of your summer skin
weaving hello from
the frontyard barbecue
playing Jamaican tunes
of smoke and heat.

To feel
my strong and soft,
my dark and light

inside your pink palace,
I'm a poem.
Mar 2017 · 1.1k
bob Mar 2017
Am I suppose to be her
in love's arms a victim or a
sweet little summer afternoon
picking fresh lemons
to grill all tasty good?

Reposition the briquette fire
so her legs keep me cool
in the warmth of her flower.
Mar 2017 · 1.2k
bob Mar 2017
Sheets are blue.
How-to palmistry books
and carefully scribed notes
are scattered about.

A poor copy of
The Last Supper
hangs high on the wall
to my left.

To my right
a wood laminate desk
like the kind you might find
in an office in Alhambra
next to a Korean barbeque joint.

Behind me
a colorful landscape
I painted long ago.

In front of me
a closed door.

And my purpose?
None. None at all.
Just passing time
like you are now.
Feb 2017 · 623
bob Feb 2017
Behind gold letters
on fine lacquered wood
refreshments cool
in hot and humid Saigon.

Motorbikes, cars and
all things guzzling gas
buzz the streets below.

I open the minibar.
Pop the cap of a Tiger beer
and think maybe if we all become
more proficient in love making
we could positively influence
the destiny of this
battered world.
Jan 2017 · 461
bob Jan 2017
I was taught to obey
and give money
to pagan babies.

I was taught to feel
the way you feel
when you must go
to confession a lot.

Not ***** stuff.

Eventually I learned to
add color to the bleached
idea that the only way
to find yourself
is to be nice.
Jan 2017 · 528
bob Jan 2017
I'll write
my accomplishments
on scratch paper
at a Starbucks.

Leave it
for the barista to read
and tell you all about them
when you arrive.
Nov 2016 · 1.9k
bob Nov 2016
It says that in small print
at the bottom of the TV ad
as a car sails off a cliff.

You're angry
because that is exactly
what you want to do.
So you post complaints
on the internet.

Some attorneys respond,
"we're making a safer planet".

"****", you type.
Then fire up the French Camaro
to find a sail worthy precipice.
Nov 2016 · 641
bob Nov 2016
Become your dream, my friend,
before the person building
caskets builds one for you.

Get out of that lazy chair
in that do nothing room.
Come, stand at La Pat.

Close to nothing special.
Still come. Stand at La Pat
and Westminster Boulevard.

Come here to believe again.
Let hope soak into every cell
carrying life through your body.

Then walk to the Lavanderia
around the corner. Inside,
wash yourself anew.
Real? Go there and find out.

— The End —