#rite
Rite & lite
Hold me tight,
Just one night.
Bite me light,
Ohh, Treat me right.
Cry I might,
Why love despite?
Feb 20, 2025
Feb 20, 2025 at 6:20 AM UTC
Encorporated owning entities align,
to face this pesky point perceived as cause
to effects usually affectionately sought as joy…
little boy and girl joy, sleeping under shaggy
old man frowning face, sagging, not frowning…
second thinking ellipticals and tri-punctual ellipses…
Threes of reality, see,
you and me and this medium, logos shapeless in form.
**** as dust,
proof as stars expand
and we assume some part of us, must
survive,
someday.
So finished,
so finally past all reasons why not,
now cause feeling, the expression, words
spoken from this wheeling center to the rim,
pointing away,
reminding me of a galaxy recently observed,
relayed to me by way of useful magic
from a mathematically fixed position
on the elliptical orbit edge a million miles away.
A thousand paces, left to left, left right left,
a thousand thousand thousand pace miles away,
looking into the outer darkness
between our childhood starry heaven
Sun and moon and stars. And us as dust.
Mere thought in formation, you and us.
Threes of reality, see,
you and me and this medium, logos shapeless in form.
**** as dust, swirling sun-size motes, truth
evidential signal proof old stars expand
and we assume some part of us, must
survive the inevitable mortal fact
someday.
Nevermind, give the end this point
to stand on,
and watch it pop.
Proof, uno mas, the point
of any thing pierces every thing.
We live in our inherited wind, with a will
to wind the clocks that twist the threads and change
the angles of reflection,
to arrange blue skies here, today.
Apr 14, 2023
Apr 14, 2023 at 2:27 PM UTC
I write from left to... write
I also "right" what's left from wrong
but when I write from right to left
I change the rites
of you
Jun 12, 2020
Jun 12, 2020 at 3:19 AM UTC
rite like Dylan/past the point of no return
all my life wanted to rite just once like Dylan.
but too set in the errors of my way to complement/compliment a master of the phrase, the original tunes I hum’em all
plagued and plagiarized and yet pleasing
head the Head over to the refrigerator, arrive in one piece,
but totally not remembering why I came this way,
cause i am way way past the point of no return
Oh yeah oh yeah cool brother Corona light to succor the soul,
while roasting body slow in a lavender bubble bath and it ain’t
even noon and no no room for company, this solo wonder-boy
tripping alone
pay my bills in the bath, winnow the widow-maker reading list,
good ****** on a free sundaey and there ain’t no football to watch and autocorrect authority don’t like ****** it only godded one D, as if He needs two D’s to mess us up better
the Corona doing magic trick disappearing so fast and here i am
certified past the point of return and there ain’t no more beer
in the general vicinity
so now the time to summarize my little darlings;
don’t break beer bottles in the bathroom,
don’t pay your bills in the bathtub when u gots 53.42 in cking,
don’t take your iPhone unsheathed into the same vicinity
all you will be left with is maxed out cc’s,
messes you want
not to tangle with,
brain leavings of a bad poem half write,
it isn’t even bad dylan mimicry
but confirmation you passed the point of no return
and u happy hum
don’t think twice it’s alright
it is all on my cover photo
Jan 28, 2018
Jan 28, 2018 at 12:11 PM UTC
Call it a yard, call it a shed,
That vessel grew up in bed,
With a covered head,
So that its frame did not get wet,
But better yet,
Many times,
Resins used were left to dry,
Into the cracks their poxys pry,
To amalgamate the creaking ply.
And only when the final *****
Twists its way to something new,
To tie the lace of this floating shoe,
Still sitting under rusted roof;
When the metal files are swept away,
And the hazel mast accepts its stain,
By a whitened brush proclaimed,
Only then does she take her name.
For a day or two she’s left to linger,
Poised at the top of her sheltered slip,
A proud and shining ship,
Held in place by the gasping grip,
Of the steadfast holding line.
Her ivory sails lie week and flat,
And there is irony in that,
For a girl already waxed and named,
With canvas cut and metals tamed,
Perched there upon that ledge,
Has yet to take her newborn breath.
Through forward rings two ropes are thread,
To heave her from her resting bed,
Call it a yard, call it a shed,
Into the water below,
A world she does not yet know,
But there she is bound to go.
Soon her airtight helm will taste that salted swill,
Her rudders will shoulder the force of a thousand men,
And by her maker’s will,
She will not meet her end.
Bang,
Goes the steadfast holding line,
As the forward rope force applies,
Without a wince or a whine,
Does our vessel bid goodbye,
To her sheltered bed,
Call it a yard, call it a shed,
And with one final gracious bow,
Into the wet of the sea she ploughs.
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 4:51 PM UTC
Oh this feeling of always being rite
**** this feeling of always being rite
Mar 13, 2018
Mar 13, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC
Where were you when you heard
First heard some legendary song?
Does it get permanently hooked
To that time in life as it went along?
When I was twelve years old
I was coming home on the bus
A car radio playing Elvis singing
That’s “All Right Mama” passed us.
Freezing my *** in a weapons plant
When I first heard “Everybody’s Talking”.
