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Sam Temple Nov 2015
absentmindedly picking individual notes
plucking the ole acoustic
fingerpicking style
she moves into the room
silently
and sits alongside me
right on the dog hair coated floor
and hums along
as if it were an actual written tune
softly I feel her head light upon my shoulder
and my heart nearly skips one beat –
Sam Temple Jan 2015
short timer leaning
right shoulder pressed gently against
drab concrete walls
old mustard yellow
brink red tile underfoot
and 15 years lost
20 days and a wake up
Rip Van Winkle moment
I can never understand—
smiling up at me
expressing thankfulness for incarceration
stating plainly
it was the only thing that could have saved his life
and now, life begins again
fresh start, with baggage
that I could never carry—
isolated from peer groups forced to stay in hell
a quiet calm fills soft blue eyes
knowingly, he retreats to lonely meals
and the occasional press against his ethical stand
as those left behind despise those
on the edge of freedom
freedom with conditional and mandatory reporting –
15 years boiled down to 19 days
excitement and wonder
like a child during holiday celebrations
there is no way to express
the technology that will seem confrontational
no way to warn
madness in the streets and no lighthouses on the beaches
scared and alone, one step
then another
there is really no mystery
why these folks find themselves
back at the only home they ever really know
or knew –
Sam Temple Jun 2015
stabbing pain fills my abdomen
the sensation of a heavy rock dropping quickly
hits my bowel
sweat forms down the center of my back
and on my upper lip
the Christians have arrived
and I am sickened by the sight –
cross wearing hypocrites line the streets
holding signs of hate
in the name of Jesus
trying to pleasantly force a false belief system
on little children leaving schoolhouses
throwing rocks at **** victims
whose only crime is not wanting to carry a ******* to term
and bashing the lifestyle of homosexuals
like God gives a **** where people put their ***** –
blindly following aged stories written by drunkards
the sheep-like nature is an affront to me
I stand both horrified and in awe
watching people speak of doing unto others
and expressing that only the Lord judges
do they know how full of **** they seem? –
backing slowly away from the scene
I slip quietly back into the shadows
as long as my country holds true to the adage
that church and state are separated
these lunatics cannot control me
well….except the run the country –
Sam Temple Jul 2015
attempting to create new sensibilities
out of senseless acts
since I am the only one
that can make any sense out of this –
the science is not of schematics
or semantically stimulating
simply put, it is standard symbolism
and silly statements…
pseudo at best –
single simpleton’s seemingly stand-out
stretched and screaming in the sunshine
staring into space,
subliminal messages shouted in stereo –
setting on a striation sofa, I sing
sublimely, and softly
as a siren in the seas of yesteryear
scooping starfish from my superior seat,
I stand in amazement
as subtle shark fins act as a scalpel
slicing the oceanic soup –
Sam Temple Jul 2014
I am never sure
when I start to type exactly where I am going
I am not the type of writer
who
does outlines
plans
organizes my thoughts in order to create flow
nah, not me…
instead I am stuck like with lightening
one word or phrase
enters the void
and I am compelled to poet
all over all of you
thanks for the outlet –
fanciful visions play across my mind’s eye
much faster than ever I could six finger type
so I pick the bright ones
and try to explain them
in universal terms
so as to create an emotional response
I feel that if something strikes me emotionally
it is bound to reach someone else
thus, we have a momentary connection
fleeting
but real
we share ourselves through relation to black and white
esoterically joining in a perfect union
our mental images intertwined
embracing –
words fade to white screen as the moment passes
never again to be found
in the same way
each reading bringing different ideas to the forefront
each writing another attempt to rid myself of this plague
each moment lasting forever on separate planes of existence
which means all of you
belong to me
as least for this time –
Sam Temple Jan 2016
Girl conditioner
        Lovingly stroked through whiskers
***** Flatbeard smiles

