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Joey Zimmerman Mar 2011
I appreciate the way things fall together. However, most times I ignore the simple beauty of things and always look for a purpose.

Ken and I were driving the afternoon streets of Lincoln. Contemplating how prefect things would be if a chauffeur got behind the wheel and we wouldn’t have to balance a lighter fumbling between finger tips. We got a road filled with daily routines and places people need to go. Where do you need to go?

We were burning our way east down Vine street when girls turning from 33rd decided it would be nice to look our way and wave, “hey”. Now you know me…The woman driving the car was obviously paying her attention on the road (as she should be), but she wasn’t very attractive so things worked out. However, passenger and backseat were occupied by pretty girls looking eighteen with wide eyes and hands waving.

We tried passing phone numbers by illuminating fingers to clarify digits. This is where a chauffeur would come in handy because I can’t drive a car without any usable hands. But, like most things, it didn’t work out and they needed to leave left on 48th while I knew my car needed to keep going. They turned. And it was poignant. I went straight.

About five blocks later I turned around. Often times in life these good things linger for a while but then eventually pass. I’m part of the later party who recognizes its existence far after the time has been spent like most of my money on material moments. So don’t look me over while I’m trying to look for you. This is so like me. I turned on 48th street looking for something that I knew was well and gone. I couldn’t find a purpose…I’m not obsessed and this shouldn’t be looked upon as creepy, but I couldn’t understand the reason for these girls so, if you’re looking for me I’m on 48th street seeking a reason. There’s a tragic flaw for ya.
Nicholle Justine Jun 2013
The friendships made on 48th Street
Are ones that cannot be beat.
Us four girls
We owned the world.
We rode our  bikes as fast as we could
Achieving great, instead of plain ol' good.
Our faces smeared with dirt,
Our hearts unaware of any hurt
With smiles on our face.
How I miss that place.
The innocence was in my heart
Now my world is torn apart.
I wish I could return
To my life without concern
When my world was a block wide
And dreams could never die.
Joey Zimmerman Mar 2011
I appreciate the way things fall together, however most times I ignore the simple beauty of things and always look for a purpose.

Ken and I were driving the afternoon streets of Lincoln. Contemplating how prefect things would be if a chauffeur got behind the wheel and we wouldn’t have to balance a lighter fumbling between finger tips. We got a road filled with daily routines and places people need to go. Where do you need to go?

We were burning our way east down Vine street when girls turning from 33rd decided it would be nice to look our way and wave, “hey”. Now you know me…The woman driving the car was obviously paying her attention on the road (as she should be), but she wasn’t very attractive so things worked out. However, passenger and backseat were occupied by pretty girls looking eighteen with wide eyes and hands waving.

We tried passing phone numbers by illuminating fingers to clarify digits. This is where a chauffeur would come in handy because I can’t drive a car without any usable hands. But, like most things it didn’t work out and they needed to head left on 48th while I knew my car needed to keep going. They turned. And it was poignant. But I needed to keep going.

About five blocks later I turned around. Often times in life these good things linger for a while but then eventually pass. I’m part of the later party who recognizes its existence far after the time has been spent like most of my money on material moments. So don’t look me over while I’m trying to look for you. This is so like me. I turned on 48th street looking for something that I knew was well and gone. I couldn’t find a purpose…I’m not obsessed and this shouldn’t be looked upon as creepy, but I couldn’t understand the reason for these girls so, if you’re looking for me I’m on 48th street seeking a reason. There’s a tragic flaw for ya.
Joey Zimmerman Mar 2011
I appreciate the way things fall together, however most times I ignore the simple beauty of things and always look for a purpose.

Ken and I were driving the afternoon streets of Lincoln. Contemplating how prefect things would be if a chauffeur got behind the wheel and we wouldn’t have to balance a lighter fumbling between finger tips. We got a road filled with daily routines and places people need to go. Where do you need to go?

We were burning our way east down Vine street when girls turning from 33rd decided it would be nice to look our way and wave, “hey”. Now you know me…The woman driving the car was obviously paying her attention on the road (as she should be), but she wasn’t very attractive so things worked out. However, passenger and backseat were occupied by pretty girls looking eighteen with wide eyes and hands waving.

