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PJ Poesy Apr 2016
one exquisite cloud
ponderously puffing on
letting blueness drench
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
Sling grease into pitch
of doggerel vowel

I'm looking for an "aooga"
sound that diminishes
as if jettisoned by speed of light

whipping sugar cane plantation
slave ghosts' utterances
     paean screams doused

How I wish to be one of the first
followers of Obama to Havana

footfall through tic of time
slow gaits toc of eon
     a Cold War's metrical decomposition

Aooga Aooga
     Rumpapa Rumpapa
          Shucka Shucka Shucka

Everyone is free
and so many of us swim
     an opposite direction

Gyrate feet, hips, Cuba's beaches
     smile, gaze upon maracas
          Shucka Shucka Shucka
     **** on raw sugar cane
with great abandonment
     and greater ability
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
Who shall find intermittent song?
...of reason wrong ...of time so lent
Who could position themselves to be
... lark in tree? ... one heaven sent?

Audacity to find in peace of mind
... words so kind ... yet ever untrue
Convince me now of lies so bold
... so very cold ... never more undue

Lie to me till eminent death
... with sweet breath ... in toiled rest
Sing to me great love accolade
... make fine charade ... fibbing best

Do this in pity, I shall bequeath
... a laurel wreath ... a poet's song
Precious days numbered in ways
... testament blaze ... schooling wrong

Consider final pathetic beseeching
... it's own bequeathing ... riled begging
Harden heart to own such phrases
... this last lying day .. is mild *******

... it won't hold on without you
Will you be my lark? Lie to me.
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
Supermarket tripping
Nuts & Dried Fruits
the Ethnic Aisle
How do they get away with saying that?
shoplifter shackled
on display, as if a warning
Seven Box Sale
of Broccoli Au Gratin Rice
Why seven?

"Pickled Beets Tormented"
an undiscovered Jackson *******
smashed glass and splattered pink
on speckled linoleum
with infused grime
from 1956

Art is splashing everywhere
large scale proportional
and messy little mix-ups

Rancor is now spreadable product
it's right next to the sarcasm
found in the Fear Aisle
feel the chills
frozen food fraternizing
with my canned goods

Was that flattery or flouting?
from Deli Counter
take three numbers from ticket dispenser
I pocket two
call for, "78"
"78 - 78"
"79 - 79 - 79, does someone have 79?"
I stay silent
"80 - 80 Is someone holding ticket 80?"

Chanel suited business woman
at my side
tapping stiletto
upper lip curled
eyes periscope about
She spots my ticket
blurting, "You have 80, Fella"
her index finger flickers
in time with toe tapping

My line: "Oh I thought that was 08"
there's a huge "HUFF"
as she wheelies cart away
Rudy, from behind counter, winks
We've been collaborating art for years
Some folks are in such a hurry. Some of us like spice and curry.
PJ Poesy Aug 2016
Silliest bristle came over me, like a yearn to wear a negligee to church, or eat ants. I can't remember who first gave me pause in an earnest sense of how to live life justly or fully. Not sure which one I'd want more. Doesn't matter, I suppose. My morals keep becoming reconfigured. It's difficult knowing who might be heroic, or who might be manipulating mass appeal in order to boost book sales. I think I just want some new exotic flavor, that rush of tasting avocado for the first time. That really happened to me, you know. I never knew the taste of avocado until I was nineteen and moved to California. It was not common at the time in New Jersey, or at least I had never had it. Never even heard of it, really.

I landed a job as a prep cook and dishwasher at a little mom and pop joint that catered to a mostly lunch crowd from the county court house. It was a quaint little town in the Sierra Nevadas. Townsfolk consisted of artists, musicians, gold miners, hippie marijuana propagators, and lumberjacks. Mostly, at that time, there were the good old boys, Republicans who held most political offices and police positions, and the newbies, attracted to the area by some new age communes, a Democrat influx. I fit into the newbie category, though it was a girl I followed there, not a guru. And of all the outstanding romances had, through the twenty five some years spent in California, none have lasted as long as my love affair with the avocado. It's a certain jolt I feel when guacamole passes through my lips, squishes around my mouth, and lands within an empty belly. I was beside myself in wonder, that very first day such a taste hit me. Now, being back in New Jersey, but not devoid of such illustrious fruit, I wonder where it is I stand on more matters of what it is to live justly or fully? Where is after here? I even see one of those new age communes has moved in down the street. Though I have my guacamole, I'm feeling less fulfilled.
PJ Poesy May 2016
Tap dance on girders, Ben Franklin Bridge
Jubilant prepubescent boy making mockery
Alpha doggie dodging any common sense
Step ball change and windmills free range
Little show off teetering on brink of disaster

