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When I first caught glimpse
of that jimmy-rigged
thirst trap insta-photo
with your
bobbled head
leaning alongside
the lowest base note
piano keys
I considered you a
Madame Blavatsky
invoking with the guileless eyes of
a deceased Peter Tork
or the once-was heat
of
a David Cassidy
Also deceased
And I couldn’t help but notice
that your flame, if you will,
as his flame before you
was
OUT
Like the last embers of a campground fire in
Yosemite National Park.

That image read
more like David’s blousy
troll
twin brother
that lived in a basement somewhere
in the San Fernando Valley
and shoveled out
coal as if he was Cinderella.
Never to be allowed near a stringed instrument,
Nor a mic.
Nor an amp.
Not even the littlest sister’s Cowsills like
Tambourine.

Somewhere in the Dakota
in NYC
Westside
The witches try to concur.
Rosemary screamed
in a chocolate mouse stupor
“This is no teen dream of 1974!”
“What about the 60s?”
a naked old witch encircling her bed
inquired tentatively.

I know of  a tarot reader
Who warns of the malignant energies of a certain
Kimi Hendrix,
Jimi’s little brother
who plays the
banjo
and
masterbates excessively
and is not
a virtuoso.
Stay away from him.
He’s an imposter.
!

You could very well be absolutely mad
Which would explain
the kooky flirty-fishing
cultish
eyeball thing
but what’s the success rate
after all this
photography, I reckon?
Who would eat the bait
anyhow?
“You’d be surprised,” sneers another witch.
“Shaddup” snaps Castevet.

Once there was
this art dealer
also in NYC
who used to pass by you
heading south on
West Broadway
And if you stood on the sidewalk
Talking to whomever,
say,
for another
five minutes
Or
Let’s just say “eventually,”
not giving it a
specific time
His girlfriend would follow.
They were together you see?
She wasn’t late.
And that was way more than
one hundred paces.

It would appear
that in just one year’s time
or perhaps just a couple of months
Trapped in your household
With audio and visual stimulation of all permutations
keyboards
delivery services
and realtime isolation
Within a mise en abysme
of
trap upon trap upon trap
you’ve become perhaps
madder still.
Mercury in the lining
of the top-hat
mad.
“And who hasn’t?” asks that naked witch again.
I’d add that you’ve put on a few
Which a lot of people have done lately
No judgement
But I doubt you are baking a lot of
bread

And you look much older than you should.

So I wonder
How do you get to that vibratory chi
when you’re walled off like this?
Once you get to some of the real good good
you will look
so much better.
This quandary engages me
enough to indulge
a whirligig
into which I can incorporate
if I want to,
Courbet’s L’origin du monde,
the envy soaked
diamantine scowl of a
*****
and perpetually ignored roadie,
Vampires
And street-level prostitution.
It’s a crisis!

I would have thought
that you could just
draw it all
straight to you
Without actual fleshly contact
Seep it
through the stucco’d walls
Or down from
the ceiling,
quickly and upon demand.
Sub-molecularly.
No traffic and clean air make haste.
But no.
That’s not working right now is it?
Magician Reversed.
Judypatooote Feb 2016
Hopalong Cassidy

When I was a little girl
Hopalong Cassidy
Was my hero
I would watch him on the television  
Riding his horse Topper
And then
PRETEND...
Hiding behind chairs
Running from one to the other
Shooting the bad guys
With my finger gun.
One birthday my mom surprised me
With a whole Hopalong Cassidy outfit.
I had a vest with fringe,
The cowgirl skirt, the hat
And best of all
A Hopalong Cassidy WATCH
And a silver play gun in a holster
In my imagination
I WAS HOPALONG CASSIDY
Back in the 40's
IT WAS OK
To play Cowboys and Indians
IT WAS OK
To shoot the bad guys
With a finger gun
Or a silver play gun
IT WAS OK
To use the word Indians
Without offending anyone
So Sad that kids can't play
Cowboys and Indians anymore
Because you wouldn't know
If that gun was real

By judy
I wrote rhis poem when i read an artical on a 5 year old boy who was exspelled from his school for pointing is finger at another student and saying bang bang.  What a different world we live in now compared to back when...
Judypatooote Mar 2015
Hopalong Cassidy

When I was a little girl
Hopalong Cassidy
Was my hero
I would watch him on the television  
Riding his horse Topper
And then
PRETEND...
Hiding behind chairs
Running from one to the other
Shooting the bad guys
With my finger gun.
One birthday my mom surprised me
With a whole Hopalong Cassidy outfit.
I had a vest with fringe,
The cowgirl skirt, the hat
And best of all
A Hopalong Cassidy WATCH
And a silver play gun in a holster
In my imagination
I WAS HOPALONG CASSIDY
Back in the 40's
IT WAS OK
To play Cowboys and Indians
IT WAS OK
To shoot the bad guys
With a finger gun
Or a silver play gun
IT WAS OK
To use the word Indians
Without offending anyone
So Sad that kids can't play
Cowboys and Indians anymore
Because you wouldn't know
If that gun was real
A memory of when life was simple and fun. Of course it was, I was a child.
Smell of earth
Rugged brown
Taste the rain as it falls down
Rise and fall
Blue and green
Trace the clouds that paint the scene
Lift your eyes
Make no sound
Feel the stillness all around
Bow your head
Kiss the ground
This is where your heart is found
Cassidy Claire Johnson © 2014.
In the middle of the day
You cross my mind
And your footprints are lasting
If I were known to feel
I might not hide it
I might embrace it
But what's in a reputation
If not repute and repetition

To break habit is difficult;
I've considered it,
Still I cannot

But can I speak in dreams?
Can I speak with soul?
And maybe when it's three in the morning
And we're both heavily weary
Can I call you
And tell you I love you
Or would the hour not excuse
The boldness of my honesty

To be vulnerable is difficult;
I've considered it,
Still I cannot
Cassidy Claire Johnson © 2014.
To start fresh
A chance to be different
A chance to love
But what do I want?

To travel far
And feed the spirit
Quench the wanderlust
But what do I want?

To love another
An honest tenderness
A heart that makes mine beat again
But what do I want?

To write the stories
Learn the legends
To know the stars above
And that is all I *need
Cassidy Claire Johnson © 2014.
I.    the end of life;
      that which was always fated
      shocks us, even still

II.  the passing of time;
      we can never comprehend
      our frail existence

III. the creative soul;
      we must, with earnest ink,
      make every word count

IV. the end of an era;
      it is but a beginning
      of something much more
Cassidy Claire Johnson © 2014.
All of a sudden;
I don't know how we got here,
But we cannot stay
Cassidy Claire Johnson © 2014.

— The End —