"barbra" poems
two women
a single
Gemini
of desire
the yin
the yang
betwixt
the known
and unreachable
swinging
on wide
arcs of
extremis
inhabiting
opposite
polar worlds
and all
the spaces
in between
intrepid
sailors
dare hope
to explore
T
the outer
R
the inner
T’s
tiny
name
betrays
a big
robusto
femininity
bombastically
womanly
big *****
jazz *****
perfumed musky
hips and ****
that rock
and those
lips
oh,
those ruby red
Norma Jean lips
I’m puckered
up
begging her
to paste a big
rouge smooch
on my eager lips
press those
bustling bosoms
onto my face
wrap those
arms round me
with a rasperous
hug
shake me
with gyrations
of your gracious
shimmy thang
you wow
the bow
out of this
dog
taking lovers
prisoner
with the
coy blink
of wide
eyes
flashing
lashes
batting
brow
boldly
being
a force
of a
mothers
nature
bearing
and
belting
Bessie’s
*****
blues
to a
howling
crowd
wanting
more
fully
enthralled
bedazzled
enraptured
with quixotic
hypnotics
I'm frozen
solid
hoping to
melt
into the
heat
of your
inviting
fire
R
bespeaks
whispers
from an
inner place
she lines the
lost desires
of a yearning heart
she offers the
softest curves
the delicious touch
the wet presence
of a delicate tongue
limpid fingers
hide shy sly
*******
offering
invitations
to hidden nests
humming the incarnate
dark forest secrets
of bloomed lilacs
and sweet carnations
the voice of poems
dance and flutter
from her mouth
as the lightest
butterfly
wings wayward
onto soft hearts
yearning
seducement
her
kimono
gently parts
at the slightest
suggestion
of a rising
breeze
her songs
invite lovers
to pillowed
chambers
daring
intrepid
men to
risk the
death of
desirous
tempests
I melt
into the
delicate
complexity
of your
fleshy heat
my dear
celestial
twins
the lovely
Gemini
each different
reduce me
in differing ways
to a puddle
of rippling water
reflecting
the glorious
elegance of
wondrous
ambrosial
femininity
Dedicated to
T& R
Music Selection:
Barbra Streisand
Pretty Women
Oakland
4/26/12
jbm
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
A golden thread connects us
Although it seems impossible it could be that long
It seems to stretch across continents
It joins up the water and land that lie between us
Threaded through airports and harbour walls
It effortlessly knits up plains and cities
A golden thread connects us
Although it seems impossible it could be that strong
It sketches a random pattern, known only to us
Disparate, otherwise unconnected backpages
Mississipi, Dallas, Mountain View, Santa Barbra
Stoneybatter, Skerries, Paris, Milan
A golden thread connects us
Although it seems impossible to think for how long
It stitches and gathers up time; so when you said
"It could be a thousand years or five minutes since we met"
I knew we both thought that forever is possible
That everything previous would make sense of our present
A golden thread connects us
Although it seems impossible to see how it could
From a distance I saw you go through revolving doors
The golden hair caught my eye, flowing as you walked
I was a man trapped, saved only by one fact
That a golden thread had snagged on my clothes
Feb 16, 2014
Feb 16, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
I am such
a *******
******
Been fanning the flames
of my flamboyant faggotry
since April 1990
when I strutted from the caverns
of my mother's....
nevermind,
I'm never touching one of those.
My childhood is exemplified
by late-night espionage treks,
sneaking through my sister's side
of our bedroom
maximized by youthful perspective,
each step of mine garnering more
taut gravity than the next,
finally reaching the Holy Grail:
her Barbie collection.
In the fourth grade, I drew
my interpretations of those
beautiful, diamond-infested drag queens
that rained feathers and sequins
upon one drought of an existence,
the adults framing my tolerance
as a smut-stained abomination.
Now people ponder
why I'm so overt
with my gaydom.
Why argue with your
nostalgia-hemmed family friend
over the cultural significance
of the Barbra Streisand Album,
or gladly sit through marathons
of 1980s ****** camp classics?
It's the kid in me.
Something lost for an era
in a washing tub
of middle school torture tactics,
heavy breathing
over hiding something
so natural.
And a few years of that
are **** stifling enough
for this gigantic ******
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:54 AM UTC
When I was a child, I was told the story of my Grandfathers mother she was a refugee from mother Russia.
He told me that we were no longer considered white that is a luxury.
And we have become subhuman in most places.
We were either locked behind iron walls to be kept in or out.
He told me how they sacked and burned our villages.
Then they proceeded to chase us on horseback, with swords pointed too the distant future.
She was led to the nearest boat, headed towards The Land Of Opportunity.
At the island she was locked away for Tuberculose and possibly Lice
When leaving she refused to put an X for her name for obvious reasons.
So she signed ****
Years later I found out, she had opened a pawn shop down south.
