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Ooh...this... just an amazing grace note
     recalling how I felt like an ***
and wanna toot 'bout me getting steered
     (as a heavy metal kid Rocker)

     toward befriending a brass
see gutsy, *****,
     and MainLine snooty upper class
action button down

    (grace fully slick as vaseline), airily glinting
     forcibly hawked, laundered, and pawned
     by the instrumental
     Mister Deangelo O'Donnell, High School

     (mud flapping, ornery hearing,
     and quid juicing Ska Welch ching)
     music teacher oompah crass
tone deaf when aye trumpeted desire

     to master the Coronet
analogous to pursing lips
     blowing tightly held grass
blade between two abetted,

     cinched fastened opposable thumbs,
which tooting a supposed aural aphrodisiac
     to attract a zaftig well proportioned lass
     (ideally shaped like a miniature Tuba)

with one steel funnel like mouthy mass
that probably explains, how such a gal
     could easily emulate
     ****** pucker earning pass

to illustrious honorable first chair
and blasts gratitude akin
     as Gabriel would declare
heavenly expressions conducting

     angels thru atmospheric ether
alighting on mortal ushering melody
     with rites of harkening
     springtime Renaissance Faire

solar rays golden raiment
     splays rainbow fragments off
     beveled, bellowed, and
     bedecked polished flare

audiological sound waves trick
     saw toothed reflected
     silhouetted orchestral shadows
to dance as conductor's baton gear
musicians horns ensemble
     epochal feast to hear.
Robert McQuate Apr 2018
Marching forward,
The Old Gunney marched to the golden throne,
Halting and coming to the position of attention,
Ready for his final Inspection.

He tried to live as a good man,
Dispute some burrs in the corners,
He was kind to his family,
Full of humility and humor.

Without a doubt his inspection would be up to *****
R. Lee Ermey 1944-2018
...er calculating polymath
no win tent to kindle,
or spark hay8 full ire rate wrath

juiced whiling away
the early evening hour hath
horror hived this february
twenty second, nah scared to take a bath.

The Process (is a Process All Its Own)
eye up ply applies
to brain storming with zest to whit
barn storming across das plains of google
to pitchfork embers tuff flickr tinder lee

with smart poetic dip pose zit
tool loom hen ate interior darkness
where lurks the monstrous akin to Perdido
otherwise known as perdition,

especially Native American
linkedin as The Buffalo Hunter
pseudonym adopted by Ballard and Sandrine,
The Green Woman, whose Side predicted to win

Pork Pie Hat predicated on FengShui yang and yin
force fields property aligned creates A Special Place
predominantly filled with A Dark Matter
only known (bee you wick), i.e.,The Skylark

and of course Poe's Children, totaling 5 Stories
helpful to down with a chaser
viz - The Little Blue Book Of Rose Stories
Ideally red (red) in The Night Room,

where an unsuspected parvenu
absconded with Lost Boy, Lost Girl
housing Magic Terror, but interestingly
one must ask - Isn't It Romantic?

Via the perspective Looking Back
feigning to be combination of Mr. X, and/or
and Mrs. God innocent looking people
yet, the progenitors of The Hellfire Club
burnt offerings indistinguishable from Blue Rose

fragrance or melancholy Ghosts
resembling trumpeting Floating Dragon
invoking grabbing by The Throat sensation
Where spirits flit to and fro

throughout neighborhood Houses Without Doors
and games without frontiers
this...a millennial Mystery
unlike the generic Ghost Story,

the main anti protagonist and/or
pro antagonist, nonetheless named Koko
who calls The Juniper Tree home
especially eerie Under Venus

provoking Wild Animals
to run berserk at lightspeed
en masse Black Sabbath
bestirs cries and whispers
proto, pseudo psychedelic

quint essence ova thermocouple
holo graphic images hypnotizing vista as Shadowland
explicit formula generating happy interacial Marriages
nah...ha - ah, the joe cuz on ewe
especially, If You Could See Me Now!
Johnny Noiπ Dec 2017
From Prohibition on through the Great War
and into the 50s, the golden age
of stripping started with Minsky’s
and Mae Dix who ****** off black guys in the parlor---
The roaring twenties saw the very heart
of leather and denim rough trade rise from the golden sea,
WWI emerged and gave us ****** who knew---
Dietrich & Riefenstahl, Hedy Lamarr & Louise Brooks
all were foreseen by Mata Hari et al,
predestined like Greta Garbo
and Bette Davis but the lights of Oz shone bright,
the corona of our Portuguese naked thing;
This thing on the news looks like European football---
Holy Mother of the atomic bomb and Korea,
look about the Ark for dry land
and sea the ancient city of Nippur
rises out of the ashes of the yuppy sun,
In galant fashion we cake-walked to our mother’s ancestral breaths---