And a dare of unabashed audacity
Stare, stare, and stare down his prey
Tap a whack tap, double time flick flack
Intensity that cannot possibly go away
Dared youth’s eyes give all hints to fear
Though no tear will come to his pride
Other boy steps and glides

Reach comes forward, disaster tap mongrel
Puppy stepper’s got to be a go-getter
Holds his hand out and comes quick the grab
Trembles a fright, Speedline in sight
This rail from Jersey to Pennsy might bite
Shaking and tapping, absurdum jacking

The slip; it’s over as you knew it would be
Alpha Dog sniffs that bridge to this day
Searching permissiveness, lost in foray
But if he hears one tap or a click or a clank
Jittery twitchiness, on that you can bank
Semi-autobiographical account of a fantastic memory.
PJ Poesy Apr 2016
Curiosity kills iniquitous kitty
She's a bad bad girl but oh so pretty
Sure-enough excited 'bout living in da city
All in a tizzy 'bout this nitty gritty ditty

She's Agog-a-go-go, now's she's got her own show
Won't be doin' any ordinary *****
Less you pay her prices, and that's alotta dough to throw
So don't get fixated on Agog-a-go-go

Wax those whiskers, if you really like her Mister
All the DJ's love her 'cause she's such a sister mixer
It's all good fun, till she comes up with a blister
Didn't hear it from me, but da liquor does whisper

She's Agog-a-go-go, soon to be a no-show
'Cause she's mighty hyped 'bout da fame ya know, ya know
Emotion motion industry can catch you with a logo
But the truth is honey it all ends up a big 'ole no-go

She meets a real cool cat, who shows her how to cope
But everybody knows, he's just sellin' her dope
Keeps her on a leash, for other men to *****
Miss Agog-a-go-go is soon to lose all hope

She's Agog-a-go-go, Agog-a-go-go
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
Who declares masculine/feminine?
What right do we have to decide?
For aren't we not born of both
With each chromosome supplied

DNA of mother and father
Made you who you are
Chemical equation ever perfect
Fused by variable star

Do not fret which way one leans
"Boyish" and "girlish" just terms
For everyone is quite unique
And in the heavens confirmed

Variables of X and Y, simply, are
Unknown to you or I
What come of who you truly are
Depends on how you try
For all my loving in betweeners.
PJ Poesy Mar 2017
Predicament of the zero hour
enabling brave or foolish decision
Even  mélange of both
Hitting home
physical structures oppose
Holy Ghost takes over,
very much also  
Divinity and arousal

Only human
perched on brink of flight
dwelling is no perception
of freedom
Apprehending bigger picture
"To judge is not to love"
or something Mother Teresa said

When Pops referred to "The Bible"
it meant, bring him the sports page
Dichotomous our separate ways
revealing conscious decisions
Tridented a third eye  
When a vision of something further
sends to sentiment beyond
Cast and flung
Stealing home plate
and called, "Safe"
Pondering what only a god
may leverage
My father who had been suffering dementia, passed on today. This is a contemplation of his struggle and his strength. I love you Pops.
PJ Poesy Feb 2016
Good way off, past blindness
trickling fingertips felt plunks.
Sedimentary stirrings next to
running brooks dipped into
for pleasure of touching
algaecide inside the head.

And memory impresses gunky
regions explored, faculty of
retaining wet sandy banks,
the murk of his adolescence.

How what was told of who to,
or who not to, or what not to,
that, was only left with more
unanswered question. Just
mire. So the feeling out had
little guidance and quicksand
became lesson planner.

