"agave" poems
Love poems are stupid,
Because in only a few months time
They’re likely falling to pieces;
Out of juice, out of line.
However, I’ll still write in my spare time,
But would rather focus on cacti,
Because no one gives them
Their time to shine.
I love you, sweet cactus
How you love when the sun shines,
I love you, sweet cactus
Your agave so devine.
I’d rather write about a cactus
All prickly up it’s spine,
Because that cactus is alive,
That cactus is mine,
That cactus will last
Longer than you and I.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
Nobody got anywhere in this life
throttling bums,
and robbing hotdog vendors,
but a Saquatch eating a knish on top of a flipped bus
is a sight that sticks to the roof of your minds eye.
Let's eat caramel apples down by the seawall,
trade tall tales, and lizard scales,
run for the hills, but settle down in the shadow of the valley.
Prickly pear and agave nectar, nopal cactus fruit,
blended together, you can hardly taste the tequila.
I'll boost you onto the roof, and hand up my guitar,
and you'll help me climb up,
singing and chanting till the sun knocks us off the room,
we'll go pool hopping, with ski masks on,
and steal lawn ornaments,
and eat churros, and drink egg cream.
and kiss under the Brooklyn bridge.
I just gotta go throttle this ***
and rob this hotdog vendor.
If there isn't a sasquatch
I'll be home by the apocalypse.
Then we can get naked,
and set off the sprinkler system,
and dance in the halls.
Until the sun explodes,
and 2+2= 37.
Sep 8, 2012
Sep 8, 2012 at 4:26 PM UTC
a tumblr full of rocks
a pour of ichiro malt
and a stir
gan bei
and
ichi
to the yamazaki and nikkas
i am in the land of the sun
i go down to the land of the dead
mei hi ko
anejo
casa amigo,
to my brothers in arms
jose, i must have my agave
cheers to the alamo
to the land of the prohibition
kentucky
yippee kay yay
bourbon,
spicy rye kick
spur to the horse
giddy up, giddy up
riding off into the sun
set to kentucky
derby
bourbon
ballentines
tom ford west
make your mark
with maker’s mark
bottoms up
and now i am staggering
vichi patia
better than grey goose
aunt jiin
and all the cult gin
navy strength and **** juice
getting rowdy
like irish bloke jameson
and that **** scot
macallan
and his gang
oiban, glenfiddich, and
glenlivet
I am livid
at that son of a *****
son of peat
another round
i am monkeying around
monkey 47
sun set
sun rise
*** on the beach
i see kings and queens
louis thirteen
i am going to sleep
pappy van winkle
100 years
like rip van winkle
don’t wake me
stir and not shaken
good night, mama
sweet havana
neat
a shot of don papa
i go to sleep
Aug 18, 2018
Aug 18, 2018 at 8:47 PM UTC
Irrita la garganta y daña el hígado,
que bastante ya se ha visto machacado
por años de prácticas funestas.
El más ****** líquido,
encuentra camino en mi esófago,
repleto de falsas esperanzas,
va camino abajo y patea mis entrañas
encargándose de dejar escapar la cordura.
Menos por menos es más,
y aquello que te vuelva inestable
en una casa sin columnas ni vigas,
seguro te hará sentir a salvo.
Fuerte aroma y tacto cuestionable,
aunque lo conozcas desde siempre,
todas las veces se siente
como el primer beso
pero con mordida.
Como champaña descorchada,
hace florecer cualquier pensamiento,
entre palabras que escapan a duras penas
de la lengua envenenada y adormecida.
El que lo niegue no lo ha probado,
y si lo probó y lo negó,
tiene ante usted a un ángel limpio y puro,
puesto que ésta es la poción de los pisoteados.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 10:01 AM UTC
Said the aloe to the agave
Neighbour
here in a foreign soil
the old world meets the new
Said the agave to the aloe
they forget
once we were related
can hardly tell the difference still
the human eye is quite deceptive
and what to say about the human heart . . .
Said the aloe to the agave
my blood turns to heal the ill
my fibres pulp to an ageless skin . . .
