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 Apr 2018 luca
E. E. Cummings
a connotation of infinity
sharpens the temporal splendor of this night

when souls which have forgot frivolity
in lowliness,noting the fatal flight
of worlds whereto this earth’s a hurled dream

down eager avenues of lifelessness

consider for how much themselves shall gleam,
in the poised radiance of perpetualness.
When what’s in velvet beyond doomed thought

is like a woman amorous to be known;
and man,whose here is alway worse than naught,
feels the tremendous yonder for his own—

on such a night the sea through her blind miles

of crumbling silence seriously smiles
 Feb 2018 luca
Anaya c
i can not write you into a poem
no matter how hard i try
my words fall too short
with every line i write
i cannot bring words
to their finest meaning
when the words alone
are inferior to you
its simply impossible
 Feb 2018 luca
lavendersky
Nautilius is ready,
prepared as it can be,
searching for the lost Atlantis,
drowned in deep blue sea.
 Jul 2017 luca
Oscar Wilde
Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.

All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.

Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman, so
Sweetly she grew.

Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast,
I vex my heart alone,
She is at rest.

Peace, Peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life’s buried here,
Heap earth upon it.
 Jul 2017 luca
E. E. Cummings
the rose
is dying the
lips of an old man ******

the petals
hush

mysteriously invisible mourners move
with prose faces and sobbing,garments
The symbol of the rose

motionless
with grieving feet and
wings
mounts

against the margins of steep song
a stallion swetneess    ,the

lips of an old man ******
the petals.
 Jul 2017 luca
Charles Bukowski
ignore all possible concepts and possibilities ---
ignore Beethoven, the spider, the damnation of Faust ---
just make it, babe, make it:
a house  a car   a belly full of beans
pay your taxes
****
and if you can't ****
copulate.
make money but don't work too
hard --- make somebody else pay to
make it --- and
don't smoke too much but drink enough to
relax, and
stay off the streets
wipe your *** real good
use a lot of toilet paper
it's bad manners to let people know you **** or
could smell like it
if you weren't
careful
 Jul 2017 luca
Charles Bukowski
safe
 Jul 2017 luca
Charles Bukowski
the house next door makes me
sad.
both man and wife rise early and
go to work.
they arrive home in early evening.
they have a young boy and a girl.
by 9 p.m. all the lights in the house
are out.
the next morning both man and
wife rise early again and go to
work.
they return in early evening.
By 9 p.m. all the lights are
out.

the house next door makes me
sad.
the people are nice people, I
like them.

but I feel them drowning.
and I can't save them.

they are surviving.
they are not
homeless.

but the price is
terrible.

sometimes during the day
I will look at the house
and the house will look at
me
and the house will
weep, yes, it does, I
feel it.
 Jun 2017 luca
Nat Lipstadt
Touch

You cannot lift or load it,
over your shoulder, throw it,
to best assay its weight -
is it ponderous, full of big *** gravitas
or a snack, a parfait desert,
a haiku delight?

You cannot touch it,
but it can touch you,
It can grasp both your shoulders,
shake you from complacency,
put its hands upon thy throat,
gasp emit, a scream demanded,
paint whimsy lines on thy face,
from ear to ear.

See

With yours eyes, by a mere glance,
true reveal its length,
stanzas multiple or an itty bitty ditty,
but this gives no value clue,  
Ogden Nash vs. Tennyson,
in two minutes make you laugh,
in twenty, make you beg, mercy!

Smell

Some Poe poems do stink,
befouled mushrooms in
a dank place, some require nerve to read,
but your olfactory be ill suited for
poetic deconstruction and criticism.

Hear

Wake you with kisses upon thy face,
inject love poems into thy ears,
straight to the brain verbal crack *******
yet even the hearing the whisper
of words from my lips,
is an insufficient,
sensorily speaking methodology,
of how a poem, to best comprehend

How then?

If touch, vision, smell and cursory hearing alone
can't essence capture, what then, weary reader,
is the supposed Laureate's approved analytical tool?