In what now is the forth most segregated area in the states.
She sat outside with a shotgun in a rocking chair and windows barred.
when there King died.
Sadly, the last thing remembered by my Papa's mother including my family is a fist fight.
In Santa Barbra.
I saw the look of panic and pain on her despondent face.
At this point that look was a common occurrence in my day to day life.
Hence, the reason I wasn't allowed at the funeral.
I was locked away at another rehabilitation center.
For crimes I had of course never committed
Since then I have not laid any tulips or morning prayers.
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 4:22 AM UTC
Where were you when you heard
First heard some legendary song?
Does it get permanently hooked
To that time in life as it went along?
When I was twelve years old
I was coming home on the bus
A car radio playing Elvis singing
That’s “All Right Mama” passed us.
Freezing my *** in a weapons plant
When I first heard “Everybody’s Talking”.
I had no money and no good car
But I almost started walking.
All the time I was driving
“Light My Fire”, was always playing
With that bridge you couldn’t ignore.
I always link going west on I-40 to
My introduction then to the Doors.
T’was almost fifty years ago today
Sergeant Pepper and his band did play.
I was working as fry cook in KC
Wishing I could afford to run away.
I heard Yes singing “Your Move”
In Hollywood on Sunset and Vine.
I had no idea who that group was
I only knew they were new and fine.
Bopping down Hollywood Boulevard
And fashionable in Frankenstein shoes
I was styling with my pleated bells
Singing “Staying Alive” as I would cruise.
Music changed for me again, for the better
With the opening of Yellow Brick Road.
Elton made that dramatic opening bit
Opposite of a country horny-backed toad.
Barbra and Donna in great duet called
Were wailing out “Enough Is Enough”.
I was thinking finding a better team
Than those two divas would be tough.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
She was a small town girl
visions of suburban angels
she had big dreams
and itchy feet
she packed her bags
and her guitar
gave herself to the wind
like a summer tune
she had the California dream
so she left that small town
shrinking in the rear view mirror
and she drove west
until the gas ran out
and the pennies were spent
so with her bag
and her guitar
and her thumb
and her itchy feet
she hitched a ride to Santa Barbra
and she still resides there
making her music
just a small town girl
with itchy feet
and a guitar
Mar 4, 2013
Mar 4, 2013 at 9:30 AM UTC
rich people go to die
and the young people who live there
have lived there forever
are going to live there forever
thats what the river
behind my house told me
as I waited for the smell of the hello
when the school bus pulled up.
I think that is when I knew I wanted to be rich and never work.
That's also when I gave the kid next to me the finger.
Because he said something stupid.
The demon driver of despair reprimanded me.
But, Barbra Streisand would say I had chutzpah.
The Asian grocery store in Aurora terrorizes the people.
The smell of fish genocide punches me in the face every time I walk in.
Nothing was the same now that home was in another state.
NOw that the lethargic drug dealer sits next to me on the light rail.
Canyon Road is where the sun sets and the stars lift off to light up the sky.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
I have been kicked in the guts so many times.
Not always intentionally.
They probably don't even know.
But it happened none-the-less.
Some might say I should have learned by now.
But 'learned' suggests intellect.
I have the knowledge,
I can see what's coming, but I don't avoid it.
Each time I think I have been battered enough
To not have anything left to be able to go there again.
So now I know no matter how tired and battered I am
I have all this to look forward to again.
It might be someone new,
It might be someone I thought I meant something to,
Reminding me, in someway,
How they didn't really.
I can't numb my heart,
Definitely not long term.
I can't stop wanting, loving (or thinking I do)
I can't stop the intensity of my emotions.
I even want to feel, as much as I dread it.
I love the passion, being alive.
Maybe even the fear of what's to come.
Something like Barbra Streisand's 'Being Alive'.
If only I could feel that
And have someone feel it about me.
The emotions aren't the problem
Being in it alone is.
But that's the way it is,
Always.
Just fifty or so more years
Of this to look forward to.
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 6:36 AM UTC
You walk in to my dreams as though I never ever lost you.
All your faults and doubts have left us and i feel ineffable to be embraced by your presence.
You do not touch me. You wouldn't.
You know well you have touched me enough.
My heart sacredly reads the language of despair you flash me with a subtle look.
Ive always known your scared. You know this too that is why you are here.
My love is strong for you.
You see the gift of tragedy in my eyes you left with me.
The neglection was not apart of your plan.
The recognition of this hurts you in your gut. I try to mask the truth. I am confident i can achieve this. I want to protect you.
You feel wrath towards experience and dimensions but they are you.
Your inability to carry out your intentions has imploded and holds you to me.
It was always pain that bound us Barbara, wasn't it.
I drop the maternal cloth I made in your absence.
All wounds are exposed. Your stare is strong.
You look at your work at a distance. How else?