Wonted informality, such sinking,
became hook, shot, and sweet tooth.
These habits took his teeth
and no longer could he chew.
Drivel and flattery became much the
same, his purging, alluvium.

Men can only spill out, what fed.
Eventually mountains' rivers carry peaks to valleys.
I'm thinking a lot of the wearing thin of, how men once boulders are reduced to sand. I once knew of a particular boulder along a particular river that never moved. Particularly hard rains came one year, and I discovered that boulder much further down river that spring. I guess all things are a matter of particulars.
PJ Poesy Feb 2016
I don't know who I am again
lost myself around apex
of that last orbit

Flung tumultuously around
and around

Shooting stars
unlike guided missiles
haven't a trajecting
idea where they're going

Some land on something
Others fizz out

This blip, having known that
Big Bangster Gangster
which projected each ion
on some other
had no bigger picture in mind
and is likely still
making it up
as we go along

So, I tip my hat to Milky Way
and pray for fusion
upon something
freely radicalized
Space relativity, balance of cosmos, I think we're deeply part of it. As we explore and learn, new questions apply. One answer may not work for another.
PJ Poesy Nov 2015
When I go into plank,
please realize this is not
my showing off yoga talent.
I am an epileptic. Please,
when I fall down convulsing
in your liquor store, which  
I only entered to buy a pop,
know I am not a drunk, so please
do not kick me in the head.
I am an epileptic. I know
how strange it seems to
watch a man go rigid, crash
wide-eyed face forward, ****  
and **** himself, make a stink
of public places. So please,
please do not scream at me.
I am an epileptic. I will
likely come to, but then
comes the *****. I am
sorry for that, more sorry  
than you could possibly be  
for me. My world is as such,
and I did not wish to intrude  
on your day. I will go away,
as soon as I gain faculties,
lift from murk some understanding
where I might be. Embarrassment
is not easy to carry, but I will
take it, stinking, slinking away.
I am an epileptic. I am
so very sorry.
It's true. I am an epileptic.
PJ Poesy Jan 2017
Silence will not do, but does.
Datura are in bloom below
equatorial divide,
or is it above?
Nevertheless, I smell them
just as moon rises.
That is how I know.
"No understanding of this,"
says an upside down bat,
who I've named Plato.
We enjoy our cave dwelling,
clamminess included.
Visitors suchlike the snake and mosquito down here, get eaten
by he and I.
Venturing out isn't required.
Distinction between shadows
and puppets to us are visible.
Our senses are keen.
We can turn our heads around.
Still, we stay in the cave.
For all our nutrition comes to us.
PJ Poesy Apr 2017
Can you smell the lilac I picked for you?
It wafts over world wide web airwaves
As onliest promise of perpetual woo
Interception through an Internet of slaves
Catching this drift, shall we last eternal days?
Of finding attention, blissfully I your wooer
Atoning for on and on, or be it peculiar phase?
Flower's perfume, is it detected by viewer?
O that this lilac's aroma might mercifully mend
A nose bouquet which an infobahn can't send
A Sonnet For Phatima
PJ Poesy Nov 2015
The homily that turned into slobbering, unequaled any ordinary drool. Evenly balance my center of gravity.

Breathe in, breathe out. Lung sacs are losing elasticity.

Tighten descension through to  your love. Air is thick surrounding what is
held inside a chalice.  

Blood mist pillows.
Body crimson flush.

An amity offered presently, so shortly
gives a second's continuance. My will
to hold your crux, so I may adore,
eat of, drink of, understand.

Our sacrament has not yet recognition
in eyes of high on holy. Still, I promise
to sit with you, sopping all this
be all and end all, so I may call
your meat, bone, and marrow,
solely mine.