Taste

Each letter, a morsel in your mouth,
Each phrase, a fork full of pleasure,
Each stanza, a full fledged member
in a tasting menu,
Perfect only in conjunction
with the preceding flavor,
and the one that follows,  and the one that follows.

Taste each poem upon thy tongue and then pass it on,
you know how....

Each word, whether chewed thoroughly,
or lightly placed upon a bud for flavor,
needs the careful consideration of your mouth.

Feel the light pressure of the tongues tip
upon the roof of your mouth
and the exalted exhalations of
air rushing past thy cheeks
as you messenger breath from
your chest to be shared with the world,
over the poem's interpreter, your tasting lips.

As I lay each word down,
a brick by brick edifice construct
of mine own design, I am sated, fulfilled only,
when with I see your lips move
as you savor my words,
my taste you share,
and we are closer for it.


*
Deaf, dumb and blind,
all such travails can be conquered, assailed,
but when I cannot, no longer anymore taste
my poems upon thy lips, then I breathe no more.
an old favorite of mine reposted.
 Jun 2017 luca
july hearne
when Merry Clayton
sings "Southern Man"
i think of all of you
and i think *******

and if i was Neil Young
i would start a band called Hateful Bigot
and Mike Watt would be the bass player
and i would write a song
called "social justice warrior"
(in all lower case)
and dedicate it to all the children that have been ***** by the gay mayor of your tiny house town
and Merry Clayton would sing that song

there is a parade in tiny house town
for everyone who's arrived 50 years too late to the civil rights party
and the  mayor is coming round
to shake your hand

all your tiny houses coming down
all your tiny houses built upon the sand
tiny, tiny houses get smaller and smaller before blowing down

everytime you shake his hand
you have even less to say
about all the children he *****
than the NRA

even less to say than the NRA
everytime the gay mayor rolls down the windows
before he rapes the children in his hot car
everytime he's comes around
to shake your hand
he's got ten dollars in his other hand

tiny, tiny houses blowing down
all your tiny houses built upon the sand
i can't wait til they come down
all your tiny houses coming down
tiny, tiny houses coming down

(nothing to do with the fact
he's a gay democrat
nothing to do with the fact)
ed murray is the gay mayor of seattle. he ***** children and is likely still ****** them. one of them was his foster son. he denies these allegations in the manner of a text book lying child ******. he lied about ever knowing his foster son who he ***** (and who was later then proven to be his foster son). he also had wanted to be a catholic priest but left the seminary (probably got kicked out for child ****).   he was not forced to resign because it is not convenient to ask a gay, democrat mayor to step down, which is why i will always refer to him as the gay mayor who rapes children.  he gets a free pass on ****** children. this poem is dedicated to everyone who turns a blind eye to child **** and excuses it (especially ***** like sally bagshaw), and sadly that includes organizations such as glaad.

ed murray, gay mayor of seattle who rapes children, attended the gay pride parade and shook hands with the parade goers, who were delighted to shake the hand of a child ******. only it's not ****, since he is a gay democrat who gave the children $10 to **** them.

seattle has become unaffordable because of amazon, high levels of taxation (by a city cuntcil who supports a child ****** as mayor and the child ****** mayor himself), a housing shortage (caused by amazon and citizens of china who make money on slave labor and then make inflated all cash offers on the real estate here so the people who actually live here can't afford it).

something tells me this one won't go over well, but that's ok with me, since people who turn a blind eye to child **** are the **** of the earth. my next poem will be about what a **** sally bagshaw is. she loves our gay mayor who has done nothing but lie, flounder around like an idiot, allow amazon and comcast to **** us over, steal money, waste money, increase homelessness and **** children. ed murray also loves sharia law, since it conveniently has no laws against ****** children.

the NRA had better make some sort of public statement of support for philando castile and his family and  should have already done so. that man and his family were not shown any justice and neither were the children that ed murray *****, not to mention the children he is still ******.

we live in ******* times and the ones screaming the loudest are the ones who need to shut the **** up the most.


from ed murray's twitter page:

Ed Murray‏Verified account @MayorEdMurray  May 19

It's finally warming up, which is great - but not for all. Beware of the danger pets and children face in hot cars!
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