We tried passing phone numbers by illuminating fingers to clarify digits. This is where a chauffeur would come in handy because I can’t drive a car without any usable hands. But, like most things it didn’t work out and they needed to head left on 48th while I knew my car needed to keep going. They turned. And it was poignant. But I needed to keep going.

About five blocks later I turned around. Often times in life these good things linger for a while but then eventually pass. I’m part of the later party who recognizes its existence far after the time has been spent like most of my money on material moments. So don’t look me over while I’m trying to look for you. This is so like me. I turned on 48th street looking for something that I knew was well and gone. I couldn’t find a purpose…I’m not obsessed and this shouldn’t be looked upon as creepy, but I couldn’t understand the reason for these girls so, if you’re looking for me I’m on 48th street seeking a reason. There’s a tragic flaw for ya.
Randy Johnson Aug 2019
Mom carried me for ten months, I was one month late.
Tomorrow will be my birthday and I'll be turning forty-eight.
In just two years from now, I will have lived for half a century.
It was 576 months ago when my mom gave birth to me.
Growing up, as a ten year old, was nothing new to me, for that’s all I felt I did at the time. I was, and still am, the oldest, but now of 5 and the two after me are now twelve turning thirteen within the next six months. Man, really makes me feel like an old hag… no offense to any elder I don’t literally think you and or any other elder is a so called “hag” its like the saying “old farts” your older but not really old and you don’t… really… well, you know… never mind, anyways, as a child or when I was ten or eleven years old to be exact, I use to have the same dream or more like nightmare every night, for years. It wasn’t something that happened spontaneously, it was every **** night for three maybe four years. And uh, it had its effects on me, for as young as I was I didn’t quite know how to take it other than horrific and again at the time didn’t know how to interpret the dream either. Well, it might sound a little goofy but if you read into it, it’s pretty dark. I remember lying in bed most nights contemplating whether or not to close my eyes, fearful of what came after once the dark curtain fell. On nights that I’d lose my endless battles I’d fall into a world, much like the one you and I live in, but with a twist… go figure. It was kind of trippy, like it was one of those dreams where like you don’t exactly know how and or why you got to the place your at or how and or why things got as bad as they did, you just sort of jumped into it. Which ***** may I add? I remember it was nice and sunny out and at the time my mother and I, along with my little brother David, baby sister Deanna, my step dad, my grandparents and my tia and tio all lived together in the same house… ha don’t hate, us ethnic people… well I don’t know why but that’s just how we do. Anyways the house we lived in was huge and actually really nice for a home being in the area that it was in… 48th and Southern, yup good old border line Tempe and Phoenix. We were all just chilling like on a normal Saturday at the house when we’re all home, some adults sleeping their hangovers away and some of us children playing in the Arizona room and my tio trying to, simultaneously, watch all of the ESPN programs all at once, you know normal stuff. There I am having a grand old time, when I suddenly get this off, cold, abnormal feeling of just somebody watching me with eyes that are filled with just pure evil. I sit frozen on the floor waiting for what’s to come next; everything around me is bright and sunny, warm and cozy then all of a sudden it warps and I see it before me just leaving… everything then feels dark and hopeless, cold and frightening. My brother is no longer sitting next to me on the floor and I no longer hear the TV screaming penalties on the previous play, the once simmering rice now smells burnt to a crisp and all curtains are now closed. I try to get up in a hurry to run to the door to see where everyone has gone, but time and space is not of existence, as I am now slowly running through the archway of the kitchen I find that I have again jumped but to another part of the house. I’m now standing at the very end of the hallway in front of the door to my room, I can now see the sunlight again and this time everybody is in their rooms, just sitting there waiting… for something. Suddenly, **** gets weird. All of the pirates from the Disney movie Peter Pan came barging through the front door, making their way down the hall, retrieving my family members as they walked past each room. My mind was quick to react, but again almost paralyzed, I couldn’t move a muscle. I could have sworn I screamed or said something, it just didn’t come out clearly or loud enough or maybe even at all. Before my little eyes I watched as these large, animated men took my family away from me, once they turned their backs to walk out the house, then was I able to run after them, but by the time I reached the door, they were already outside and the door was closing before me. I reached out as far as I could in hopes of maybe opening the door to pull all of them back in or going along with them, but instead helped slam the door shut as I was suddenly ****** or pushed forward by an angry force, with my fists pounding into the door I watched as they chained up my house and mocked me. It was weird, the house was then floating I was just chilling in the sky, the closest thing I could think of relating it to is when Dorothy is caught in a storm. The next few moments are kind of a blur, it slowly goes dark again and as tears roll down my cheeks, leaving a burning trail of confusion and a sense of abandonment, I am pushed back to the end of the hallway, curled up into a ball, with arms wrapped, hugging my knees closer to my chest, feeling helpless. I let out the most painful, gut wrenching sob that turned into a scream releasing every ounce of oxygen my body was capable of holding and back into a whimper once I was able to catch my breath. I then wake up to my mother standing over me shaking me profusely tears ran down my face and as my whimper turned into heavy breathing, I realize I’ve woken up everybody in the house and to see all of their faces, in one room… the same room I myself occupied, turned tears of absolute terror and confusion into immediate tears or relief and happiness.
I didn't really know what to name this one... so that was the first thing that came to mind (:
were you a 50's
godchild in the city,
wing-tipped feet
running the streets
all week, ketchin hell...
then you gots that check
come friday
and needed a taste of heaven...