Hot and flat iron
         Please hipster gods be so kind
Beard becomes calm sea

Personal grooming
         Turned to Japanese garden
Terraced beard landscape

Rogaine investment
          Thick beard glued into donkey
Looks like a Jack-***

Caveman gone ape ****
            Preferring the barber shop
To hot biker chicks

Poor ***** Flatbeard
            No one thinks you very cool
Eskimo status

Rustling leaves fall
            No, just ****** beard in the wind
Peed some while laughing

No love for hip beards
           ***** Flatbeard needs to die
Slow, painful, mean death
Sam Temple May 2017
A rose, pre-bloom, gives rooms a swoon
with June looming we ‘true-lovers’ croon
to whom we love like the singing loon
on ponds, far below, during foggy dawns.

Her lilting song travels on light gusts
a dusky hue with wafting musk
silhouette sits still in the opposite dusk
while fawns nibble delicate fronds.

A valley beneath wreathed in mist
gentle breezes distort and twist
two geese entwined in a lovers tryst
float along blowing jazz sax songs.

A fox awakens to the sounds
to the ponds edge, down and around,
he hunkers low to watch them drown
in broad strokes he follows along.

The ensuing gloom sends the loon to soar
as she can stand to watch no more
blood and feathers find the shore
a fox, engorged, yips his song.  /
Sam Temple Mar 2016
I watched, unobtrusively
catching her reflection
as she prepared for her day
soaking in the delicate movements
her supple *******
and pale skin
freckle diagrams
body wide
she caught my gaze
in the bathroom mirror
and smiled slightly
while shifting her weight
“good morning my love” –
Sam Temple May 2015
sunlight creeps from behind intermediate cloud cover
above the stratocumulus, trails crisscross
giving a geometry to the affair
a barley discernable silver thread
reaches out from my belly button
and stretches into the heavens above –
feeling myself fall backwards to the ground
I am simultaneously...instantaneously
shot, as if from a circus cannon, up
recognizing my three-hundred sixty degree field of vision
I helplessly watch my body fade from view –
surrounded in ermine fur softness
and basking in a warm orange light
I visit the cosmos
travelling beyond relativity laws, universes collide
birth themselves and form life again
all the while a nagging distracts the journey –
strobe light ****** inside a mirrored room
flashback acid trip melted Datsun at sunrise
fathers body, emaciated and lifeless
wall of flesh filling double French doors  
not a crack or fold to be seen –
cold dog nose pushes my hand and brings my back to what we perceive as real
smiling to myself
I think about the amazing things I will see when dead –
Sam Temple Jul 2016
skin, so little faith
they think you may crack
under sunshine
break with words
fall apart at conflict ~
it does not
elastic properties
complete with personal regeneration
self-healing… self-correcting…
self, your skin /

do you not realize
at moment of birth
only one thing truly protects you
only one ***** takes the world on
only one facet shines red
black
brown and yellow
peachy apricot and olive
all under the blue sky  ~

it has been forgotten
especially by United States society
how tough skin is
how wondrous its ability to bounce back
from 700 pounds to 175 ~
after 70% burned in a house fire ~
and yes, your skin can heal
even after
you are insulted ~

the real concern
is if you can let it /
Sam Temple Sep 2015
It turns out


cows

will be the
death


        of mankind.
(10)W phone poem
Sam Temple Sep 2016
thick sticky sweat rolled
     goose-fleshed back

