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Antino Art Feb 2018
South Florida
if you were a body part,
you’d be an armpit.

You’d be a bulged vein
on the side of a forehead
forever locked in a scowl
behind sunglasses.

You speak the language of horns
middle name, finger
blood type, combustible

You're a melting ***
that's boiled over the lid
sweating salt water at the brows
eyes red as the brake lights
in the maddening brightness,
you’re torrential daylight
heating nerves like greenhouse gasses
waiting for a reason to explode.

You’re a tropical motilov cocktail
no one can afford
2 parts anger, 1 part stupidity
full of yourself in a souvenir glass with a toothpick umbrella
You're all image

You’re all talk: the curse words
breaking out the mouths
of the angry line mob at Starbucks in the morning
You’re the indifferent silence
in the arena at the Heat games leaving early,
showing up late
due to the distance
from Brickell to Hialeah,
West Palm to Pompano
the gap between the entitled and the under-paid
a skyline of condos in a third world country
You’ve always been foreign to me.

You’re winterless, no chill
you attract only hurricanes
and tourists,
shoving anything that isn’t profitable
out of the way like post-storm debris
into the backyards of the Liberty City projects,
onto a landfill off the side of the Turnpike
Hide it beneath Bermuda grass,
line it with palm trees
if only conceal your cold blooded nature:
I see you.
You are overrun with iguanas,
blood-******* mosquitos
hot-headed New York drivers
not afraid to get hit

You get yours, Soflo
and you'll go as low
as the flat roofs of your duplexes
and the wages that can barely pay the rent to get it
latitude as attitude
temper as temperature
if you were a body part
I swear you’re an *******

south of the brain, one hour
in all directions,
I’d find you.
You’d impose your way
onto my flight to the Philippines,
to Seattle, to Raleigh
You’d follow me like excess baggage,
like gravity,
bringing me back when asked where I'm from:

That area north of Miami, I’d say
(the suburbs, but whatever, we are hard in our own way)
I'd show you off on their map
like some badge of grit,
certificate of aggression
I know how to break a sweat
walk brisk, drive evasive
ride storms in my sleep
I know you, I’d say,
“He’s a friend of mine.”
and I’d watch them light up
and remember
the postcards you've sent them
of the sunrise,
welcoming brown immigrants
onto white sand beaches
You were foreign to us
yet raised us as your own
in the furnace of your summers
iron on iron, the forger striking
softness into swords
built for survival
I'm made of you

my South Floridian temper
cools down
in your ocean breeze

if you were a body part,
you'd be a part of me
a socked foot in an And1 sandal
pressed to the gas pedal
as my drive takes me north
of your borders, far from home

I see you
in the rear view mirror,
tail-gating
like a sports car on the exit ramp
the color of the sun.
In the sky there is nobody asleep. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is asleep.
The creatures of the moon sniff and prowl about their cabins.
The living iguanas will come and bite the men who do not dream,
and the man who rushes out with his spirit broken will meet on the street corner
the unbelievable alligator quiet beneath the tender protest of the stars.

Nobody is asleep on earth. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is asleep.
In the graveyard far off there is a corpse
who has moaned for three years
because of a dry countryside on his knee;
and that boy they buried this morning cried so much
it was necessary to call out the dogs to keep him quiet.

Life is not a dream. Careful! Careful! Careful!
We fall down the stairs in order to eat the moist earth
or we climb to the knife edge of the snow with the voices of the dead dahlias.
But forgetfulness does not exist, dreams to not exist;
flesh exists. Kisses tie our mouths
in a thicket of new veins,
and whoever his pain pains will feel that pain forever
and whoever is afraid of death will carry it on his shoulers.

On day
the horses will live in the saloons
and the enraged ants
will throw themselves on the yellow skies that take refuge in the eyes of cows.