Said the agave to the aloe
my blood turns to a song and dance
my fibres pulp to a rope and cloth . . .
but what do the humans offer us
Said the aloe to the agave
not much
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 2:24 PM UTC
You are a traveler of the South lands
brown, a leathered skin coyote
desert walker of the Sonoran sands
crafty, black magic witch
a shaman, lucid dreamer
Yaqui Indian spell weaver
of visions, of paintings in the sand
mixing colors, peyote flowers
red, the melting of the aloe bowers
dark blood, the blooming agave towers
thick with snakes, the fire and hiss
that burns black of sacaton grass
the quiver and flash of flying sparks
igniting night, time traveling to the stars.
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 11:16 PM UTC
from the sizzling southwestern sun
we stepped into the beer stenched shadows
of the Blue Agave Lounge
left lizards in the street but there were plenty inside
lurking in dark corners, their bodies draped like the dead
faces in pools of beer on ancient formica
we were killin' time
and brain cells
and any lingering ambitions
that lurked in our dark corners
on the wall behind the bar
was a "Felix Garcia" original
some desert artist
who doubtless killed some of his own time
in the blue shadows
of the Agave
the painting, unblemished by the dying around it
was of a schooner
white masts full in blue skies
rolling on purple waves
headed to some blind horizon
far from the Blue Agave
drunken eyes digested this
and perchance wondered
if it reached some blissful port
or took men to a deeper doom
if we could only ask Felix
but he is not to be found
and he may not know
for in the Blue Agave
hidden from the light of day
dreams are drenched in darkness
and tomorrow is a land the lizards fight to forget
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 10:45 PM UTC
Here in this redolent rain droplets saturate the ground
I watch the clouds move on, then once more the sun to come
this sparkling desert is strewn with tiny diamond stones
the air hangs in petrichor, thick with chaparral
birds drink from puddles in the broad agave leaves
rainwater trickles with steam in the sun of the singing trees
songs of doves coo cooing in the desert mesquite
spiny lizards stop for rest and warmth upon the rocks
they are ancient with tiny rounded teeth
for eating flashing bugs and beetles
here beneath the spindly ocotillo
beneath the pale flowered saguaro, that blooms
amid this ocean of sandy seas
of cool nights and hot breathed days
the way the desert breathes.
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 10:18 AM UTC
I make love to the son of Francisco Alcarez.
He keeps me warm when I am frigid.
He lights a fire within me when I am frozen.
They say he makes your clothes fall off,
and oh Francisco Alcarez,
you've given me your magic.
Weber Blue agave are your eyes.
You've brought your chaos from the south of freedom, so stab it into my stomach.
~It's not the worst thing thats been stabbed into my stomach~
I think I've cracked you open, but- you've uncorked me.
Slide me into the bliss I've missed, waiting for you~
Tear me away from my cyclical thoughts,
Smooth out my mind,
Kiss me gently and watch me cringe with sour pleasure.
But, lets keep this affair private~
I don't think they understand--- I need you.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 11:20 PM UTC
you look at me again
you touch me
and i think i might
erode/
slip through
your fingers
knowing you won't let go
i drink my lavender tea
with agave nectar
so when you finally kiss me
you will taste
the gardens
you've planted
i can feel my heart race
like it's running somewhere
far away from here
and i decide
that it's running somewhere
with yours
nothing else matters
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 2:25 PM UTC
My way will be found...
To these "warm waters"
and abundant agave among
a lingering, gentle devil
more potent than that austere burn.
It's the gaze you give me,
though gated by hissing apertures, screens, & skype,
that deters my sensibility. For this unconventionality is certanly fathomed.
Believe me
But it's the glittering glances, shot offscreen in blushful bantering
that
shocks my compass not due south
but to wherever you are.
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 6:00 AM UTC
I cannot lose the images, though I try
still the memories of Dragoon imbue my mind
evenings beneath agave moons, full bloomed
the silhouetted century plant flowers
the day's last light, the final sun shadows
our night hikes under Venus skies
signaled the fall, the bright blinking call
of night sweeping stars, and too the flashing,
the sparkling gold of our two souls
unearthed amid the giant stones
ancient, sacred through the ages
in the moments of truth
when love finds a home.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC
I want to write you a love song
Smooth-slow
And soothing to your ears,,,
I want to write you a love song
That takes you to a moon made out of brown sugar
With giant crimson trees
And big strawberries,,,
I want to rescue whatever romance is
I want this song to touch you
And run down your skin like thick, warm syrup made with rose petals and agave honey
I want you to lay back and listen
Listen to our love song
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 2:47 AM UTC
"Why"
is an agave plant
raising its many hands
towards sky,
shaking in urgency,
as if demanding an immediate answer.