afternoon swelter
         windowless cell

I broke loose the hypnosis
                    looked ‘round the mirage

      picked a perfect palm
                rested

thoughts melted with yesterday’s ice
cooler unhinged

              when will this end
                     when will it be cool again

summer lamenting blizzard precursor
unhappy humanity casting angry glances
               the sky
                    obliges /
Sam Temple Aug 2014
lasing fallacies
facilitated by flunkies
fictionalizing facts
for freedom
re-done interiors
inferior to craftsmanship of old
offer glimpses into consciousness
of the common folk
squandering birthrights
for a burger richer in trans fat
and bacon flavoring
atop an evangelical spire
I peer into soulless zombies
seeking connection
with my kin
only to have reality slap me back
as wolves are kin to pugs
but they cannot coexist
storm clouds gather
night falls
tears drop
I am alone
bone dry dust bowl
harboring fuchsia scorch marks
landscape scars
fracking remnants
humanity’s blight
my line of sight tracks trite sprites
pixie wings and bath salts
eating dog faces for jesus
or worse
feces
out of hunger
horrified I recoil to a safe spot within
again
with old friends
in the din
I win
Sam Temple Jun 2015
sticky cold sweat
coats hairy back skin
as the garage sale fan blows –
droplets of water continuously collect
in the corner of agonizing eyes
while the relentless ticking
of the wall clock
beats rhythmically –
press board paneling bows
under duress from years of nail pounding
and decorative wall hangings –
flickering fluorescents
hidden behind translucent ridged plastic  
sends mutated shadows
dancing across dust-covered paperwork –
squeaking roller chair
with one stuck wheel
scoots every inch of the five feet
linoleum flooring, off-white marble
as I desperately search
for form 35-wr121 –
Sam Temple Feb 2014
emaciated faces placed hastily in waste filled space
graceless shapes, mass of flesh
lidless eyes scanning endlessly
searching for rest
impoverished waifs piled
on the mentally ill homeless
skin pressed together
inappropriately –
lost child wildly blinded, bound
gagged on diesel rags used to clean tools
torture implements rented on ebay
scented candles transmogrify blank surroundings
and color splashed lashes shine red in the afternoon
glistening –
fake baking ******* easily ballooned
ozone less atmosphere cooks plastic skin
releasing Botox and wheat germ
creating orange clouds engulfing tanning booths
light skinned pretenders swish across foray’s
looking both fabulous and abhorrent
frolicking –
camera angled babies
in thick foundation hide tears
so as to not disappoint
or fail in the eyes of the media sharks
fear and gun-rights send them into a frenzy
seeking to raise and destroy
everyone –
political ridicule in a public tribunal
grandfathered unborn wait to rule
wombs of power hold genes of control
eggs designed to tax  
meeting ***** engineered to manipulate
deform –
Sam Temple Feb 2016
plastic toothed comb

                                      broken teeth – Autumn


stillness...white shines through gaps
Sam Temple Jun 2015
viral and trending
as fifteen minutes has become a lifetime
and 45 seconds is more what it looks like
to be internet famous –
fat cats and mall rats in Spanx
sippling frozen latte’s
with 8 shots of circle K crack
violently Instagram-ing every moment
constantly trolling for the one big hit –
social media ***** bored with “likes”
looking to blog the best tweets
and Facebook with the losers
of last year’s season of
Celebrity Chef –
Sam Temple May 2015
encouraged by individual acts
I attempt empathy
alas, no avail
Sam Temple May 2016
t’is a time for rejoice
jubilation in the street
the religious fanatic has left
the building is clear
this home is clean….
still,
the specter of Trump looms
like the last sunset
falling on humanity
the orange glow
seems to swallow the United States –
looking around my nation of fatties
red-faced
taking a break from prescription inundation
to shake flabby fists
at the neon screen,
the only god left.
I find myself seething with contempt
for a system that so divides my people
while I carry blood
straight from the reservation
only removed generationally, twice,
I am a white boy
man
the symbol of global oppression
the face of hate and racism
self-loathing one’s own skin…
and they say I can’t relate….
and I am told I have it good…..
easier
dirt floor ****** single room swinging light
stained and sheet-less hand-me-down mattress
but I can’t understand poverty
just like everyone else
I walk around with a sore *** –
are we all ****-hurt as a people
I think so…
quick to argue
slow to empathize
all of us spreading our own
propaganda
as if we had some answer
as if our individual idea
had merit…
collectively we can accomplish greatness
alone….well, Jordan was a great basketball player
but, just an o.k. owner
Steve Jobs was a great computer nerd
just o.k. with social skills
some of us on Hello Poetry
might be great poets
but our greatness comes from the community
all of our writing together
creating a cornucopia of sentiment
and smorgasbord of language
the greatest online poet community ever
……………..
because I am here –
the insanity of our dichotomy
is like a lobotomy
on a circus mouse
we want to belong
but be special
we want to be part of
yet, stand out
we want culture
our way…..
a great comedian
who was just an o.k. survivor
once said
that it’s all just a ride
I think he was right –
Sam Temple Jan 2016
Standing tall among the trees
My feet rooted to the ground
I felt on my face a quiet breeze