Another day
we will watch the preserved butterflies rise from the dead
and still walking through a country of gray sponges and silent boats
we will watch our ring flash and roses spring from our tongue.
Careful! Be careful! Be careful!
The men who still have marks of the  claw and the thunderstorm,
and that boy who cries because he has never heard of the invention of the bridge,
or that dead man who possess now only his head and a shoe,
we must carry them to the wall where the iguanas and the snakes are waiting,
where the bear's teeth are waiting,
where the mummified hand of the boy is waiting,
and the hair of the camel stands on end with a violent blue shudder.

Nobody is sleeping in the sky. Nobody, nobody.
Nobody is sleeping.
If someone does close his eyes,
a whip, boys, a whip!
Let there be a landscape of open eyes
and bitter wounds on fire.
No one is sleeping in this world. No one, no one.
I have said it before.

No one is sleeping.
But if someone grows too much moss on his temples during the night,
open the stage trapdoors so he can see in the moonlight
the lying goblets, and the poison, and the skull of the theatres.
Gary Gibbens Mar 2012
I am haunted by iguanas
Crawling though the attics of my dreams
And lately my front teeth
Are growing some kind of orange fur

I worry that ring tailed lemurs
Have stolen my remote control
I'm ridiculed by spider monkeys
Holding my underwear for ransom

My faithful cat ignores my worries
Unless her dish is empty
Now ants seem vaguely threatening
And magpies watch me in the morning

Late at night, I wonder what advice
Kafka or maybe Aristotle could offer
But they've never friended me or twittered.
mike Jan 2013
in  ft.lauderdale there is a tunnel. the Henry E. Kinney tunnel. it is dusty and loud.
ghosts pass through there and beg me for change. little do they kno that i have the morphine.
less fiends. all fiends.
if you sit in there long enough youll gather waves of grey on your skin.
like sand on the shore can become such pretty patterns.
why am i writing this? the sun is shining.
if god was my soulmate id cheat with the devil,
and id have a very vivid imagination.
pop-corn on sale. 50cents.
broke tooth on kernel. cant afford the visit.
dry mouth to ****.
dryers empty.
loose change.
loose cannon.
a monster.
is on the loose.
you wake up and the doctor starts to say something but you eat him.
quick! hand me a sqrew-driver.
i want to **** a bird on my way down.
if anyone ever loved and were loved by both parents then i am happy for you. you are:
happy person.
i have talked to many people.
and they talk and they talk and they pass time with words..like gas.
waste the breath and the small bones in my ear.
and always remember: try to listen every once in a while.
talk too much is rude. especially about nothing.
please shut up.
everyone.
2.
3.
forever.
5.
sick
psychopaths.
Kurt Carman Oct 2018
I'm paying tribute to one of the finest Poets I know, Tony Hoagland. He recently passed away from Pancreatic Cancer at 64 years young. This is one my  absolute favorites and I believe you'll love it also.*

Romantic Moment


After the nature documentary we walk down,
into the plaza of art galleries and high end clothing stores

where the mock orange is fragrant in the summer night
and the smooth adobe walls glow fleshlike in the dark.

It is just our second date, and we sit down on a rock,
holding hands, not looking at each other,

and if I were a bull penguin right now I would lean over
and ***** softly into the mouth of my beloved

and if I were a peacock I’d flex my gluteal muscles to
***** and spread the quills of my cinemax tail.

If she were a female walkingstick bug she might
insert her hypodermic proboscis delicately into my neck

and inject me with a rich hormonal sedative
before attaching her egg sac to my thoracic undercarriage,

and if I were a young chimpanzee I would break off a nearby treelimb
and smash all the windows in the plaza jewelry stores.

And if she was a Brazilian leopardfrog she would wrap her impressive
tongue three times around my right thigh and

pummel me lightly against the surface of our pond
and I would know her feelings were sincere.

Instead we sit awhile in silence, until
she remarks that in the relative context of tortoises and iguanas,

human males seem to be actually rather expressive.
And I say that female crocodiles really don’t receive

enough credit for their gentleness.
Then she suggests that it is time for us to go

to get some ice cream cones and eat them.
RIP Poet
Jonny Angel Sep 2014
Twelve days on the isthmus,
trudging through the gap,
we sliced & diced
vines along the trail,
through a world all its own.