I feel your nervous but I know your just as brave.
Your taking it in slowly.
I know you are getting closer to yourself now like you said last time.
I only wish light for you.
I promise.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 2:29 PM UTC
Oh, my god! Barbra is in town.
My family bought me tickets
And it knocked me on the ground.
I laughed and cried, my eyes went wide
I called my friends, and again I cried.
I’ve tried for years, but never had the dough
This time the dream came true, I get to go.
I know I’m acting like a kid, I don’t care
She’s coming here and I will be there.
I’ll buy a shirt and a program if they sell
I have money saved, so what the hell?
I’m going to be sitting in the same place
With her and that famous voice and face.
It’s not like she’ll be singing just to me,
But that won’t shut me up, just wait and see.
Barbra is coming to town!
No, I’m not messing around
Trust me when I say, it’s true.
She’s coming to sing to you
But, to me too, I can’t believe it!
And I can’t wait to sit and see it.
I know I’ll scream and holler like a loon
The moment she walks out, and it’s soon,
I won’t swoon, but I’ll probably cry again.
I’m sure there will be many other men
Who also find themselves tearing up too.
At her concerts, it’s a thing some of us do.
Unashamed, in front of everybody
We, laugh and clap our hands ******
Laughing and hugging all around
Because Barbra Streisand is in town!
So, just pretend it’s a championship game
And all of us fans got dressed up and came
To root and holler for our favorite team
But well be applauding the ruling queen,
The star of stage and screen, and pop.
She’s the best and we’ll never stop.
For some of us, it’s a lifelong dream,
We don’t care how silly we may seem.
I doesn’t matter how old we all are
For decades she’s been the greatest star.
Barbra is coming to town!
No, I’m not messing around
Trust me when I say, it’s true.
She’s coming to sing to you
But, to me too, I can’t believe it!
And I can’t wait to sit and see it.
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 1:12 PM UTC
No voice is quite
like that voice...
pure and unfettered
every note polished
perfect
every lyric deeply felt
delineated
A voice that lifts
caresses
embraces
Soaring with power
stratospheric
in its reach
yet at times
surprisingly soft
yielding
delicate
A priest sent her
a letter stating he
felt the presence of
God every time he
heard her sing
An incomparable artist
she fills our universe
with glorious sounds
and infinite rapture
She is God's greatest gift
to music and the world...
her name is Barbra
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC
It’s Halloween
I am going trick or treating
As a samurai
As usual
I go to the house
On the right said of my
House
And get old
Flight attendant paraphernalia
I wake up from the dream
The flight attendant stuff
Meant that my
Gardien angel
Barbra
Was watching me
For I was under a lot of stress.
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 6:55 PM UTC
I did not engineer
Nor attempt to construct
The human soul
No
Not I
The mere idea seemed frivolous
Damnably gelatinous and
Above all else
Impossible to comprehend
How silly it might turn out
Indeed I thought this
I did attempt however
To make a spicy jam
One evening at the
End of Winter I believe
Lovely time
When this,
What I consider the beginning of a debacle,
Began
I threw together
Bits, and things, and twigs,
And professional spices,
And Illicit words, and
Brown sugar,
And old tea,
And harmless fun
And Puppy Dog Tails,
And I’m allergic to snails,
And something that I called Steve
It could have been Tom
But it looked like a Steve to me
Despite its arguments that it was
A Barbra through and through
I stirred and fiddled and sang
To this black and thin glop
I indeed attempted to call
A spiced jam concoction
That was tap-dancing in circles
On my stovetop without permission
When, no I know, the usual happened
I became bored
Yes
Yes Indeed I did
Bored
Thoroughly
Bored
Bored
Bored
Where was I?
Oh yes.
Bored
Bored of this
Damnable,
Jammable,
Fred Astaire
Not spicy jam
So I left what would become
The self-engineering diluent,
Now a vicious, viscous, and crude thing
That would become the human soul
On the back burner
While I cooked some pasta instead
I prefer pasta
It is delicious
Not like that mistake of mine
It continued to be a mistake of mine
It was not pasta,
It was not spiced jam,
And I never remembered to throw it in the Hazmat bin
Whoops
For a year
I believe
It could have been a week
A very long and tiring week
Or seven years
When I heard the back burning
Singing back to me
About apples with a crisp bite
About fireworks that misfired
About drug needles used to sew together sanity
Was this too spicy?
With its two voices of
Hospital dust
And
Captive applause
Oh my,
This couldn't possibly
Taste good
I believe whatever this has
Festered into without
Adult supervision,
I believe it might be beginning to turn
Like milk and wine
I bottled it in a wooden bottle
And left it on the stoop of an orphanage
To find a good home
I wonder if this not spiced jam
Has found a good home
Last I heard
They all went from it to They
And attended Engineering School.
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 7:43 PM UTC