you and the dog pound
swung mid-town
to broadway & 47th
after 9,
and joined the line spilling
from the royal roost round 48th...

by 10, the joint was jammed
with gents well-coifed,
matching honeys, and the sounds
of money being made:

chime of silverware ~ cling,
and the cash register's ~ swish cha-ching,
and the chatter of guests,
servers and bartenders
doing their thing ~ wah da bing

then the lights dimmed
leaving a semi-dark haze
of gray smoke swirling
over the crowd,
and mc symphony sid
grabbed the mike:

"...welcome to the friday nite jam session
at the metropolitan bopera house
ladies and gentlemen...."


hysterical hoots and applause
followed
as  the circular spotlight paused
center stage,
unveiling:

~ the miles davis nonet ~

featuring,
max on drums,
john on keys,
gerry and lee on sax
and a genius
on trumpet

'twas the birth of cool
and soon the rhapsody
of modern jazz
waxed hypnotic,
casting a spell
over god's children
when budo chased lady bird
down allen's alley,
spittin'...
          riffin'....
boppin'...,
          po­ppin'.....
superfluidity
like acid through
varicosed veins

the earth stood still
it seemed
for 4 thrilling hours
as heaven rained a rifftide
onto the lucky crowd...

and dewey's sublime trumpet
exorcised the devil
from the week that was...

~ P (Pablo)
(7/24/2013)
- for Miles Dewey Davis III
AR Nov 2014
Dad today its your 48th birthday so im sending you this rhyme,
I wanted to come and visit but it seems we both dont have the time!
Just because we have little time to speak and we live 100 miles apart,
Doesnt mean your not in my thoughts dad, your forever in my heart.
And so I wish you happy birthday and I thank you for being you!
You're the strongest, wisest most affectionate man, you being my dad is a dream come true!  
And i know we're not perfect,  but we've never claimed to be.
But if a father and daughter could come close? It would definitely be you and me.
Happy birthday to my wonderful dad (20th November). Lots of love and hugs!
Geno Cattouse Nov 2012
If memory serves, we were let out that day
So all the kids had fun that day.
The details blur with time.

What above all is crystal was the motorcade.
The kids streaming west as if a pipers note was struck.
Throngs of people old and new stood curbside .

My friends and I ran breathlessly to the corner.
Stood there in the moment. I could feel the moment.
but who could know the  tally.

We were let out of school that day.
We  wanted to get a good look.
I saw kids pop in and out of the crowd
Just running alongside. so I figured. me too.

I stepped from the sidewalk and ran up to the car
leisurely rolling north on Central avenue.
He turned as I ran up and looked down. That window to window
moment stays  with me. Still to this day.

I stuck out my right hand he reached with his
just for an instant we crossed over. Then done.
I ran back to the crowd and out to 48th street back to my
game off football. That was all.

