Read and read again - Hello Poetry

Dec 2014

memineI

drink down dreamer on
     let fluid flow
         apply shear stress
              to my plastic knowledge
fluid I contain and drown in
    I am obviously
          solid viscosity
              born dynamic.
See If I Am oblivious
    to a need to conserve energy
            i would flow
                 down bitter sweet.
I am statically
      neutron and positively
            ebbing and flows
                 down these wet streets.

I am created to let me
      fall from darkest sky
             turbulence, and whipping winds
                    tossed and turned.

Dec 2014

wordvango

I have drawn

I have drawn portraits
charcoals of Saints
who stayed in one plane
for 200 hours, not moving a hair.

I built a castle, over a hill,
which one I forget.
I have painted oils,
landscaped with smiley faces,
they might look as if they have boils.

I have written, specious, meaning one thing saying another,
poems and probably will do again.
I have laid with Mona Lisa naked,
her perfect breath breathed
into my head.

I have chased Dragons, had a princess by her long hair,
her breast a white snowy her mouth the pinkest gasp.
I have stood taller and fallen farther.
I would, gladly,
do it all again.

Dec 2014

memineI

I love you!

Do I need to be a bit more careful when
uttering these three words?
Or do
they say what I see the future is?
Where: I love you
is said with frequency across sexes
and borders and colors?
I love me!

Dec 2014

wordvango

when I get broke

I rebound almost like a super ball
cocky
run up to strange girls all
justified
to get a lunch and laid
block
how I ain't got one cent
socks
***** I say **** it and next day
sleep in
when she's purring I go and set back her
clock
deep in this rhythm I tongue tie
em
rock
on,
get me some Patron
on baby's credit card
wrong or what?
I got not one cent.

Dec 2014

r

commando on the blue mesa

i met her at the crow bar -
a mescalero from amarillo
- her name was lily
and she was in from the field

wearing tiger stripe camos
cut short like i like 'em
and she liked to hike them
- all commando

she had a tattered boony hat -
a kevlar vest and a tat
that said - the wild, wild west -

her shoulder holsters
were packed with two .40s

- lordy, lordy -

she said they bolstered her
fire power

we were commando stylin'
...on the blue mesa.

12/5/14
:)

\¥/\
| • bm
/ \

#bm #bluemesa

Nov 2014

r

wild turkey

i've had wild turkey-
kinda gamey
but it'll do in a rush

i've had jim beam, too
along with a little kush

but- jack daniels kicked my ***
and knocked me on my ****

this thanksgiving
i'm going with plain old turkey
cuz i'm smarter and braver

if god will only grant me the serenity.

11/27/14

:) Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.

#thanksgiving

Nov 2014

wordvango

Oh, the harmonies

those chords constructed vertical ladders,
vines to climb into heaven,
sing thy song rooted tense dissonance
resolves into absolute consonance.
Verbs into consonants.
words into rhythms , cries into hymns.
Thunder into ears, building in pitch
combining rungs climbing into the highest sound heard
backed by the drum of heartbeats, low loud continuance,
surrounding beauty and impulse,
speaking of every one who climbs,
up ,down,
harmony.

Nov 2014

r

dead drop on the blue mesa

you came in from the cold dressed bold
under a black flag like isis on the road
to baghdad in a red ferrari going all john
le carré defecting with the little drummer
girl laurie in a deadly affair expecting
the honourable school boy when i'm used
to being a most wanted man -

now i'm no naïve and sentimental lover, baby
i'm the perfect spy and this ain't a small town
in germany but ich bin ein berliner, fraulein -
you better make this your last call for the dead

- it was (y)our kind of game playing
tinkering tailoring soldiering spying -
doodling smiley's people on the side
acting like absolute friends with fred
the constant gardener at the russia house
and red the tailor of panama
like a ***** with a straw up your nose
in the looking glass war
but if you do it again -

let me tell you a secret, pilgrim
i'll drop you where you lie -
it'll be a ****** of quality, baby
and that's a delicate truth

- you were our kind of traitor
on the blue mesa.

r ~ 11/14/14

i like john le carré
:)

bm
http://hellopoetry.com/tag/bluemesa/

#bluemesa #johnlecarre

Nov 2014

wordvango

sera frenetic

blazes infinite
    blue as night
black as might
   ever is
right as sight
   stronger than
iron
    weak as
flesh
    tears on
*******
    discreet
but, mean
      on the
street
      left
alone
       innocents,
culling dreams,
     selling out,
hearing echos
       tuning out,
not one drop
     of rain
or tears
     sweat sweet
working in,
     the sands
of desert,
         deserted in,
feet burnt and camel backed,
  desire tho,
        the heat the rain the
sera to flow, and drown in.

Nov 2014

wordvango

fly sweet

bird, on chirping winds, fly on violin like strings strung from heaven
raise thy wings as instruments thy voice as fluted angel breath,
strum your breast absolute, play the wind wood , pause midair, flutter,
into the air my feathers, go soft then beat and beat the air your wings a drum a conscience, an oboe deep, a music follows you,
soft
into the woods.

Nov 2014

wordvango

entre vous

into deja vu
  apercu into extreme
reality, meaning
  seeming so lifelike, prescient.

I have done something
   similar , before,
28 % of the time
    my origin story says.

a propos or aide-memoire
    like *** remembering
an anieu regime-
     au contraire, I say to me.
I am au courant,
     in we!

In conversations with
     my past and present,
my Indian and French,
      extremes, I see
I am au fuit,
      been pensaut
seeing, two ways,
      bon vivant,
being,
      a ****** tunes.

Nov 2014

wordvango

potions

If there were a potion
to turn ordinary
into wonderful
I have not yet found.

If there were a medication
to take my dictations
and turn them into
Shakespeare.

If I could find some herb to season
my verbs, my nouns,
to make my sober words
renowned.

If there ever were
I would call my pusher,
wait at the curb quill and pad
awaiting
his pulling up.

my last dollar
i give him.

Nov 2014

r

No Sonnet for Wilfred Owen

Here, and over here -
The fortunate sons

Those who made it home
To fields and hills of native tongue
In the soil their people toiled
- They listen quietly when we come

There, and over there -
Beneath crossed lines too many

Still - they man the trenches
Along the Marne and Somme
Below the woods of Belleau
And the forest of Argonne

No sonnets in a foreign language
Rendered where they languish -
The distant rest far and away
In a cold November grave

We should remember
Here and there
The old lie -

And the young.

r ~ 11/11/14

In memory of poet
Wilfred Owen (1893 - 1918)
and all who gave.

The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month

#remembranceday #veteransday #armisticeday