As amorousness is the weakness I worship, you are my sin.
I fell in love with a man stigmatized by his religion. This poem is all that came of it.
PJ Poesy Mar 2017
Affinities bend the throttle, origin of our tribe
So hurtled as to collide, proving love weird
Instantly, expectations, hearts seared
To cool an overheated engine, a wide-eyed bride

Conjugal visits, if only this prison permitted
Yet recklessly committed, we find ourselves
Bound by obscurity promised, are elves
And faeries whose spells are transmitted

Who's dash against clatter does or doesn't?
What was or wasn't, how we might still be unclear
Still risking it all for fuzzy ambiguity, my dear
A six in one hand or that other half dozen

So we did it, it's done, and never more fun
My spun honey bun, I have no single regret
For you are my jangly chain, and I, your pet
Love run-in has been wet, and oh so wildly won
I'm a married man and loving it.
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
Pleasantries aside, did you feel that tremble?
Not earthquake, it was heaven's shake

when you took me

by hand
led away

deep in wood
and stood

Pierced constellation's reflection
Eyes sent soul's orbit
Forbidding further speak of

Harking horror
for it is tomorrow
and I still don't know your name

why your grizzly ways
Turned me into bait

Ursa Major I hear Ursa Minor

He pines for your return
...because you weakened him
The complexities of thought processing as a **** and ****** survivor. Always emphasis on survivor.
PJ Poesy Nov 2015
If she sang the way she looked,
you might expect Kate Smith
singing "God Save The Queen."
That *** Pistol'***** did not
come out, more voice pixieish,
a song unknown. Words were
bleary but delish were notes.

Complete meaning lost,
her elfin aria enchanted us. Indeed
there were whispers, "What is it
she's singing?" Then shushes
from those already spun
in her spell. We drifted into
her Mother Goose downy lullaby.

Fattened by unexpected
mellow mouthwatering coos,
her taken audience drank it in
and from beginning to end
were somehow morphed into
fuzzy waddling fans.
I enjoy when something so unexpected changes my view.
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
Measure horizon interjecting South Asia
Hammurabi formed Akkadian Nation
Babylonian beast winged lion
upon your cajoled eyes
Mesopotamian feast
a civilization dreaming
under oil fields now known as Iraq
petroleum empowered
How history repeats
in crude circumstances
Assyrian War rages on

Have all temples been replaced by
mosques or filling stations
for Halliburton to gas up?
tanks, projectile convoys
not a winged god amongst them
unless you count Mobil

Babylonia azimuth
combustible tankers horizon
sunrise or sunset
both burn black
We must eliminate this dependence which has caused the fall of humanity, once again.  My sincere condolences to Belgium and all suffering loss. Fueled by greed is this thing fashioned as terrorism. Greed has always worked this way through history. Cloaked in madness it is. Remove the veils of delusion.
PJ Poesy Feb 2016
Certain kinetics are involved when one needs to drain water from the ears. Poolside, you see freshly moistened swimmers bounce, when the laps are over. Head shaking and pinkie probing, along with vigorous jiggling may shimmy a pop of the slurry. It's a pleasing, almost orgasmed, satisfaction. Such accomplishments in life seem trivial, but for something stuck out of place for too long, that releasing can be ecstatic. I figure when this reservoir of penned up annoyances, breaks through the dammed existence I live presently, that surge may jettison and squirt from my head like centrifugal lawn sprinkler. A coming of such the world has never seen.
PJ Poesy Apr 2016
Grubby am I to fanciful passersby
Sulky eye can't meet such sultry treat
For worn out shoes upon my feet
Divide us in classes; meek versus neat

Yet as stripped down across over town
Wherein tall grasses lay bare *****
Lies chance for me in barren passes
Just a prance away to lured trespasses

And in this sin I gladly engage
Deception tears off its coverings
For once men naked in their rage
Comes natural instinctive brothering

So hmm and ha, to you ta-ta
Your wares persuade not my cares
For shares of what not one wear
Shall decicide how lust shall fare

There you have it, there it is
What has been mine, has been his
When stripped down to naked truth
All men bear bearish brute
PJ Poesy Mar 2017
1 Kings 15:24-  "Then Asa rested with his ancestors and was buried with them in the city of his father David. And Jehoshaphat his son succeeded him as king."