Iguanas & butterflies
accompanied us,
along with the tarantulas,
toucans & monkeys.
Everything was in tune,
nature at its finest.

But the bearded-dudes
we encountered
seeemed way out of place,
different from the nature
that was around us.

They were unusually
focused, out of touch
with their long line
of saddlebagged-mulas
& fully-packed mochilas.

The automatic weapons
& machetes finished
off the picture
of these serious hombres,
the runners of the jungle.

We traded Marlboro's
& Johnny Walker Red
for some tea & sugar
& they waved us on by,
gave us safe passage
into Colombia.
Jackie Mead Oct 2018
Pelicans gracefully sweep and soar in the clear blue Carribean sky.

Iguanas lazy at first, quicken as they walk by.

Pelicans hunting for their tea, hover over the green blue Carribean sea.

Iguanas of brown, blue and green, disguise themselves, not keen to be seen.

Pelicans, hover, swoop then dive, catching fish for their tea.
Showing their skills to anyone that wishes to see.
Wonderful birds in all their glory.

Igaunas flick out their tongue to catch a leaf for their tea.
Avoiding the rays of the hot sun, underneath a shady tree.

Fascinating to watch and see these beautiful creatures in all their glory.
Instead of people watching its nature watching
pat  Apr 2016
metal baby
pat Apr 2016
God is good & God is great
He hates queers that levitate
Momma said that God is dead & I can touch a thousand men
We're not hippies, we're just dumb
We do drugs. We Have fun

(No Brains!)

Obama, I wanna go-bama
I know you know I wanna
go-bama to a sauna
in the Bahamas, bring iguanas

Obama, I think
I think you know-bama
I wanna go, I wanna wear pajamas
in Bahama mama sticky saunas

(No Brains!)


I don't know how to think
The clock goes " tick tick tick tick"
Gotta speak quick, gotta think big
Gotta beat kids with a big stick

God told me I wrote the bible
Jesus had a black disciple
Jesus got behind the wheel
He'll make Obama great again
He'll make it rain and bring the pain
He'll make it make it make it
(No Brains!)

Jesus cured all my diseases
He taught me what cottage cheese is
Analingus teachers taught the preachers how to feed us
eat a fetus
Jesus teaches
(No Abortion!)

but I don't really think that it's that important
but if you really think that its that important
there's pre-abortional baptism

America runs on fascism
American chicks like circumcision not activism
if it lacks vision then
police could release the crack
in the ghetto snacks
in the ghetto shacks
In the fellow stacks, it'll make a better tax return
I'm like,
(No Brains!)
It's metal, baby
Obama, I wanna go-bama I think
I think,  you wanna know-bama,
I wanna go-bama I think
I think,  you wanna know

It's metal, baby
Don't touch me, I'm beautiful
Touch me touch me, I will sue
Don't touch me, I have a crush
Watch me crush, watch me ****
Armageddon veterans take armadillo medicine
I eat you like venison
Watch me crush, watch me ****
Verdes tardes de la selva; tardes
tristes. Río verde
entre zacatales verdes;
pantanos verdes.
Tardes olorosas a lodo, a hojas mojadas, a
helechos húmedos y a hongos
El verde perezoso cubierto de moho
poco a poco trepando de rama en
rama, con los ojos cerrados como
dormido pero comiendo
una hoja, alargando un garfio primero
y después el otro,
sin importarle las hormigas que le pican,
volteando lentamente el bobo rostro
redondo, primero a un lado
y luego al otro,
enrollando por fin la cola en una rama
y colgándose pesado como
una bola de plomo; el salto del sábalo en el río;
el griterío de los monos comiendo
malcriadamente, a toda prisa,
arrojándose las cáscaras de anona unos a otros
y peleándose, charlando, arremedándose
y riéndose entre los árboles;
monas chillonas cargando a tuto monitos
pelones y trompudos;
la guatusa bigotuda y elástica
que se estira y encoge
mirando a todos lados con su ojo redondo
mientras come temblando;
espinosas iguanas... temblando;
espinosas iguanas
como dragones de jade
corriendo sobre el agua
(¡flechas de jade!);
el ***** con su camisa rayada, remando
en su canoa de ceiba.

