wandabitch: Favorites

Dec 2012 wandabitch

For the Sparrows

Sleep is my escape.
My sweet temporary,
lost in the imaginary,
ignoring the contemporary,

escape.

A love that I hate.
Because of this disease,
the twisted reality tease,
lost in the seven seas,

help me I pray,
continuously.
never-ending.

This is what I see
shades of the sky
sweet vista I crave,
but it fades
as I wake
Reality infects imagination,
soon it dies.

This is no place for a dreamer.

Seek your allies.
Many fight your battle, my dear.
They are not all far away, they are near.
This is war.
Because you listened to the mirror.

*But how do I find them?

I realize that my compositions lack structure....I'd like to improve that, but perhaps it reflects the nature of me.

Dec 2012 wandabitch

ubiquitous

Dec 2012 wandabitch

topaz oreilly

ubiquitous

Sport that quiver in the dancing sun
so brazen that an arrow head is over ****,
parting lovers as wide as the
Memphis river
dissapate the sands
as we are left blown by Jeremiads
offering soliloquies
that **** elevated sycophants use as obituaries
and McCarthy's ghost goads the progressives
like history repeating itself

Dec 2012 wandabitch

idealist drunk

Dec 2012 wandabitch

samuel hdz

idealist drunk

Drunk not yet plastered. so from this world I am my master. Realsms colide and I reside in the middle. Fiddle with illusions and reality, but my abnormalities keep me sane. Pain keeps me going as these weak emotions leave me in a realm of the unknowing. searching never seems to get old, but have once been told to be better. Not from this deases in which I bleed, but from the seed in which I plant. My drestruction holds a sweet flower, the aroma it is unmistakablelike, like fresh durt being tuned or Like hair being burned. Detectable as it may be. I seem to to hope, wish, and pray to be free. To bad that's just the drunkeness in me. I love my garden because it is mine. Yet I have better flowers and fresh growth in mind. A pity that influenced thoughts will never flurish.

Dec 2012 wandabitch

Never ask a poet

Dec 2012 wandabitch

Brycical

Never ask a poet

to define love.
You'll be baffled
bewildered & broken by the end.

The cynical ones
will laugh,
say it's dead,
overused and cliche.
Why try write what Whitman, Dickinson, Frost & Shakespeare
have already covered?

The romantic ones
will wax on for hours
describing inner & outer beauty
compared to anything that strikes their eye.
Why can't you see it's everywhere?

The hip ones
will scare you,
take a ****
& describe some detailed carnal fantasy
involving tapioca & a talking *****
named Pony.

Ask a lawyer,
they could tell you the legal definition.

Ask your parents,
they will tell you something trite about seeing it through.

Ask little kids
for an adorably wise response.

Ask a dog
as it's ******* your leg.

Ask a scientist,
they will describe the chemical reactions in the brain.

Ask a prisoner,
they will tell you it's something they miss.

But never ask a poet
to define love.
Your brain will hurt,
half your day gone
& you'll be left heart broken
by the end.

Dec 2012 wandabitch

Patience Great King~

Dec 2012 wandabitch

PoetWhoKnowIt

Patience Great King~

Moon-
'Is it not time?'

Hills-
'The fires doth caress'

Sky-
'The hills tell me so'

Wind-
'Patience Great king'

Earth-
'When digging has dug...

Doth gold not respire?'

Dec 2012 wandabitch

I noticed the gum in your pocket

Dec 2012 wandabitch

tread

I noticed the gum in your pocket

Perhaps the lions share found itself inside my coat
where I never thought to look for the dastardly sins of a mall security officer
I was to assume his best intentions at heart! he is here to guard!
however, that's lost in the bramble of bush and the mountain of crystalline cloud-water
sky-ocean
plummeting over my head.

strange neighbourhood if you ask me.

Dec 2012 wandabitch

The Watcher and the Watching

Dec 2012 wandabitch

tread

The Watcher and the Watching

I hope I see the moon in the British Aisles
So I can imagine myself staring from home.

I hope I see the moon from Belgium
as I imagine the old lover I will never forget gazing, exhausted, from Uxbridge.

I hope I seee the moon from Paris
so I can imagine the millenia of poets and I-love-you-till-it-kills-me romancers gazing from French cafes, sipping on their
wine, coffee, tea

and I think of great friends in Victoria, glancing towards it from busses 9 hours later on a commute to Uptown
Downtown
what town?

I hope I see the moon from Vancouver
so I can imagine child-me watching the white of the cheese-like craters wondering nothing
but so, so very curious.

I hope I see the moon from Toronto
past smog and spring-time city shadows
so I can imagine the short-lived friends I made in Ottawa looking to it with awe and smiles
grasping the fingers of a loved one.

Everytime I see that great omnipotent orb I imagine
Marcus Aurelius in the court of Rome
Julius Caesar on the battlefields of Gaul
Charlemagne crossing the Rhine
St. Augustine marching through the desert
Micochondrial Adam tossing a spear into the heart of a boar
Soldiers of the American Revolution
the British war for South Africa
the Prussian Empire
the Third *****

Siddhartha and his son
Li Po hugging his moonlit reflection
Han Shan on cold mountain
Kerouac in San Francisco
Burroughs in Morocco
Snyder in Japan

Thomas walking to work
Brian out on a stroll

My future life lover
future girlfriends

all gazing at that wonderful omnipotent moon
the same moon
that gazes so still

so patient

forever
as far as
I'm concerned.