Hand passes baton
Race not about runners
An objective not at odds  
To something further than singular
It is about the passing
Dedicated motion
Maintaining of
Exchange at maximum speed
Invigorating something else
Notion of familial  
Virtues vested
In a completement
Of the passing on
And a carrying of values
So well learned  
From another before
And His trust given
Rewards of a relay
Are plural
With an instinctual handing off
Of Faith
In a mentor before
My father was an avid runner, and knew the value of teamwork. This is something I will always be thankful for, amongst the many lessons he taught.
PJ Poesy Dec 2015
I remember a lot, though there are compartments of this upper story storage house with bolted doors. There have been hours, even days spent picking at combination locks, soft clicks of medulla oblongata. From within, such malodor,  bleeds ooze and ****. Constant mopping of icky memory's seepage, trickling from underneath hatchway is unending, so I often walk away. Knowing what lies behind vaulted chambers of grey matter is indeed the greyest matter, as nothing is quite so black or white.
Sometimes there is no silver lining, just the mush of grey matter.
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
Met Kali today on a descending escalator at the Galleria. Her six arms juggled assorted shopping bags, purse, cell phone, three children, and a fourth in a stroller clearly not hers. I stepped down in front to help balance her baby buggy. No sooner had I reached out for the rubber bumper that I felt lash of her tongue against my cheek. It was hot and frothy, smelled like a tall, non-fat  latte with caramel drizzle, and quickly wrung itself around my neck. I was soon dangling from the precipice of an oversized potted fern where I had been perched by my assailant, high above the food court. I dangled dangerously as I saw chinks of chain giving way. The glass ceiling was begining to crack and about to cave in on me. I swung out and with all agility I could muster, landed in the Bagel Nosh's assorted schmears. Hisses and jeers decried. An angry mob of mothers chased me to the nearest exit. I almost didn't make it out alive.
Though your intention may be innocent, all is subjective and may be misconstrued.
PJ Poesy Dec 2015
Up I go tarred tower chamber, and molten bed
Scaling igneous shingles, hard lava my flight impossible
Crawling lofty ambitions in metallic heat resistant robe, slippers
Texting my last, "I love you"'s before kissing Pele's mouth

She is kindness and showers me in ashen snow
Welcomes with sulfured gas and acid rain intoxicants
Heady now, provocative bubbles glow, spit, reaching her tempting ****
Eyes pop, burst, char, sizzle, every nerve ending cauterized

Magnanimous one takes me, I evaporate in Aiiaka-noho-lani
Given to the Great Cloud Holder to be carried off
See my dreams fulfilled in droplets shimmering on rainbows
Touching down on sprouting new ground
This is a pilgrimage of osmotic proportion. Diffusion seems the ultimate passage. Seems cremation will suit me best. Better than just allowing things to lay and rot. A wider transfer, diminutive atoms rising, spreading, casting further hope.
PJ Poesy Nov 2015
So, speak of infinite love and
roll your umber eyes. It goes so
well with the way you roll your r's,
as you teach me your Castilian
intonations. Just don't fall
in that category of immersed lost
Latin loves, of mine, sunk in
wet memory.

Ah, the murk of them, an amalgam.

Each giving to a melting ***,
and me, a liquid molten fraction
of strange tensile strength
and half gold-like luster. An alloy
of allies, do I see them as? Why,
yes, of course.

Now you come. Please stand out
from the mix. Show me your

Be solid gold.

I know you like my pronunciation.
I need to know now, yours.
Mi Amor
Swarthy seems to be a weakness, for me.
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
The Living Said
 It seemeth such a little way to me
 Across to that strange country - the Beyond
 And yet, not strange, for it has grown to be
 The home of those of whom I am so fond
 They make it seem familiar and most dear
 As journeying friends bring distant regions near

The Dead Said
 We are here, finding little but existence
 Staring at your world of breath and air – the There
 Far past, only permitted glance of glass fence
 Seeing just cause, no viable way to share
 Hard but not solid distance, a depurative mist
 This knowledge not for you now, but does exist

© Piyali Basu/PJ Poesy 2013
This is a collaboration piece by my dear friend, Piyali Basu, and myself. The first half Piyali's and the second, my own. Ms. Basu and I have several collaborations.
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
I am a bird chair
Bird chairs may have not caught on yet
but I promise you
they soon shall
I work well with a bird lamp