Swaying gently with bended knees
Careful to not make a sound
Standing tall among the trees

Focused completely on buzzing bees
Looking at a gopher mound
I felt on my face a quiet breeze

Searching my pack for a bit of cheese
Causing a ruckus rustling around
Standing tall among the trees

I looked to the sky and whispered a ‘please’
Knowing my snack would soon be found
I felt on my face a quiet breeze

At all once I let out a sneeze
Causing my heart and head to pound
Standing tall among the trees
I felt on my face a quiet breeze
Sam Temple May 2016
back muscle spasm
falling into the chasm
like a rapscallion in a holding cell
images phantasm
plasma distorts
springtime fashion
I passionately question
a season of natural ******
babies play in open meadows
birthed with the new sun
bringing fruition
to the one calling
…procreate –
artificially inseminated
Holstein heifers
drop the next generation
still in sack
to the hard unforgiving ground
expectant of an instant jump
and suckle
hard teats secrete a wonderful feat
…..but it is stolen
and fed to innocent humans
to fatten them  
and placate them
for a different slaughter
lies upon red and clouded horizon –
Sam Temple Jun 2016
a debt is owed to those of you
who write so clean and pure and true
inspiring me through and through
washing away shades of grey and blue

t’was as if you’d always knew
the way to build me up anew
like a cobbler designing a shoe
you spoke to me as I changed and grew

i lost to taste for rotten shrew
and threw away memories not of you
until I sat alone, hair askew
wondering what next I would do

then came a flash that skewered me through
I was only able to muster a ‘mew’
as the realization came that this could never undue
the great Ric Flair and his infamous “Woooooo”

the point is, if I can get real here, crew
it’s important to me, the writing you do
this comes from my heart so it has to be true
I hope you all have a day under skies sunny and blue –
I just love you folks..... happy to be part of this community of writers
Sam Temple Oct 2015
impressed by blessings expressed
my guess is the cesspool confessed
undigested fresh shoots shoot forth
at stressed guests with repressed ******
sweet caresses in the rest area
treat processionals with hysteria
fleeting pedestrians thin with dysentery
imagined thespians acting accordingly    
elder accordionist shakes liver spotted fists
at lists written in jest
by **** drunk sisters with wrist rockets
and bobby sock pocket protectors
knobby kneed sarcasm injectors
deflect suggestions relating to indigestion
and pander to the discretion of their own reflections
in conclusion the union mission’s position remains
to refrain from insisting on persistent revolutionaries
wearing terry cloth togas
in the merry moth of May --
Sam Temple Dec 2015
thick crispy outer shell
processed corn laying crustily
across one side
crystals in a random array
offering a Rorschach
to those in love with toasters –
steaming rectangle
poisonous and tantalizing
filled ever so carefully
with fruit flavored nectar
cleverly altered
from a natural state of wonder
and health
into a spreadable gelatinous snot
squirted into the afore mentioned crust –
screeching children
wild eyed and salivating
only have 22 seconds before
the commercial ends
and Spongebob
starts another zany adventure…
a silent prayer escapes into the ether
as another pop **** prepares
to be pooped out –
Sam Temple Apr 2016
she sat across from me
inexpensive hole-in-the-wall
our first Chinese food date
the yellow wallpaper
the red lanterns
her smile lighted my heart
deftly wielding the chopsticks
I passed her the fortune cookie
twinkling blue eyes accepted
the sweet fair…
upon crumble the note fell
picking it up with nimble and delicate fingers
she read aloud,
“you and your spouse will be happy in your life”
we smiled at each other
and paid the tab –

this morning I looked at our picture
in front of mother’s Turner home
that cookie message
pressed beneath our lovers embrace
doesn’t seem real
that was 14 years ago –
poetry month prompt 13
Sam Temple Oct 2016
~




neon   flowers


                      b r e a t h e





         in



and

     out
Sam Temple Apr 2016
It's true, I hate them...