The news announced he was shot the next day
That was the end of hope when he killed R.F.K.
This actually happened and I was so stunned at the suddenness and surreal feeling after, that
I buried portions of the memory for years. Looking back I am amazed that people had that kind of access after JFK.
Nicholle Justine Jul 2014
When I was a kid we had a rosebud tree in my front yard
It bloomed pink in the spring
Sprouting new leaves,
Each leaf was in the shape of a heart
I used to pluck the leaves from the tree,
because I liked the way they looked.
They looked like love.
Love for the whole neighborhood.
Love for the neighbors who I stole flowers from.
A few for the garter snakes we’d torture on the lawn.
Love for Sydney across the street
Knocking on my door every day at 10
Asking to come and play.
Love for Mrs. Moore who loved the sound of our laughter
But wished we’d stay off of her ******* lawn.
Love for Keanna with the fastest bike.
Love for Paige with a pool in her backyard.
Love for Jim,
Call him Mr. Jim, my mother used to say
With a plow on his four wheeler
So our winter chores were simplified.
Love for the steep driveway two doors down
To launch our bikes into the street.
Love for hide and seek.
For freeze tag
For lightning bugs in mayonnaise jars.
For mud pies
For trees that didn’t have pretty leaves.  
Love for the stop signs at the end of the block
That told us when to stop pedaling.
Love for my brother
Love for my dad
Love for my mom.
And love for 3023 N 48th Street.
Alexander Coy Apr 2016
So before I start this poem I'd like to acknowledge some helpful folks in my life.

First off, I want to thank my literary agent, Richard Shelby for suggesting I take my current frustrations out through poetry (He's a big fan of Whitman). I, however, was never much of a fan of poetry; although in High School I was taught Horace, Wordsworth, Milton. Yeah, they actually had us blokes memorize poems!;

What slender youth, bedew’d with liquid odors,
Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave,
             Pyrrha? For whom bind’st thou
             In wreaths thy golden hair...


Secondly, I'd like to give a big thanks to lawyer Dawn Young for pointing me to this particular website, Hellopoetry. I haven't read much of anyone's work, but I doubt I'll have any difficult time fitting in.

Lastly, and most importantly, a big shout to for my jezebel of a wife, Courtney for inflicting upon me all this unnecessary pain by means of a quarter million dollar divorce. We were High School sweethearts up until my 48th birthday. She thought it would be the best time to drop the bomb that she was in love with my old Rugby ally, and Rutgers roommate, Henry O' Shay.

I have to admit life has been ***** ever since then.

Well, here's to new beginnings.

My poem starts now.
Doug Potter Sep 2016
There are thirty of us under a torn canopy
where the sound of wind blowing against canvas
assaults me as if I were being beaten. We will
soon ride into the hills and **** pine; to fell
the mighty as if the mighty are horseweeds.
Every callused man here  hates his weapon;
worn chainsaws that would make  better
tools to fight  wolves than walk the earth
clearing  stands of timber.
**************
Twelve of the original thirty loggers come back
for our 48th consecutive day; it rains as if  prehistoric
elk hover over the camp and **** a lake upon us.  Six men
go home within an hour because farming and stocking
cans of tuna at grocery stores appear more plausible than
wallowing in mire with saws, wedges, and chains with links
the size of your mother’s fist.  It is work and *******
every man  needs to eat or help feed a family.  The money
is not good, conditions like Czechoslovakia WW II.  