Wave at Window and Book Me
a How-To-Encyclopedia
of bird chairs and lamps
Chapter Four is all bird flags
You know how hot suburban jungle gets

Stringing lights around moon
is not  so difficult
When wind is at your back
much easier in a bird chair
And with a bird lamp

Shoe painting is mentioned
in the glossary
just in reference to
sadness your bird chair
might be experiencing

If you wish to re-floor carpet bag
bird chairs are perfect
Big things are happening in bird chairs
Look out for bird jet next
PJ Poesy Dec 2015
Young chicken turned into fricassee
How hot is your gravy?
Such sizzling goodness
Smells so fresh in the pan
Having a fry
Don't really know why
Cooking at such high temperatures
Makes me crazy this way
But I've got to have you frizzle
Cut tenders spitting grease about
Think I'll dice up a side of
Turnips, greens and roots
There's an unwritten law about it
Even so
Availability finds comfort in handiness
A little splash of wine on that
Ought to make it all
Come together
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
Motion me your mouth
See burgeoning of buds
Blooms sprouting from your lips
Honeysuckle drips
You were taught to
Keep a stiff upper one
Now you let it loose
Grown now birdie
Set free your coos and juice
Untie tongue from terror
Your assailants are long gone
Sing to me your shadow
And spilling of your dawn
For those questioning survival, use your lips.
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
When turnips sour.
Did they ever start
out so sweet?
PJ Poesy Jan 2016
What Dr. Lector devours with fava beans, inside rots. Too much Chianti?
Not likely. Likely, not enough
but there has been much else. Still,
no amounts warranting any shy example of overload. Mild splurges,
done in high style equal
nothing in comparison to toxic
baths taken in industrial grindstone
mortors. And the payback?
Walking papers and abdominal lump.

Poke it and choke on acid reflux. Pop
more pills to keep it down. Downers
prescribed on more downers.
Feeling down? Have another downer.
What else can we do? Your MRI's
and ultrasound, unsound, do not
come with flag from foreign invader,
claiming this new territory for king.

So, blame it on the offal.
Blame it all on the offal for not
having guts and glory
to fight off its own infection.
And eat your chicken livers.
Fear is harder to overcome with each new diagnosis and prognosis, but I continually do. I'm no chicken liver.
PJ Poesy Apr 2016
Deciphering astrophysicists’ thought
processing; this not any too easy.
What matter dark matter sought
or if moons be made so cheesy?
Theory ever emphasized seem ******.

What is there here to prove
amongst this space exploration?
Distancing self from earth you’ve
denied Mother Earth’s lactation.
Get real here right now education.

Are you listening dear NOVA TV?
Big Bang me where sun does not shine.
What care I to search galaxy,
when to me worldly poems seem fine?
Just where do we draw literate line?

Losing language of our cultures
as we see school funding disintegrate.
Lockheed Martin be the vultures.
Less deploying do we need to integrate:
for a monkey would I rather imitate.

Eeek! Eeek!
PJ Poesy Jun 2017
In war, as might be expected, gushing come veins
Soon misery is gone, it is an essence she drains
Have you heard of Suonetar, Goddess of Finnish lore?
Arteries her artillery, bringer of blood and gore

Kindness matters not, to her it is all but same
Nonchalantly she saunters, indifference her game
Give a little, get a little, splattered or gathered
Bowing to her majesty, she cannot be flattered

You will not reason with her, a succubus she is
Pray to her "Take my pain," as bleeding increases
Mopping up the battlefield, to her blood endowed
Dripping her viscosity, in ichor, she is enshroud
PJ Poesy Apr 2016
Who spins color upon an iris painted?
Was it Sun who singed a purple tainted?
Did clouds weep ink to melancholy petals?
Did its roots sink down to mines of metals?