I had no money and no good car
But I almost started walking.
All the time I was driving
“Light My Fire”, was always playing
With that bridge you couldn’t ignore.
I always link going west on I-40 to
My introduction then to the Doors.
T’was almost fifty years ago today
Sergeant Pepper and his band did play.
I was working as fry cook in KC
Wishing I could afford to run away.
I heard Yes singing “Your Move”
In Hollywood on Sunset and Vine.
I had no idea who that group was
I only knew they were new and fine.
Bopping down Hollywood Boulevard
And fashionable in Frankenstein shoes
I was styling with my pleated bells
Singing “Staying Alive” as I would cruise.
Music changed for me again, for the better
With the opening of Yellow Brick Road.
Elton made that dramatic opening bit
Opposite of a country horny-backed toad.
Barbra and Donna in great duet called
Were wailing out “Enough Is Enough”.
I was thinking finding a better team
Than those two divas would be tough.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
He was a fine broth of a man
And I loved dallying with him
In afternoons of sun and breeze
My lovely one-man harem.
Such a delightful odalisque,
I suspended thoughts of time.
I greedily took up my guitar
And seduced him with rhyme.
As we fed each other sweets
And made coffee by the jug
We laughed and smoked ***
Together naked on the rug.
We told each other stories
Of places we had been
And astounding miracles
Each of us had seen.
We talked of **** dancers
And clever men of magic
And how the loss of innocence
Was not altogether tragic
Because we got to learn
And could use it to grow
And understand the secrets
We recently did not know.
He taught me how to love,
This man of many stories.
I learned to welcome mystery
And search in it for glory.
He showed me how to look
And see people as unique
And not some mass idea.
I grew up from that peek.
That simple time of learning
And laughing with a man
Who had the gift of sharing
The way to understand.
He took me from my childhood
And showed me how to live.
He gave me a gentle heart.
The best thing one can give.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 8:02 AM UTC
I am the person I recall.
I am sure of each memory
As thought-pictures fall
Inside the books of history
I keep inside my mind.
I gladly water the gardens
Of nostalgia I always find
When I think back to then.
These are beautiful blossoms
Of who and where I was
And most are wholesome
And are there for a cause.
They exist because I chose
To take a path I once saw
That brought something close;
I chose gee instead of haw.
And some beautiful person
I might never have met
Stood there in the distance
And I never would forget.
I am a middle class guy
From the vast middle west
Who never dared to try
To find out what was best
For me, and only me.
Who never knew the answer
Of how I could be free
Afraid to just go and wander.
So afraid, I would not wonder
Or hope or make plans
I was letting my life splatter
Out of my open hands.
Then a change came over me
In an ugly, icy winter storm.
“I could move myself westerly
And live where it is warm.”
So, I packed up my boyfriend
And my late model used car
And moved to the land’s end
Out with the television stars.
I got us a small bungalow
And started on a new way
To live and let my past go
And live from day to day.
I can’t say I got good very soon
At doing what I wanted to do.
Being brainwashed by goons
Can make lies of what is true.
And if the goons are parents
Who hate the person you are
Taking control of resentments
Is not like just starting a car.
I had to learn to like just me
And to turn my face away
From the catcalls and misery
That comprised my earlier days.
The boyfriend left and more
Came and went as he did.
So many I could not keep score.
I am sure some went and hid.
I was not much fun back then;
Greedy and needy and weak.
And, few wanted to brave the tide
And let their feelings speak
To tell me what a train-wreck
I had turned out to be.
Most just disappeared along my trek.
Yet, a few said words to aid
And I heard them through the noise
Of negative conditioning laid
On the heads of hated young boys.
Then I changed, having done
With banging my head against fact.
I began to see I was the one
To decide how I would act.
I learned to check with no one
To see what I would prefer.
I spent my time just having fun
And let circumstances occur.
I began to look around me
And notice the people who
Matched the words they said to me
And that their words rang true.
I learned some people walked
Exactly as they wanted to
And it was the way they talked.
And then, I suddenly knew.
I could just pass on by
The people that didn’t know how
And I didn’t have to explain why.
I can live in the here and now.
Brent Kincaid
4/9/2015
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC
[Hellcat]
By the bubbling stream,
Lay your head down,
On my lap of reeds.
Oft the lyre was struck,
Flatt’ring music,
Ne’er ceasing, ne’er circumscrib’d.
My horned boy give in,
Sleep in this lea,
Under secret bow’r,
Beside stream,
Under imagin’d ivy-mantled tow’r,
“It’s time.....for the rite,” I whispered,
“Sleep shall bring you no pain.”
Come, leave thy clothes here,
To be washed, like the tow’r, by the rain.”
Your lithe body was warm,
Rub’d against my chest,
Creating a ling’grin feeling,
Sweet,delicious friction,
Sending my eyes reeling.
My sweet catamite,
Still unfathomed are your feelings,
No revenge shall you be granted,
Oh yes! I know, but we may not tarry,
Mis’ry awaits,
And glimm’ring moon,
Welcomes us, th’inevitable mates.
-Firefly
Sep 12, 2014
Sep 12, 2014 at 5:31 PM UTC