The six of us who remain, leave.
Wk kortas Jun 2017
Back in the day before the game quit us,
We’d balled down at the rec center with an old guy
Who went by the name of Terry Easy.
He was there every afternoon, every night
(As far as we knew, he’d been there forever,
The joke being Hell, man, Easy was there
Three minutes after they got the floor down.
)
Big old dude, but you could tell from the way he moved,
Even the way he walked, that he had game at one time,
Though he’d gotten to the wrong side of the transition
From solid to just plain fat
(We’d woof at him Easy, you get any more flab on your *******
And we’re gonna have to go from shirts-and-skins
To bras-and-blouses, for chrissakes.
)
And he played with coke-bottle glasses so thick
You figured he couldn’t hit the backboard from outside three feet.
Still, if you didn’t pick the man up a few steps across half-court,
He’d bury you with set shots --‘course, if you played him too tight
He’d just back-door your *** for layups all night
(As far as playing D went, Easy was pretty easy pickings,
Though he’d try to make up for a lack of foot speed
With old man tricks--locking his knee behind yours
To push you off the blocks, a quick grab of the shorts
As you cut through the lane, stuff that starts fights,
Though taking a shot at Easy was just something you didn’t do
Something unspoken that you just knew was out of bounds.)
Between games, Easy would tell stories about his playground days:
He’d played on all the courts with all the legends,
16th and Susquehanna with Lewis Lloyd and Sad-Eyes Watson,
48th and Brown with The Pearl,
Ridgeway Playground with Wilt and Hal Greer.
One day Easy was telling a story about how Greer,
Playing out the string with a Sixers team
That won nine **** games all season,
Was playing against Wilt one night when the Lakers were in town.
Hal went down the lane, and Wilt was right there,
Getting ready to swat the pill…hell, eight, nine rows up,
Maybe halfway to Doylestown, but at the last moment
He pulled his hand back, and let the ball tap, tap, tap on the rim
Before it dropped through for two
(For old times’ sake, Wilt said later.)
Hal didn’t see it that way, giving Wilt a shove and glaring at him
All the way back down court, and after the game
He stormed into the Laker locker room,
Screaming Where the **** is Wilt? I’m gonna beat his ***!
And, catching sight of the big man, hollered ever louder
You play it straight with me, *******, you hear me?
You never disrespect my *** on the court again! Never!

All the time two or three guys holding Hal back
(And understand, Wilt was the biggest, baddest man in the game;
Hell, one time he picked up Mel Daniels,
Six-feet-nine of evil and bad temper, like a Raggedy Andy)
And the big man never said a word, ‘cause he knew was wrong,
So Terry told the story, anyway,
And Easy should have stopped right there,
‘Cause the story was over, but old men get foolish, get all soppy,
So he says Hal was right, understand-;
You just can’t do that to a man.
Old player like Greer, maybe all he’s got left is his pride,
Like some old lion who can’t hunt no more, but he’s earned that.
Gotta let a lion have his pride
, and after he finished
All the young ‘uns just hooted at him
Man, Easy, you do go on, and for months afterward
Every time the dude covering him turned his head
And gave Easy an easy bucket, everyone on the court
Would just laugh, and yell That’s good huntin’, man.
Roar, lion, roar
.
Ken Pepiton Jan 2023
Charming-tempering, same t'me
shine it all on and laugh - just laugh
like nothin' or nobody, -just laugh like U
Being placed, perfect as a crystal,
pointing
at the causal phase, shifting position
spine serpent stretch wetdog shiver,
toe wiggle heel rolls focus read
local order as close
to smooth as smooth
does tend to be
in crystaline stonefacings
------- otium -no sorrowitit, none
Arms down. Study war no more
-------- the word, neg-otium opposes,
usury
as time is money, otium accepts time,
one by one, dear reader roles renew,
as emptied, swept clean,
whistle, and find the birder,
cruel birder liming the mulberry,

whither the spirit was said to say yes,
to what the prophet promised.

I could do that.
Where I live, I could offer fleeces,
for folk who know the right thing,
but need a sign,
that
is
what
Gideon is, in the Bible and its sources.
An ensample,
a hero to judge by, some of what he did,
well, he was not saved, so, what can ya say.

Shoulda read Steinbeck, more and
Steinbacher less {The Child Seducers 1974}


The soft life, never taking up arms,
never losing everything,
struggling, some times for minutes,
hours, days, weeks, months…

years, decades, if you count upping
from flat, lowest low a man can go,
no money, no means, no rare talent
to sell, no helpful uncle with a business,
selling chotskis, laundering cash,
selling art to hold such whited money

Building grand extended universities,
certifying sticktoitifity tested and ranked,

draft picks, in the game, good old chums
bet with, each owner of a team, seems
above us all, too far to wish to be, really

if you have reached a pleasant enough
spacetimemind encompassing interesting time.

Sorting sales pitch from product performance.
Every body must get ******, by all those who
never missed the mark,
hell, they never allowed the story told whole,

caused, most assuredly,
by heads of states, human crystaline structures,
held in touch, kept in constant we mind,
for the people,
for the lost,
for the rich… who lead us toward good just wars,
to settle trade deficit disputes,
by all rights granted priests, to anoint kings,
anointing, soothing balsam balm.
Those trees are gone, the village oath kept.
Set aside, sacred, set apart the holy, who
form the aspirations fed early flocks reformed,
oleo, for butter, it's better.
frogs fall in this fat, sizzle, sells it like anointed
deep fried chicken
under pressure
churches, ch ch changes, ur between ch
charges against the foe,
because the Queen said it must be done.
'their persevering valour and chivalrous devotion'

The British and French, in turn, saw Nicholas’s power grab as a danger to their trade routes, and were determined to stop him.

