"balladeer" poems
self inflicted torture
sadistic sensation
masochistic sin
****** up hallucination
as tethered thrall
trembling for admission
succumbed balladeer
in your realms of inquisition
scarlet tainted skin
twisted anticipation
the evil of the heart
my dark imagination
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
You claim to know through hearsay
I can write and say a line.
And that may just be something,
But not poetry like thine.
Your lips were first, I noticed.
Their rosey, sanguine shine,
Their gentle part was stiff'ning,
and raises more than I.
If I could be those saintly words,
Sweet nothings from your lips,
I could be, would be art itself
Conceived in breathless kiss.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 2:45 PM UTC
witches adorn the front covers
of ecofeminist zines
in an anarchist bookstore
nestled on the Left Bank
of Seattle's waterfront
rare rays of sunlight
filter through sheer curtains
photons glimmering
through fading droplets
clinging to cracked panes
refracting multicolor
i sit in the window-seat
listening to a homeless
balladeer's somber renditions
of Jonny Cash and Woodie Guthrie
serenading the locals bustling
down Pike Street Market
while the Olympic Mountains
keep their vigil
across a lonely bay
Emma Goldman whispers
for Alexander Berkman
and i balance on mismatched cushions
considering Proudhon's insistent
inquiries while Bakunin smirks
nursing secret heresies of insurrection
colorful posters are paper-machéd
across the walls with slogans of struggle
scrawled in sisterhood and solidarity
stickers plaster the narrow halls
encouraging visitors to Smash Capitalism!
or *Read A ******* Book*
as jam-packed patrons chance
sly peaks at the black flag
suspended in the back room
a faint breeze flutters intermittently
drifting across the open threshold
lifting spirits as if sifting
through grains of sand
not unlike a child
digging for answers
armed with one
monosyllabic question
why?
the banner
cheerfully pirouettes
for a revolution
without dancing
is not one worth having
Mar 29, 2016
Mar 29, 2016 at 8:19 AM UTC
Solitary puppeteers working
their angles , scripting heartfelt
psalms , revealing their dark past
with chilling vocals , accompanied
by simple , twangy , acoustic guitars
Touching the lives of ordinary -
folks struggling to get by
Riding into town with the morning Sun
Moving on by the light of the Moon
An open , honest , country balladeer
The 'Working Mans icon ' called home
on a plain old day in April ..
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 10:37 PM UTC
A troubadour I be.
Playing my musical pen
for those who gather.
A balladeer be I.
One who parades cross page
to sing to readers ears.
A troubadour am I.
The minstrel of written word
who performs my hearts music.
A jongleur be I
gathering events from journey
to birth a poem
Jun 9, 2019
Jun 9, 2019 at 7:40 AM UTC
she bellows in her star
that her relation was cabal
this dance's chandelier
with broken ballade plays
a tiger crouch serenade
but still refrain this balladeer
a plaza night wall and tell of rampart
with that lyric in the air
is darkness in Gloria
that slams him kind
Sep 13, 2019
Sep 13, 2019 at 7:36 AM UTC
*He sings love songs
without the love
for the song.
He amuses the crowd,
the critical throng.
What they don't know
is that after the show,
he goes home
with a wrinkled brow.*
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 8:07 AM UTC
*It was so sweet, so alluring.
Mysteriously attractive, seducing.
I was mesmerized, so hypnotizing.
Your voice truly a heart captivating.
The way you sang my favorite song are worth listening.
The way you gently close your eyes, full of emotions not pretending.
The way you look at me in the eyes, our minds talking.
You are one of a kind, a person worth remembering.
You have a powerful voice, a rare balladeer,
You sing from the heart, I hold so dear.
A heart full of love, a feeling that I cannot bear.
Your voice, oh, I love your voice, it's music to my ears.*
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 11:39 AM UTC
*just because you're a pro and
cope and turn it all around
doesn't make it less difficult,
definitely not any less lonely
when the sun plays hide and seek
solar panels are less appealing
when this moonlit night's cloudy
night time jaunts seem less romantic
could they have been sarcastic
when they said all's fair in love
and winning war is fantastic
while keeping peace makes us starve
one day silent pens get justice; though
the voice that's heard is loudest
but each strain of a balladeer's refrain
are the words that make us honest*
●○
°
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 3:24 PM UTC
*when the sun plays hide and seek
solar panels are less appealing
when this moonlit night's cloudy
night time jaunts seem less romantic
could they have been sarcastic
when they said all's fair in love
and winning war is fantastic
while keeping peace makes us starve
one day silent pens get justice; though
the voice that's heard is loudest
but each strain of a balladeer's refrain
are the words that make us honest
just because you're a pro and
cope and turn it all around
doesn't make it less difficult,
definitely not any less lonely*
●○
°
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 7:56 AM UTC
With this auburn eyes, I see
A love I solely dear
So golden it gleams with glee
Like songs of a balladeer
With this, I foresee
A purity so sincere
This heart could agree
That your love, I shouldn’t fear
In your hand, holds the key
To my heart, I endear
There’s nothing else that I plea
Just three word I want to hear
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 9:27 AM UTC
Upon a wizened ancient lyre Harps music of irrepressible allure Suffice to set the soul on fire With supreme reflection pure Troubador of the city floor Irresistible tune to cherish and adore Fluent in melodies of magor and minor No magic no fires of heaven could outshine her Prophets clamor to hear her and wine her She like thee a mystery Riffs and riddles on the gems of history myth and magic her mind's geography love's philosophy her theosophy her psalms beget by ear wise trophy which ne'er decay or wilt or atrophy beget thy sweet and sonorous bars WHICH DREAMS OF HEAVEN AND SINGS TO THE STARS in harmony with the cosmic serenade in which the soul's truest abade balladeer a renegade who told the truth because it paid to not put one's soul up for trade a passion in love's furnace made oh to listen in the dappled shade my mind waltzes with the lilt you have replete lilt to the hilt song stirs flowers sunk in silt they sway and sigh and soar and wilt sensuous and attuned to the song that doth ring around the earth up and along raising the sound of the world in the throng for half the world away is tianneman square or hong kong
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 1:39 PM UTC