"bibulous" poems
I'm a ****** of ambition
a clairvoyant
whose true sight can only
seer through my objectives.
I am juxtaposed from my life--
from passion and experience
feeling is a concept
that lingers outside the realm
where I reside;
by choices I was forced to make.
It has bibulous proportions
that consume my cravings
and intoxicate the senses--
So can we believe to be free
instead of circus-elephants
who plunged their trunks
into a trough of indecision.
Where caging and pushing
each other to perform tricks for the audience
is the normality of existing--
to be the scampering mouse
that lives outside their barriers
causes them to fear us
to stampede and
stomp until
there is only obedience.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 9:48 PM UTC
(1)
I am the huckster of love, bibulous in love
She is my bijou, she is my billow
She is my Hob-goblin.
2
At dead of night she called me
I fell into oblivion
She came off with flying colors
I was impressed by her green eye
She was a pack of lies
I sailed, I sailed under her false colors
I sailed, I sailed under her false colors
3
These are the hows and whats of my love
Waiting to pay the debt of nature
Waiting for the call of my creator
Living to write my swan song, living to write my swan song
Expecting to write it ere long, expecting to write it ere long
4
I am the huckster of love, bibulous in love
She is my bijou, she is my billow
She is a hob-goblin.
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
The small stone fell from a ledge
in a study somewhere
and dropped into a travel bag.
Later the bag was picked up and carried away.
Much later still it was put in a car
being placed on the back seat. The car was
then driven to a port where it was taken off
the seat of the car and carried on-board
a cruise ship. The cruise ship was about
to sail up the Norwegian Fjords. It sailed
there quite frequently, though not
exclusively as it also sailed
around the Mediterranean Sea.
The bag was taken to and placed in
one of the luxurious staterooms.The
owner of the bag and her husband
were celebrating an important event
by enjoying a journey that they had
always promised themselves. The bag
eventually ended up on the deck as the
husband had fetched it for his wife
for an object that it contained. In
getting that thing out, the small
stone got caught up in it somehow
and was pulled out of the bag and
fell onto the deck of the ship,
whereupon it started to roll about.
Ultimately the stone found its way
to the stairs down to the lower deck
where it found a gap to lodge in. The
cruise ship sailed into the fjords
during a sudden heavy storm causing
much turbulence not only on the ship
but in a number of the passengers
stomachs, one of whom, a drinking man
I chance, could not contain himself,
and he was violently sick. The storm
abated however, and all was well.
A crewman took on the task of
cleaning up after the apparently
bibulous gentleman and washed down
the deck, and in doing so, washed
the small stone through a gap,
specially there for the deck washing
purpose, and into the fjord whereupon
it sank to the very deep bottom.
Such are the mysteries of life, but
in that one pebble's journey you can
gauge the unpredictable future of
every man, woman and child and creature
on Earth.
Isn't life utterly bewildering?
It is unlikely that the ever-moving tides
in the fjord will not have moved it elsewhere
many times since it fell in off the ship,
out of the bag, out of the car, into the car,
into the bag, and off the shelf
in the first place.
How it arrived on the shelf is
a story for another day.
Utterly bewildering!
©Joe Wilson - The pebble of life...2014
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 11:11 AM UTC
They tease only because they like what is true.
That is why you call them friends.
So when, in avocado skies,
With the fragrance of fuchsias,
And perhaps even focaccia,
And other salty, honest facts of life,
Droning like blue hummingbirds
And Manuka bees,
You seep through my weak and ailing
Ego, out onto the blotting paper of my conscious mind,
I shall consider what it is they cherish,
And come, perhaps, to feel the same.
And do not berate me when I do,
I tease you only because I like what's true!
But here's a precursory thought or two,
Already noted on bibulous blue...
While I write a bottle’s worth
Of evasive attempts at articulation,
The following transpires:
That I have more in common with Van Gogh
Than most care to know, or notice.
That some called him Vincent.
That all I’ve ever written does not sum me up now,
And that the whereabouts of Brighton really doesn’t matter.
That you are the closest I will ever come
To understanding the stars,
And candidness is more attractive
And captivating
Than anyone cares to admit.
That lousy house parties
Are sometimes better than expected.
And you are braver than me,
And I thank you for it.
That speech is, more often than not,
Inadequate, and
Words seldom do justice
(However hard I battle with them.)
And that self-confessing,
Asymmetrical smiles
Are secretly my favorite kind.
That some songs have a hold on me,
That I could never explain much,
And photographs are not my favorite medium.
That poems are often incredibly hard to write,
And it’s all your fault.
(That you’re forgiven.)
And that even the spectrum
Of browns, golden and dusty,
Azul, virescent and viridescent,
Warm and hazy, igneous-red,
Flushed in sunset,
Curled in blazing amber;
The hue of gloriously tawny,
Shaggy apertures
Of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers
Are no match
For the honeyed morning's
Beams of light
Dancing on your head.
'But how can words express the feel of sunlight in the morning...'
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 2:32 PM UTC
On that day my soul grew drunk
The cooked curiosity craving
The passion never slaving
I crave the ****** sick spirit
Instead I uncovered the affinity
The vehemence smiled
What could there be more purely piled?
I crave the temptress, thirsty thing
Suddenly, I heard some feeling
My ambition, I could not awaken
While I pondered, bibulous and forsaken
I crave the tippling, touched target
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 10:49 AM UTC
Stressed beyond compare
Even when I feel I've figured a part of my life out
Its shoved back in my face to fix again.
So much going on at one time
But I'm stuck on some things
I can't move as quickly as I want too
Procrastination already creeps up on me
Now life sprinkles a dash of its own disasters on my plate to add more flavor
To an already full meal
New problems just arise
From every angle
As I walk my path problems just bank corners
One with a bat
One with a knife
one armed just with a cunning voice just to fck with my head
So hard to focus on the road when there are so many detours
Climbing the tree of uncertainty
While the branches hide the monsters of life so perfectly from sight
Not knowing what's there until i reach for the next branch and it grabs me
Jumping down to avoid the fear
But what do I gain from being scared of life?
What would I have gained from climbing in the first place ?
I have to fight... The evil forces that surround this humanal existence
The pain that we endure.
The forces that affect me directly and indirectly
Every problem I learn from
But honestly do I get stronger ?
The wounds heal leaving nasty scars
Helping me to understand more
People with bibulous tendencies
I use to crave the life of people who always smile
But now I realize some of them
Are hurt more than I am
And the only thing I want from them now is the ability to hide pain so well
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 1:59 AM UTC
She wants me to
believe that her
bibulous moon calf
copulates with
her in her slumber.
She's too far
gone for me to
**** with.
Sep 13, 2021
Sep 13, 2021 at 9:26 AM UTC
3:30 am
it slurred it's words
as it entered the shutting doors,
missing the shutter by an inch
3:31 am
it tumbled it's way into a seat
as the smell of alcohol filled the air
3:32 am
it slid off the seat
3:33 am
i left.
Aug 17, 2019
Aug 17, 2019 at 10:31 PM UTC