The spark that set off the war was religious tension between Catholics and the Orthodox believers, including Russians, over access to Jerusalem and other places under Turkish rule that were considered sacred by both Christian sects.

From <https://www.history.com/topics/british-history/crimean-war>

Back to Radioman, during one of these days

From going up and down
on the face of the earth
the prosecutor brought witness, face to face,
as one abstracted
from the host, all the sons of God,
- the devil's in the details
the real mind behind the JWST, allowing any
with seeing eyes,
to see as far as any human in ever, has ever seen.
Elucidation, light, where none was known to be.
{had me at Gobekli Tepi} wiseasany, se si
Is this not the truth loosing locked visions,
as all the minds involved
in the current global wedom,
we, each thinking individually,
at the point
of being you, deepest sorrow, highest joy, exper-
i-ence, me the imaginary number, clickt
science if cient
to snap
a tense, taut, tight, too high to hear, note
of dispairing singularities, wedoms,

crumble, leaving you,
there alone, wondering, if wondering is worth
any time, taken
from your ever
upto
when

words, writhed, deep as wonder, once,
as a child, on track to experience,
Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, when Disneyland cost $3…

Today all who paid $3 still say it was worth it.
At the time.

--- Ma Joad said

"Lots of things against the law,
we cain't help adoin',"

some laws make means and meaning,
seem too much for mere mortal,
to imagine,
the smart ones, we imagine, they
was aknowin' all the perfect will
of a god
who used a few real learned men,
to round up all the pieces,
of the nation we was, were,

when we were the only chosen to survive,
as far as we could see,
at the time,

I alone was left to tell thee,
each time, providence left one messenger,

go tell the man enlisted to proof the whole
mind of man used to do what seems right,
-proof it
behave have and hold being had, by holding
us, the we we would die for, that we,

is free, but from fear, and most fear is tied
to lies about a meaner than hell God.

And that lie fails, about the time,
you up and ask your father, what
is tempting about stupidity,

worship and praise, glory and honor,
for attaining mind numbing skill,
in will worth- pulled taut on all sides,
and your bit

your one eight billionth, hangs by this thread.

It hurts to feel another's pain,
to feel it in vain, hurts worse,
to not stop
and think, full selah, sit and wait,
real people
hurt
when the bubbles pop.
Some others win, like,
there was no bubble, so this
is as real as any angel ever sent,
to find the cause, the pain, signals,
some ongoing cause, a burr,
a sharp, broken edge, a piercing barb.

A broken river bank, hold sand filled bags,…


Floods of wish I was, wish I was
floods
of wish I was, wash me on
down
the drain, by and by, by and by,

we reach the wetland preserves,

and most any kind
of disney-designed hook, spooky
place,
make believe
is the happiest place on Earth,

make 'em all believe,
yeah,
but
something broke, boss, we adrift.

--- it's dramatic, audience wide angst,

we make old men weep,
then
we know their kids shall not forget,
that
once when Dad broke, and he was
screaming

every thing I did, I did for a lie!

--- yeh, drama, we all got drama,
we come to see where Jesus was stayin',

the next day, whither he had been led,
it is said, by the spirit, in English

--- None of me, experienced the Seventies, that is
on TV… so, I must not have been there,

that's what I am saying,
I prove me to me, as I take my measure,
imagining
stretching that first point, eh, you know,
the point of any thing
the point of you,
piercing every thing, and the augmentation,
mental re-co-owning knowing used right,

once before, when we were thinkinking Dharma,
thinkinking the plot, yes, yesh, si da
not drama, Dharma, got it… rolling
we manifest best in the instant, that
we both knew, we co-knew, we re-co-gnosticated.

Mindtimespace rushes at us.
Poetically, not prophetically.

The game believers make evangelists, to play,
as pawns,
and we all know this game, most better than
many know the first reason to ever play go.