Una muchacha meciéndose en una hamaca,
con su largo pelo *****, y una pierna desnuda
colgando de la hamaca,
nos saluda:
                    Adiós, California!

El río *****, como tinta, al anochecer.
Una flor de un hedor putrefacto
                                                      como de cadáver;
y una flor horrible, peluda.
                                                      Orquídeas
guindadas sobre el agua podrida.
Silbidos tristes de la selva,
y quejidos.
                    Quejidos.
Hojas tristes que caen dando vueltas.
Y chillidos...
                      ¡Un grito entre las guanábanas!
El hacha cortando un tronco
                      y el eco del hacha.
¡El mismo chillido!
Ruido sordo de manadas de cerdos salvajes.
¡Carcajadas!
                      El canto de un tucán.
Chischiles de culebras cascabeles.
Gritos de congos.
                      Chachalacas.
El canto melancólico de la gongolona
                                  entre los coquitales,
y el de la paloma popone,
                                            popone, pone, pone
Oropéndolas sonoras
columpiándose en sus nidos colgados de las palmeras,
y el canto del pájaro-león entre los coyoles
y el del pájaro de-la-luna-y-el-sol
el pájaro clarinero, el pájaro
relojero que da la hora
y el pocoyo que canta de noche (o caballero)
                                  Cabayero mi dinero Cabayero mi dinero
parejas de lapas que pasan gritando,
y el guis, chichitote y dichoso-fui
                                      dichoso-fuiiiiiiii
que cantan en los chagüites sombríos.
Plateados pantanos rielando,
y las ranas cantando
                              rrrrrrrrrrrrr
!Y un pájaro que toda la noche repite.
Jessica Leigh Jun 2014
Oh
Yeah
mmmmmmmmmmmm

You know you love me, I know you care
Just make whale sounds whenever, and I'll be there
You are my significant other, you are my heart
And we will never ever ever be apart

If I was your wife, I'd never let you make out in the Ann Frank House
Keep you on my arm, you'd never be alone
I can be your Thigh, anything you want
If I was your wife, I'd never let you make out in the Ann Frank House, I'd never let you make out in the Ann Frank House

Girlie, girlie, girlie mmmmmmmmmmmm
Like baby, baby, baby nooo
Like girlie, girlie, girlie mmmmmmmmmmmm
I thought you'd always be mine (mine)

When I met you girlie my Hamstring went whale noise
Now them Iguanas in my Neck won't stop stop
And even though it's a struggle love is all we got
So we gonna keep keep fluffing to the mountain top

There's gonna be one more Hamstring going whale noise
One more Hamstring going whale noise
One more Hamstring going whale noise

Your Spine, my biggest weakness
Shouldn't have let you know
I'm always gonna do what they say (hey)
If you need me
I'll come groping
From a thousand miles away
When you grow beards at McDonalds I grow beards at McDonalds (oh whoa)
You fly big red dragons, I fly big red dragons
Hey

Na na na, na na na, na na mmmmmmmmmmmm
Yeah significant other
Na na na, na na na, na na na mmmmmmmmmmmm
If I was your wife
Na na na, na na na, na na na mmmmmmmmmmmm
Na na na, na na na, na na na mmmmmmmmmmmm
If I was your wife

My friends say I'm a fool to think
That you're the one for me
I guess I'm just a skanky fool for my girlie

Uhh ohhh
Jonny Angel Jan 2014
We smuggled ourselves
on endless ribbons,
circumnavigating
towns full of iguanas.

Licking summer skies,
we displayed
kaleidoscope-eyes,
wore blue ribbons
in our hair.

Nothing compared
to the chivalry of the times,
naievity ruled us
like bosses, yet we
slayed with such splendor.

No prisoners taken,
just scars given,
along with tales,
stories from the borders,
our lives lived on the fringes,
hanging on endlessly
to lost dreams.

— The End —