Who can answer these curious questions?
Should gnomes be known for such confessions?
Are plants determinants within its seed?
Genetics yen crying out for desire, and need

Who could know more a noble, royal thing?
Than an iris whose fringe is yellowed and sings
Compliments to purples, petals up and down
Why all Fairy Kings are wearing these crowns
PJ Poesy Jan 2016
Blueness is amplified. Today, the sky reverberates and a tinge of it buzzes totality. The street is blue. Houses, blue. Fences are blue. Dogs are blue. People walking those dogs, blue. It is as if this place is encapsulated in a flickering television screen. Horizontal waves droning a hiss of blue lines utterly everywhere. Nothing can be tuned in correctly. Yet, it feels as if every other color was and has been mistaken. This blueness, so familiar now, can't be dialed out. My frequency, forever blue.
So emphatic is this blue.
PJ Poesy Apr 2016
Enfranchise worry and tears
go for it, those open floodgates
bottle and market it
sweeten with corn syrup
bittersweet amalgamation
lead poisoned wall
tankard of stern lost eyes
so swollen
cannot drip

Soon faucet will rust
and stagnant death
you have witnessed
will sanctify
any maddened reason why

Resistance to smile
through it
though you know you were blessed
to have loved each and every
Your dearly departed

Leaky toxic brew
Such as this
does no honor

To a life
an ongoing confer of privilege
You still own

So let it be
begin to smile


that awkward laugh
pushed through an explosion


beauty you recognize
through the pain
You are permitted
this indulgent elixir
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
Whistling through right ear, gusting through left
Echo cracks on augural bone; it pings
Cymbol's sound on gray matter case-hardened dings
But to detect life's ignorance, measuring oblivion's theft
Lift sums of intoxicant veils, that foggy heft

Pay no attention to whispers, as you would shouts
Know calmed speakers indicate truth
For shouters and whisperers be so uncouth
Those speaking plainly give evidence no doubt
For reality's validity needs repose to rule out

Guilty we are of attainment and forfeiture
Life lessons learned or not
And more composed freethought forgot
As always this burden lies on enterpreter
When judging please regard radius of curvature
PJ Poesy Apr 2016
Ugly truths are just that.
Being one who speaks in truths,
constant soul searching
of poets, most artists, really
is truly alienating.

There is expression which will
inevitably have you backed
into corner by liars. Institutionalized
if your not careful.

Who did mutilate Van Gogh's ear?
Who mutilated mine? A cleft on my left.
Simply born with it. Or so,
I've been told. There is something
deeply seeded in this. Even
foreshadowing, perhaps. Now that
truth backs me further
from ugly liars, hell bent on
twisting truth. Is it greed or
embarrassment that drives lies
we tell ourselves or others.

Vincent was lucky to have his paint.
It did the driving of his madness,
into gobbed masterpieces.

This is a lie.

He never new mastery. Questioning
his own self worth constantly.
I can only imagine him awkwardly,
standing next to his life love's,
paints, pretty maidens,
and hearing over abundantly,

"No sale."

I love the liars. It is not to
my advantage to repel
inexactness, invention, untruth.
After all, I do write. It somehow comes
with the territory. The Dutch in me
won't admit to less.

Can you count the number
of times, variance of "truth" appears here?

Clue: the answer is not seven.
PJ Poesy Apr 2017
Presence finds itself least expected, yet underscored
Anywhen, somewhere, a bus rolls into aurora, at wee hours
Though not on oceans
That's the place where cargo ships do
Together with airplanes, these larger escorting
tempos and times, clock shifts
Pulling sun along with them
in motion intrinsic as sustenance
Workday begins for some pre light
Bakers and bus drivers know this best
Two noble professions perhaps glamorized, perversely
by this poet
but not without recognition of
their elemental indwelling of us all
PJ Poesy Nov 2015
Crawdads have a crazy *** life. There's not  
much to courtship and no real copulation. Boring  
as this may sound, it's somewhat engrossing  
for me. Likely more than any lady crawdad ever  
thought of it. I would think most women might
agree. Sadly, reminiscent of **** really. Males
act like ruffians, catching females like prey,
turning them over, and leaving a sticky deposit
on their undersides. Worm like sperms adhere
to her, which she carries with her until she lays  
eggs. I've seen this while preparing étouffée.

Not the *** act, just the worms.  

