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 Dec 2019 ilo
A Slow Heyoka
When I was younger
I thought that tree stumps
were fairy dining tables
I dreamt about inviting
guests to lavish parties
So I ate jam tarts
every time the sun set
And drank ten bottles
of Kool Aid for a bet
I didn’t regret a single sip
but I think the adult inside me
wished I did
Pressing on regardless
into an infinite described
by fluttering eyelids
like moth wings in moonlight
The shutters flapped open,
close, open, close
And the spirit felt known
Part of a collaborative project at a local writing retreat. Its not all mine.can you guess which parts are?
 Dec 2019 ilo
tabitha
Untitled
 Dec 2019 ilo
tabitha
i will have it all some day,
as my "it all"  has nothing
to do with gilded halls &
shiny floors & iron doors
(anymore)
i am now concerned with
Better Things -- like
Love. and Order.

but oh, when i say i will have it,
& that i will have it all, i believe
myself!
more than i've believed
anything or anyone, ever at all.

when i say that; when i say
i  will  have it, &  that i will have it
all,    he   looks  at me  strange...
his eyes light up in bright green flames
like  a  pretty man  would
look  at a  silly,  deranged
little doll.  skeptical.  
annoyed.
as if the world has already graced
my porcelain skin with enough lace for it to be a sin
he has no idea what it's like  
to  be a  doll, at all; our pockets
are much too small and we are expected
to sit on shelves all day long .
he thinks that my all,
the "it all" of a doll,
is the "it all" of all....
a life of beauty and
wallpaper art,
of letting people dress you up
just to tear you apart.
he is.... jaded
by interrupted dreams,
and faded
by Jäger.
i have posed in his hands, to see his smile
i let him know
i want to know how he could move me
finesse me, brush my hair, confess to me.
not to then to lay me down, and forget me.
i am very familiar with the shelves of his soul.

he buttons his sleeves,
and goes on to his lunch affair;
his heart falls out when he jests/deflects.
he lets it lay there.

we are different kinds of hollow
 Dec 2019 ilo
tabitha
you are beautiful

i have thought this truth before
many times
while watching you stand in the door
my lovely elvis presley in disguise
memphis has put a sparkle in your eyes

let me have no other! so you can feel my love, unweathered,
it would all be much better if you just--forget her,
the only thing that makes miles distance is fear
so do a little something for your soul, and come on over here

i have sung this song before,
hummed the very same tune
to younger ears a couple years ago
look at me: a mockingbird marionette, fumbling
a millennial juliet reincarnate, crumbling
beneath familial fears and plain lack of years

it's not what it seems!
do not drink the poison!
i will see you on the other side!

i mean, it's just a ride, but
my ears have started to ring from
the sound of going mental
the sting of crashed potential
the forget-you-forget-me riptide
i still see your face, i step inside
i must move on and live my life

but how lovely would it be, to be together?
to cross time, and space
for the intergalactic sparkle of your face
for the pure pleasure of watching
each other make each other
happy

we used to write poems for each other

i have pictured myself there
in the pink atmosphere
floating with you, fellow air sign
for quite some time
i have prepared my body and my mind
for the pull of your gravity
washing over me, my skin, my spine
to let you have me
my atoms would surrender
on every eve

but elvis presley was a thief
and tennessee has nothing for me

i now
admit
defeat

this poem:
obsolete
 Nov 2019 ilo
Charles Bukowski
I cut the middle fingernail of the middle
finger
right hand
real short
and I began rubbing along her ****
as she sat upright in bed
spreading lotion over her arms
face
and *******
after bathing.
then she lit a cigarette:
"don't let this put you off,"
an smoked and continued to rub
the lotion on.
I continued to rub the ****.
"You want an apple?" I asked.
"sure, she said, "you got one?"
but I got to her-
she began to twist
then she rolled on her side,
she was getting wet and open
like a flower in the rain.
then she rolled on her stomach
and her most beautiful ***
looked up at me
and I reached under and got the
**** again.
she reached around and got my
****, she rolled and twisted,
I mounted
my face falling into the mass
of red hair that overflowed
from her head
and my flattened **** entered
into the miracle.
later we joked about the lotion
and the cigarette and the apple.
then I went out and got some chicken
and shrimp and french fries and buns
and mashed potatoes and gravy and
cole slaw,and we ate.she told me
how good she felt and I told her
how good I felt and we
ate the chicken and the shrimp and the
french fries and the buns and the
mashed potatoes and the gravy and
the cole slaw too.
 Nov 2019 ilo
Charles Bukowski
there is always somebody or something
waiting for you,
something stronger, more intelligent,
more evil, more kind, more durable,
something bigger, something better,
something worse, something with
eyes like the tiger, jaws like the shark,
something crazier than crazy,
saner than sane,
there is always something or somebody
waiting for you
as you put on your shoes
or as you sleep
or as you empty a garbage can
or pet your cat
or brush your teeth
or celebrate a holiday
there is always somebody or something
waiting for you.

keep this fully in mind
so that when it happens
you will be as ready as possible.

meanwhile, a good day to
you
if you are still there.
I think that I am---
I just burnt my fingers on
this
cigarette.
 Nov 2019 ilo
Charles Bukowski
the lady has me temporarily off the bottle
and now the pecker stands up
better.
however, things change overnight--
instead of listening to Shostakovich and
Mozart through a smeared haze of smoke
the nights change, new
complexities:
we drive to Baskin-Robbins,
31 flavors:
Rocky Road, Bubble Gum, Apricot Ice, Strawberry
Cheesecake, Chocolate Mint...

we park outside and look at icecream
people
a very healthy and satisfied people,
nary a potential suicide in sight
(they probably even vote)
and I tell her
"what if the boys saw me go in there? suppose they
find out I'm going in for a walnut peach sundae?"
"come on, chicken," she laughs and we go in
and stand with the icecream people.
none of them are cursing or threatening
the clerks.
there seem to be no hangovers or
grievances.
I am alarmed at the placid and calm wave
that flows about. I feel like a ***** in a
beauty contest. we finally get our sundaes and
sit in the car and eat them.

I must admit they are quite good. a curious new
world. (all my friends tell me I am looking
better. "you're looking good, man, we thought you
were going to die there for a while...")
--those 4,500 dark nights, the jails, the
hospitals...

and later that night
there is use for the pecker, use for
love, and it is glorious,
long and true,
and afterwards we speak of easy things;
our heads by the open window with the moonlight
looking through, we sleep in each other's
arms.

the icecream people make me feel good,
inside and out.
I love the smell of coriander
And cardamom roasting in the morning
Coffee and cinnamon scattered on the floor
We share our laughter with the water
These plants are tender
As your fingers gather medicine
From the yard
We tie them up and bring back art
From its repository
We are sharpening our hearts like knives
And watering our minds
Gardens pop up everywhere she walks
Humble hearts make
Burning arcs throughout the sky
 Oct 2019 ilo
The Non-Poet
butterfly
 Oct 2019 ilo
The Non-Poet
life is like
when you're
a little kid
and you
discover that
there is more
than twenty-four
crayons in the box
that there is
the possibility
of forty-eight colors
of sixty-four
of one-hundred and twenty
that there are
so many shades
of love and anger and peace and despair
and absolute bliss
and the ability
to express them all
are now
in the palm
of your hand

life is
colorful
beautiful
thought-provoking
lovely
soulful
heartbreak­ing
inspiring
and absolutely wonderful

every day is
a new sunrise
a new chance
to transform into
the butterfly you
want to be

go out there
and change the world, kid
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