Sonnets are like bleak winter,

slow death to the soul.
Poetry month prompt 23


I don't care for the sonnet form and I am an adult......so, here is this

and, to be true to the truth,
I struggle with the confines of iambic pentameter.....
Sam Temple Jan 2015
mobbed by sobbing conservatives
I lob truth grenades like a boss
at the cost of loss, sure
but to live without filters
or worry of acceptance
seeking instead to stand at the edge of town
disheveled, with a cardboard sign
pointing a nations short-comings
at the passersby –
crying wolf alone in a forest of despair
unjust actions built on unequal pay
underwritten by corporate greed
and the misdeeds of a few
sociopaths in positions of power
only the faraway look in eyes
open to see
see –
the tide shifts, but ebbs again
leaving another generation of activists
asking “what if”
smoking spliffs on abandon beaches
beseeching the youth to take up the fight
they left behind…
shattered pieces of the hippy movement litter the Northern California coastline
laying like shiny agates
against the backdrop of brown
much like the nation itself
idealists building dreams on the backs of brown –
systematic slavery gives an incling of fairness
as today poor white trash
can be ostracized and maligned
discriminated against and insulted
for the comic fodder of the television viewing community
but do those under the yoke unite?
never…..as long as you like blue
or pop music
or lollipops
or abortion
or small dogs over big ones
there can only be hate
separation
avoidance
death
and taxes –
Title is a "come together" Beatles joke....personally I think they **** with maybe 2 or 3 songs being worth a **** (this not being one), but that doesn't mean I cant use them for my own devices.
Sam Temple May 2015
fat-backed rat finks
roller rink
kitchen sink
thinking back to Corporal Klinger
and Klingons in small thongs
smoking star ship bongs
in a smelly pond
broken wand only sparks slightly
mightily I try to be
free from discriminatory flees
I sit on the floor and be
quiet as a church mouse
in the glass house built by my
light-skinned spouse,
the louse trounced
pouncing on the bouncing ball
falling into the dousing mall
desert grouse espousing rabble-rousers  
in denim trousers
holding perennial flowers
while the gourd towers
bow their heads to the sunset
vetted Reds in beds of lead
break bread with the dead
instead of raking fall leaves
betting on getting let out
cloutless louts just about shout to be heard
and the herd moves forward
every methodically –
Sam Temple Jun 2016
Envisioning revisions
Singing broken rhythms
Carrying misgivings about miscarriages
Disparaging pigeons
White speckled calling cards hardly
Invoke the Bard of North Korea
I be your favorite poetic stylist
Freely beguiling smiling at the Wailing Wall
Rotary phone call shopping mall sneakers
Tweekers in Arby’s bathroom break
Picking faces like lottery scratchers
Meekly begging change with blank expressions
Did I mention we offer refreshments?
Sam Temple Apr 2016
I closed my eyes
and felt the ground vibrate
as the Huskavarna roared to life
and chewed through log after log
devouring fibers
and depositing sawdust
the smell filled my nose
and a smile passed my lips
fresh fir in the morning
the crash of timber in the distance
the hush that fell upon the forest during lunch –
muted thumping trancelike and rhythmic
each round hit with a maul
and then bashed with the sledge
tossing split rounds
into stacks on the truck bed
perfect dance performed by the woodcutter –
the rumbling tires against the gravel road
sent me to slumber
the crunching mixed with the gentle rocking
fighting until the very last
trying desperately to hear
the low murmur
of my father and uncle Steve
telling tall tales
of 600 yard coyote kills
with just one blast
from the old 2-23 Remington
and the 40 lb. salmon
still swimming with a 20 dollar jig –
poetry month prompt 18
Sam Temple Apr 2016
in the mindset
of an ole ***** spiritual
plantation style
when the long hot days
could only be battled
by singing what would one day
be called the blues
travel with me, all ya’ll
to a humid crop
circa 1837
with the hippest pickers
in all the region….
a little taste:

the foreman, a blue black
towering figure
bag slung
sweat dripping
starts quiet and low
but soon all join in:

masssa gonna whip up good
***** gonna whip us bad
***** gonna whip us smiling
***** gonna whip us sad
***** loves he whip

***** gonna whip us eatin
masssa gonna whip us starved
masssa gonna whip us easy
masssa gonna whip us hard
***** loves he whip

-----The field seems to move in unison now
as each member of the crew
feel the rhythm and sing along in time -----

***** gonna whip my woman
***** gonna whip my chile
***** gonna get a splinter
wont whip me for a while
***** loves he whip

masssa gonnna whip my skin raw
***** gonna turn me red
masssa gonna whip me so hard
make me wish that I was dead
***** love he whip

----The sun is setting now on the plantation
but the song carries late into the eve
as we travel forward in time we hear the faint echoes
from a troubled past ------

***** gonnna whip my po back
***** gonna whip my legs
***** gonna whip my momma
make me scream and make me beg
****** loves he whip
poetry month prompt #26
Sam Temple Apr 2017
~
Musing at music one morning in May
my thoughts journeyed within
at sounds of noise and parts of speech
and wind through limbs in spring.

A whistling thrush upon a post
brought me back around
gifting song to weary ears
before flying east towards the sun.

The bamboo rustled in the breeze
as koi swam in long slow rounds
new shoots of lily burst
through the surface of the pond.

I felt his fur against my leg
and a purr rattled my lobes
yellow eyes looked up as I glanced down
both of us frozen in a moment.

A squawking Sterling broke the spell
we stood too close to suet
his need was great and his boldness grew
as he lit upon the thrushes post.     /
Sam Temple Jan 2017
~


stretching cavern
    stalactites elongate
lichen plaque where faint light reaches

guano softens the rocky floor
    giving habitat to beetle and grub

the occasional rodent carcass
    rots in the warmth

tiny bat babies cling
     first to mother fur
               then to cold stone

they wait for insect meals
          passed with love and saliva
                  eager mouths stretch    /
Sam Temple Sep 2016
wolf and hobo trapeze


              tightrope acrobatics


                        cold nights bring us in
Sam Temple Apr 2016
broken winter grasp

ice gives way

blooms dot the valley
poetry month prompt 1
Sam Temple Apr 2016
Cascade foothill town
So many white faces shine
Winter skin, springtime
Oregon is becoming more culturally diverse, this little town struggles with the change and I shake my head at the misfortune of environment.


Poetry month prompt 16
Sam Temple May 2016
Salad, tossed face embossed got no floss chewin at all cost
Laying in the moss you know the forest but I ain’t no Gump
Or Trump tryin to destroy us filled with joyous boisterousness
Enjoy coitus with a moist ***** tied your *** to my truck hitch
Drag ya through the ditch, aint actin rich once I shot a snitch
Squealing like a stuck pig hooked him with a sturgeon rig
Took him to the reservation dig left him pining like a twig
We all danced a jig around the camp fire pulled out some plyers
Did my impression of Michael Meyers I started stabbing fools
With shiny dental tools took them all to school, then proceeded to break the rules
Splashed their face with jewels that others refer to as stool
Slapped them with my ****, until they were covered in it
Peanuts gleaming in the night, asked them if they wanted to fight
Told my little dog to bite, lit out til I was outta site
Alright –
Sam Temple Apr 2014
Mourning another chemtrial morning
as blood moons wait to rise
increasing size of the Yellowstone bulge
biblical prophecy meets Aztec idolatry
in a Nostradamus tell-all
bending light flashes off secret project crafts
black by nature and budget
but the gays can marry, so everything is fine
equality seekers wearing iodine 131 coated sneakers
sneak into laboratories to release rats
with Ebola
as a way to protest Wall Street injustices