The Russian-Futurist girl walks in
and winds the clock
Strippers who began in their teens
in the late twenties-early thirties
kept the new tradition alive
despite Modernists winds
blowing Sara Teasdale down 42nd Street
and right off the block
where she can see Ann Corio
rinse her stockings and
for one dollar she will deliver
you one tight hot nut,
she will not be shallow henceforth---

Victorian strippers were fat
to put it bluntly---
We all want a harem
that eats too much,
Solomon had more than one
horse-faced ***** from the South---
Victorian strippers were hairy
and sweaty as hell,
Their leotards showing off
Their cosmic curves---
I want to be immortal
and go back in time
and **** ****** in their twenties,
Victorians sweaty
and smelly, perfumed
and bathed by the maid, **** her too,
obviously---
And all before the movies silent or otherwise,
the yarns of heroes that fly
across IMAX screens
in another hundred years---
1917-2017, get it and go to 2117
Where the 21st century strippers go
We know why and how now,
The time-traveling mechanism
Merging singularities
Into a pre-calculated time,
a specific time in her sparrow’s voice,
elegantly ****** by the wormhole,
humid and naked, *****---

Two, three or more singularities
merging in a coordinated precalculated timespace
altering the quantum time-effect,
what is call normal time,
bending into a single singularity,
if that is at all possible---
Somewhat like a fios cable,
but this is temporal and able to move
forward or backwards through time---
That questions whether one can move sideways in time;
teleport or subjective telekinesis---
Moving internally alters the objective setting,
that is one can travel through time
and space separately and together,
merging into one continuum or stream of time,
or time-frame as you’d have it---


LIGO meets Teasdale
and they fall in love
on the android colony on Mars
at dawn---
as the
bear here
is Hyde
in Kansas
now needs
Manassas where
Lee has
vanished nearest
bells that
he still
tells me
that to
sing there
in melancholy
of a
****** choir  
is heaven
Robert E. Lee has died...
Leland Sep 2017
i.
the sun slips down
casts wine-red shadows
on a cool tin roof
near the clouds
in the dank of the city
as dusk sings a song
and extends a hand
of golden strands
to wipe three tears
from the blush of your face

ii.
the world is a sea-song
a great blue oblivion
ebbing and flowing
and in the midnight
coming and going
an endless tumult
of water and air
the turbulent swell
where self is soil
and soul is self

iii.
you confess to me:
memory is water
it flows in tunnels
small separate channels
the dark endless passage
which no one can see
and warms in summer
and freezes in fall
trickling in gutters
from you to me
Debra Lea Ryan Sep 2016
No more Rain
Or destructive Fire
Such from Life
Comes a Retirement

No more Hate
Or piercing Wounds
When Spirit Moves
Beyond the Moons

There is only Love
An Eternal Bliss
Sheltered From The Wind
In Peace to Exist.

DLR
01/10/2016


Abri du vent

Pas plus de pluie
Ou Feu destructeur
Une telle vie de
Vient un retraite

Pas plus de haine
  Piercing Wounds
Lorsque Spirit Moves
Au-delà des Moons

Il n'y a que l'amour
Un Bliss Eternal
Abri du vent
Dans la paix d'exister.

DLR
01/10/2016
Mozalios Aug 2016
I study, I’ am a Martial Art
I practice, I’ am a Martial Art
I fight, I’ am myself
Mozalios Aug 2016
A city stained with the blood of the innocent, it cries out, never give in, stay one and strong.
Circling above they hear your calls, leading the way for the lost.
The shade of black, the bright of white, are the makeup of your face, to mask the pain, the symbol of retribution.
If it had to be done all over again I would die for you all over. Saying you’d do the same in return is something I can never accept for I would rather take my last breath so you can take them all tomorrow.
I never had the chance to say goodbye, nor the chance to say hello again. The crow cried out, taking me away for the vengeance I had to pay.
My mind rewinds, reliving the moments I’ve shared with you, it’s the crows doing in order to strengthen me by reliving all the pain, and I just want it to go away.
My body can heal but my mind is in constant decay.
The blood stained visions I watched them take you away, scarring my soul gave the call of the crow hurry carry me away, so that I may return.
It can’t rain all the time but only if it did it can wash the sins of the world away
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