Life is a multiplex of convoluted situations.
"Please yes, oh no!" What's going on in those
crusty little heads? It seems such a foreign
lifeform. Still, eerily familiar to what I've found  
at the bathhouse. I think I'll fatten up my tail,  
wear some antennae and pincers this Halloween.

Mmmm... Étouffée.
PJ Poesy Apr 2016
I’m having naked thoughts
Lacking guilt or put upon
Stripping my imagination bare
Without a stitch, my vision sunbathes
**** and unadulterated
Soaking in clean, clear, fresh
On rock by riverside of mind’s eye
Tingling with musing sensation
View my in the buff inklings
Nothing naughty about it
I am pure creative power
Raw envisage
Breezy suggestion titillates
You just had to look
Didn’t you?
PJ Poesy May 2017
What might be feasting on your brain
Soon may be festering strange gain
When prying finds an open ear
Informational leakage best you fear
Golden rule of less is more
Is trick to fix and leave at door
Taking time debugging self
Keeps voracious pests from gaining wealth
Soon you will know of what I speak
Should a tricky hacker find you meek
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
Sad abrasions, that is how you wish to end it? If you can't carry that with you, that unholy insecurity, without tossing it at others, others just like you, how can you be expected to be admired? That way, though seemingly popular amongst outlaws who have popularity, is still a ne'er-do-well way. You're lighting your own pants on fire.

Ballsy as it may be, singed ***** is all I see.
PJ Poesy May 2016
Mother stood in front of refrigerator
Scratching her head
Brother asked why?
Replied, “Where has the butter gone?”
Sister denied
Any wrong doing
Brother too claimed innocence
“There is one”
“Had two sticks left last night”
Father glares back
“Don’t look at me”
Sister sent to corner store
For another pound
Toddler being unbound
From high chair
Chords a giggle
Reaches for last stick
Mother shouts
A modern take on a classic.
PJ Poesy May 2016
Knowing how you were taken off guard
By spinning eyes and fast **** of my head
No wonder you burst giggles buffaloing
And how could one help, but to slyly smirk red

Caught in your allure, devil may wander
Bounced instant shakeup of total ricochet
You felt it too, and I knew this of you
Counterrevolution comes hither what may

Pausing to pull me in, slant of ellipses
Pheromones explode, ocular orbs have eclipses
Trekking wrecking of satellites in flight
Cross governing communications trip the light

Fantastic are we, as we pretend to deceive
By shucking it off as mere passing fancy
Neither taking a number and this I bereave
How I’d love to take chancy, you my fiancée
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
When he wonders internal beauties
And how she holds her looks
An oaf is instigated by duties
How pleasing she cleans and cooks

True, she's not well-kept herself
But wow can she dress a duck
Snug niche he keeps for shelf
Plain, even comfy, but out of luck

Chauvinism, his belief belligerent
Yet she knows what she has chosen
It is simply, predicament
Marriage, refrigerant and frozen
PJ Poesy Apr 2016
There was a day I spilled milk
Atop my head and did not cry
Cheating myself; a bet to bilk
Sun soured and wondered why?
For I had every reason, but not a single sigh

Laughing in my stinking curds
I splashed atop a dimpled rock
Feeling not even slightly absurd
Frolicking in warm milky frock
Just an act; some profound cheesy schlock

Representational of bacterium
Justification for odd immunity
There fermented in midday sun
Not feeling part any community
After all, this land of opportunity

In symbolic essence I did lay
Coagulating a rotten smell
“No poetic license,” one might say
Passer-by exclaiming, “What the hell?”
I allegorical enzyme, thus began to jell
PJ Poesy Mar 2016
Not one to believe in simple silly charm
But perhaps I need one today
To big toe, see has come wretched harm
And its nail has fallen away
Say, believe with magic powers is art
Perfection of my foot as it will
So I sink this digit in make believe ****
Searching for nail upon window sill

Goes without saying, injury thine own
When stubbed my toe brought a tear
Tooth Fairy affirmed, yet is Toe Fairy known?
Placing nail under pillow I fear
Yes, come to me now, for cannot regret
Love of a fine pedicure
As toe jam so yummy, one never forget
Be more careful in stepping for sure
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