without leadership we experience the occupy movement
at least the ****** hippies got blacks and women the vote
the current generation is too hell-bent on selfies and photo bombs
to do something silly
like read
research
unite
create change….growth….aid in the evolution of man
but no, not when the new Black Ops is coming out
and teens are posting **** pictures on Instagram
violent **** culture pretending freedom matters
and I get madder
both angry and crazy
as the chances slip away
each day the ability to rebuild democracy fades further
every passing moment means one more stupid child
eating chips
and drinking soda
makes the choice
to stay put
and die young
Sam Temple Jun 2016
darkly were the eve
‘n they played in streets
torn sneaker stick ball
under twinkling lavender ~
gnats circle lampposts
blind and lost
forever beholden to
electric lies /
bats dart seemingly haphazard
plucking juicy morsels
dusky scene unfolds ~
hollering mothers
send waves of discontent
as the last player
kicks rocks
until porchlight /
Sam Temple Jun 2016
a long slow exhale sends my med of choice swirling around the candlelit room
everything comes down half a step and a smooth calm surfaces
irritations fade and the Wu bumps me free
thin smile passes across my eyes as shoes tumble
little tan Pit rolls over and sniffs the cloud
leans partly against me and partly against the soft brown couch
both of us stare off into space
eyes glazed
fully medicated –
Sam Temple Jun 2015
feeling surrounded
as liberal do-gooders
with pale complexion
think they know how to help
the black community –
know-it-all agenda monkey’s
making silly speeches
on soapboxes
manufactured by children
in some third-world ****-hole –
acting like their involvement
might somehow be the catalyst
for real change
in America –
never once stopping to look
at the vast damage
done by whites
trying to help minorities –
blindly regurgitating mass media lies
they huddle together
in front of the glowing LCD screen
waiting for the next social injustice
to give them reason for being –
Sam Temple Oct 2015
unkempt neck hair
dancing in the fan breeze
pleased by the sight, I push up my sleeves
and seethe while sieving the encrusted cheese cloth
elderly resin glands scratch like sand
and the blandness of the disease seems to squeeze
any meaning from the motion
ocean waves graze mutant toes as wind blowing
snow globes throws devotionally challenged
prose writers into a delightful tizzy
thin lizzy in the background sounds like
barking dogs at the drown pound
and unwound knitted sweaters look better
when wetter than investment bankers at the swankiest of parties
sour smarties in plastic hats use poorly ventilated ski masks
basking rashes in priceless sashes bat eyelashes at lasses during mass
and the catholic priest has ceased to crease his pleated trousers
mouse traps snap shut in front of the bunk beds
her trunk of junk likes crunk juice on Tuesdays
and I sit, drunken, trying to debunk 9/11 –
Sam Temple Feb 2016
razor blades slip slow
leaving behind reddened lines
drowning in incoherent flow

swollen throat continues to grow
unable to focus my mind
razor blades slip slow

cannot relate to my favorite show
or enjoy the swaying Pines
drowning in incoherent flow

choking on ***** and snot from my nose
wishing I could simply unwind
razor blades slip slow

tissue hurts me when I try to blow
I long to just feel fine
drowning in incoherent flow

what am I reaping from this terrible sow?
I may as well go blind…
razor blades slip slow
drowning in incoherent flow
Sam Temple Mar 2016
thick, cold, fresh, molasses
he answers slowly dripped
from crimson lips
bereft of compassion
as if empathy
were less than a ***** word
more a non-existent concept
both foreign and alien…
movements matching her mouthing
I could only shift weight
from one foot
to the other
as formulations and calculations
whirred just behind cautious eyes
caught off guard by the suddenness
she spoke quickly and clear
with such precise conciseness
I had to blink twice
“it’s a deal,” she stated,
matter-of-factly
elegantly turning away
and floating down the corridor
I thought to myself
what mess
had I entered today –
Sam Temple Apr 2015
Her eyes they shine  







The deepest blue, matching the sky    

            In the evening, looking off east

O’er the Cascades, latest July

                 Through smoke roasting leg of beast

Can’t look away, though I do try,

                 My mind recoils from the feast.




