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Nigdaw Feb 6
they are selling sunshine
on these ***** streets
offering escape
at bus stops
beyond the ride home
with hoarding speak
dreams, new worlds
new life, new you
away from this ****** existence
we all perceive
step into
the advertiser's dream
Nigdaw Jul 2019
“Come in and sit down”
said the celluloid voice,
smooth as silk.
Cautiously I stepped
through the TV screen,
to take my place.


“I will show you a world”
it continued,
“That bears no relation
to what you consider as
REALITY.”


The air around electrified,
as the set was powered to life.


Beautiful bodies playing on a beach,
running into the foaming sea;
sun ripening skin, bleaching hair;
Then, from nowhere a can appears,
elixir of every surfer, sun worshipper.


Somewhere in the distance
a distinctive throaty roar,
the romantic throb of a Harley;
ridden by a pair of jeans
giving identity to,
some muscular male *****;
A dream of America
and freedom.


Slow moody blues solo
hangs in the air;
a guitar talking to a journeyman,
familiar but not remembered.
Every note sustained, holding breath,
then carried by a riff
from a bottle of bourbon.


Outside the set
beautiful bodies are burning up,
through a hole in the ozone.
(Too many limousines and Harleys)
The alcoholic looks on, wide eyed,
trying to see a way in,
really believing there is one.
Sharon Talbot Nov 2018
He drives into the desert in a Toronado,
Dust in his eyes from the open window,
Sun on the burned skin and black mascara
That augments his vivid gaze.
Black orbs that stare at the burning sand,
His mouth is defiant and morose,
He turns off the path into the sage and saguaro.
The car is like a black beetle on a carpet of tan.
He lifts a shovel from the trunk, looking crazed.
Digs a shallow grave in the sand,
He rips a talisman from his neck
And declares he is looking for something
Unclear and he slurs a chant.
“Something is coming”, he seems to say.
He buries the necklace and drives away.
Will he come back for it or leave it
for the spirits of the desert?
No, he will come for it every day
Bury it again and again
Until the spell wears down,
The perfumed season is done,
Or perhaps the spring floods
Wash it all away.
Based on a silly advert for perfume, with Johnny as a superstitious rebel! I had to make a "story" of it, just for laughs.
Peter Balkus May 2018
Listening to Mozart
extends your life expectancy,
prolongs it
at least by eternity.
Inspired by Mozart's Symphonie Nr.40 in g-moll.

— The End —