This "why"
I note,
it keeps asking perennially;
in tequila haze, I guess
that the spirit of that "why"
is that keeps me high
though the agave mysteriously seems pained!
"Why?"
Aug 5, 2012
Aug 5, 2012 at 9:23 AM UTC
here a sleight prayer to the gods of precipitation
for the garrulous little swallows in the agave
decorating like trifling bits of finery
whilst the sky waves and waves come crashing..
thanks be to the gun metal of gray
a cheery wave to the non existant horizon
hooray,for the cooled southerly breezes
while day cries our scorched and when
yesterday but the day before and now now..
the collection of sighed the changes so
say cool and the sweet perfumes..
the relieving rain rains down..
exclamation
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 9:11 AM UTC
fingerprints
made of clay
and the agave sun
burnin'
my skin
tequila
del sol
and thick pages
of holy words
Prayin’ God’s right hand
gets there first
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 5:06 AM UTC
****** of Beccas *****
My ***** mix the moistures together to make. The mixture of cocktion
Of a mist
Of dank un integrity
Crapping on the fall of shat marriage
As we bask in the dance of *****
Falling down the legs of the most beautiful of beatnik
Without knowing
It
How I've forgotten my divisions
Of the words.
I used to care of those things
Now though I am listening to howl and not in the writing criteria for my writing
I
Usually have the things I need
Now I will have a small baby head
Who knows not **** from suckle
From honey from agave
From desert
How I miss ***** in how drunk I froth in the night dry and the calm she can never know in my head how I wish to be her and for her to be me
How I wish to be one as the howl of two larynx in a bird body
Come thy voice.
Calm child soothe
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC
There's
A thick dust
On the horizon
Let's hurry before
They get here
The judges
Of our risky behaviors
Driving too fast
Because we are
Alone in a car
Tracing our veins
Like a road map
With the metal wire
I used to remove your
Prison bond
Smokin' tequila
Marinating our
Organs with some agave
In our new
Beautiful shiny home
While I shower off the dust
I feel your dark protective image
Standing so close like a
Shadow
You say let's go now
And
Do things we've never done
Because once they show
Up
We'll be gone
Feb 21, 2024
Feb 21, 2024 at 9:28 AM UTC
your body is poetry in a language
I have always wanted to become fluent
dripping in platinum, your lips steel-boned
I hear a quartet commanding me
agave forms in your sulci and pours out
with every breath of your exhale
there's a constellation in your pupils
you are the very moon itself and I am earth
in perigee, my tides rise to greet you
every strand between us twists and weaves
unbroken helixes that connect but never touch
you shine and I can't pull my eyes away
from the contours of your cupid's bow
you move in slow motion towards me
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 7:14 PM UTC
codex painter
have your hands rusted
is this world not as vivid
as the one centuries ago
the one
that bore the same tint,
rich in intent to serve,
to devotedly work
head inclined
over the flaming light
and under the celestial stars
pictograms
are what I now reach for
from the vessels tucked behind my ears
from the smell of copper
and the tastes of adobe pots,
simmering with memories,
to the corneas anchoring my vision
because I must have a vision
the "it" becomes what we intend
and I intend "it"
give me your codices
unfold the fibers of the agave plant
and let me paint again
this world
larger
this lifetime kinder
for I have always been a scribe and
a painter
and my heart rejoices in service
to an existence expanding
to meet itself in the eyes of all
who I dare draw
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 12:11 AM UTC
The split second it bit my mouth,
I knew I was swallowing quality.
Sixty years of the finest blue agave
they could find.
I had some more
& more
& a bit more
& hallucinated
the rest of the evening,
playing locomotive
& emcee,
as if I were commissioned
by the gods above
to spread drunken love.
My head still hurts
thinking about
that worm.
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 7:03 AM UTC
Knockaround shoes in the middle of winter
There’s holes in the toes of my Vans
And the heels of my socks - soaked through
From the puddles I couldn’t avoid
On the way to play a gig at your place
In your basement, it’s only you and your dog
You pick up your bass and play
For an hour out of tune
I could just leave, but I’ll smoke and drink
This coffee from the guy you’re doing
This coconut creamer is sweet enough
That neither of us bothers with
The stevia, agave, or flattery
Typical when men and women
Are as close as we’ve been getting to getting it on
Without getting it on
May 20, 2021
May 20, 2021 at 1:34 AM UTC