Across the office, right at lunch

                 I notice the tumbling sea

Crashing waves cause pebbles to crunch

                Tsunami rolls in, wild and free

Afraid to move, I ponder brunch

                And ask those eyes to come with me  




Across the table, crystal clear              

         Aquamarine gemstones shine bright

Facetted perfect shed no tear

                 Refracting starlight in the night

Bringing me peace, removing fear

                Those eyes make me feel I’m alright
Sam Temple Jul 2016
spotted fishy wandering brook
leaning willow casts shade
mud and clay banks bake
August dries the shoreline ~

mosquito larva dart
evading crawdad claws
red and robust /
a dragonfly lights softly
metallic blue eye scans ~

death rattle of a male mourning dove
perched above passing perch
calling to a mate
that sits just beyond sound /
dusty wind floats lazily
carrying warmth
and the scent of marsh ~
decomposing ***** willows
melt into the muck
giving carp
tasty treats /
Sam Temple Feb 2016
watching flowing fields of grain dance in the wind
made ripe and green by the warm late spring sun
I imagined running, falling, and rolling in the fresh wheat
getting up again and spreading my arms wide open
allowing myself to experience the oneness of us all
I felt both completely refreshed and totally alive

It is a wonderful time in which to be alive
to stand and feel upon your face the wind
skinned browned slightly by the shinning sun
matching the color of the fields of wheat
basking in the glow of spaces, wide and open
recognizing a connection to the greater all

there is a peace when one recognizes their connection to the all
akin to nearly dying but instead remaining alive
ghosts float by on old gusts of wind
unseen except in shadows elongated by the setting sun
pausing only to admire the grains of wheat
individual, perfect, and ready to be open

I sat in the car considering all of this with the window open
the low buzz of insects became the soundtrack for all
and I felt my aura was glowing and alive
my soul was taken by a flash of cool wind
and I found myself travelling etheric to the sun
I was but a speck of sand or a single grain of wheat

my relationship changed that day, to wheat
in fact, to all plant life I became more open
understanding they too were part of the all
and that we both were living creatures, quite alive
both of us forced to deal with the wind
both of us totally dependent upon the sun

I felt on my face the warmth of the sun
and looked back upon the field of dancing wheat
for one second I was totally open
and was in an instant not only connected too, but I became the all
it was if everything around me became alive
and sang together the joys of the springtime wind

I felt so alive reconnecting with the universal all
and became as open as the summer wheat
nourished by the sun and sent dancing by the wind
Sam Temple Jul 2014
tired liar, uninspired
wire-rider
biting fire
un-learned burn-out
doubting the clout, pouting
routing trout
without
nets
regrets beset
vetted pets
wet with fret
filleted
displaying range
grange hall dancers manage
manic prancing horses
trotting in the allotted plot
sought, bought
caught in the cot
as the hot won’t stop
relentlessly attacking my inspiration
leaving me only with **** like
this
Sam Temple Aug 2016
swinging frayed rope
holds a rotten board
thin grain shows dark
between mold and grit
worn smooth imprints
     babe buttock

howling precursor
black horizon
fat droplets shift dust
pacing hound bays
rattle-trap ford
        crunching gravel

sizzle of fried flour
distracts mud pie designers
one less hen
late Saturday dinner
grandad’s pipe
       cherry tobacco smoke tendrils

low tones from behind a fire
pine burns hot and fast
sweat droplets fall
drink for dark earth
woodless floor, uneven
carries years of sweat
       and tears –
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