A tale, certainly, but only by the surrounded
resources rule, the living using up the dead,

and the tendency to chaos looses all hell,
for a season, some say, a thousand years,
and more say some,
learned in the kino, kiva cinema, state theater,
{Kingman, in Arizona, the 48th star, so State
hood- Thus State Theater 25 cent matinees
6x8 or 8x6, how's it hangin'
stripes below
or to the left, like from a balcony, Old Glory.
Privilege it was,
to a child from sixth grade, to serve,
in the daily flag furling and final folding,
at the first and last bells.
Routine as was the Pledge and faithful fold,
each fold with a moral - added at funerals,
-you learned that late in life, really, then

Noon was signaled by the air raid siren,
traditionally, for how long?
I can't recall knowing
it ever stopped sounding at noon, to train time.

I had some friends one season, late high school,
through the first few months stateside, yeah,
what's with the hippyshitsfirst thing, every time,

Sgt. Whykill, meet Pyro, we all three served,
with Puso Perez, and Kid Wesley, and Tom Green,
and Wierder Harold, the radar guy…

SO, Pyro, what brings you to mind? Gotta point?
Hippyshit. Yeah, 'made my peace, knowmsayin?

Jesus remains, just alright, aight, a we, we form, agree,
or deem me the fool. And he the liar, and you

bought your map from a comedian,
on youtube, working in context of attention callibration
sigh and think it so SYTF, too true to retell,
but where there's a will to prove God's right use
of Hellfire and brimstone, hit me,
as my friend Johnny Whykill,
Forcer Recon, Airborne Ranger, Security for Leon Spinks,
who has not walked, since,
oh some time, around Obama, maybe, today, le'methinks

So, Sergeant Whykill, what did you and Pyro,
adjust to hook now and then in my book of life,
one point last total loss.

Here we are having what has been termed,
one hell of a good day, as when what the hell,
became what th'phucghk ai choke joke human element
in audio, we aspire to number in the first eight billion,
ai audiobook epic poetry reading to Warhol movies,
on eight year loops…
and so it is, dear friends, we bid thee fare, well as you may
wish the rule were otherwise,
it isn't currents reoccur, same clouds come and go,
the throbbing beat
means life, has a next minute, you dead, you think.

Shoulda been, not morbidly, just
why not me, why those others, each killer turn,
mark twain say turn they still calling ramming speed…

selah, when
ever when one frames a mind to filter on patterns,
this one, the mindtimespace constructs using these,
give one
a very pleasant, yes, please all granted, all thanks accepted,
all the glory goes to god, Your call, think a name,
bet me, this atmosphere, as we live and breathe, one name

sh- listen, hippyshitgoneguru, oh K'we got at linkmlook


CAN and do or may and do we not know so much less
rationally

relative to today, starting all day ago, and I am fine,
thanks,
for asking… Pyro, met Johnny Why. and they had
a sheershitshow, Pyro having been named pre-Nam,

this is all after, this entire sheltering structure,
think Chatahoolic said right, deep shelters upslope,
dug from softer tufa stone, layers of ash weight
long after the last aligning tides pulled life from higher

than the last high-water mark,
you see,
that is my east horizon, Arizona is my back yard,
this is like heaven to, me and when I sleep I sleep,
I have not dreamed in years.
Having a bag, a bundle of knowing, shown worthy
of some spec of attention,
by riverminers someday riverwisemen say, someday.

Drift away, weigh my day, sweet dreams, if you do.
no where else to go, worth the trouble to find
MARK RIORDAN Apr 2018
IT'S MY BIRTHDAY YOU SEE
WOW NO PRESENT FOR ME
PLEASE COME ON DONALD
DO I HAVE TO GET ON ONE KNEE



JUST BUY ME A BIG RING
OR A NICE FANCY CAR
MY OWN PRIVATE JET
SO I CAN TRAVEL VERY FAR




ITS MY 48TH BIRTHDAY
YOU ARE THE PRESIDENT YOU SEE
COME ON PLEASE DONALD
BUY A PRESENT FOR ME
PRESIDENT TRUMP FORGOT TO BUY HIS WIFE A BIRTHDAY PRESENT FOR HER 48TH BIRTHDAY THIS LITTLE POEM IS IN PLACE OF THE PRESENT

— The End —