"bogeys" poems
Mining for nose goo; digging in deep,
plucking, pinching, scraping the meat.
Busily forming sweet salty clumps.
squigging, rolling and flicking off lumps.
Piggy's, bogeys, snot and green crows,
I'm mining sweet nose goo; right under your nose.
I'll hide behind a book, a hanky or a rag, slip my belongings in a nose bag.
Piggy's, bogeys, snot and green crows,
I'm mining sweet nose goo; right under your nose.
Dec 24, 2018
Dec 24, 2018 at 9:16 AM UTC
I ask for direction but only the spirit knows,
the semantic is lost in one ritual or another subroutine.
We breath in violable biology to voice a movement
that joins u to me and together we point there,
somewhere without realizing that I consciously exhale.
A relaxed breath in but two ways out.
There is no committee nor panel of experts,
endless discussions, of morality of us all;
There is only me deciding how to exhale,
which way to breath out.
There is no wrong or right, only the slow,
controlled, submissive, submission vowels
or short, percussive consonants full of sound
and fury signifying the falling
golf ***** scattered on off-target greens,
a lawn of flamed bogeys.
A brief pause in silence aftermath, memories
of honored and vicious executioners
before I pick up the next eddie current,
the next randori in forgotten volume,
in brownian space, in distance maai,
in movements unthinkingly remembered.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 8:54 PM UTC
How do I love thee? Let me count the strokes.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My ball can reach when sailing out of sight
For the end of rounds and ideal shots.
I love to the level of every player’s
Most quiet need, by sun and failing light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for greens.
I love thee purely, as they turn from rough.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old clubs, and with my hacker’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my last swing—I love thee with the pars,
Birdies, bogeys of all my life!
And if God choose
I shall but play thee better after death.
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 12:49 PM UTC
A soft song
distracts.
The window fogs,
as white lights
fall away
running fast
as can be
on into
a sea
of infinity.
She yawns,
then fingers
a circle
into the glass
trying to
make time pass,
make her hours
move faster
then those
minute ********
that just drag on.
Dullness settles in.
Her mind wanders
slipping beyond
normal constraints.
A pew, pew, pew
of imaginary lasers
escape her
small lips
as she races
to escape this
boring moment.
Little blue eyes close,
and all those stars above
move light years closer,
as she sits
in the cockpit
of a little weaponless
space junker.
Two bogeys,
circle her ship,
but she ducks
and twirls
through the gap,
allowing the blasts
to blow up
passing meteorites
which shred the
metal plating
and pulsating
engines of her
impatient pursuers.
Now she is free
to explore infinity
with her
Soft body settled
deeply into
the comfort
of the old couch.
Eyes still closed.
Her mom
comes home,
kisses her
brave space traveler
on the forehead,
then carries
the tired wayfarer
off to bed.
A space where
dreams take
the young explorer
farther into
the star sparkling unknown.
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 9:47 AM UTC