"bootlegged" poems
At the party,
I saw faces
painted passionately
In smiles and laughter;
Eyes sparkling
like Crystal
In every hue of inebriation;
Hands clapping
Extended waves
Of cheerful celebration;
Lips smearing
lavish layers of
Love on captive ears;
Friends toasting
The Life
With Ciroc, Moët and beer;
Hollywood wannabes rocking
Bootlegged Ray-bans
In the dark;
Buzzed ex-lovers
waging battles
Of the heart;
15's smashed
into 10's,
Flashing rolls of flesh;
Uncle Johnny
in his Walkin' glory
Stumbling way past 'when';
'83 Hustlers
in furs and fedoras
Feasting on free treats;
Soul Train rejects
moon-stalking
On two left feet;
iPhones and Samsungs
Making memories
For the curious web;
PotHeads
in the smoky loo
Getting bloodshot red;
At the party,
The living colors
of life
Piqued my creative core...
And
I saw
poetry
in motion...
~ P
(#AtTheParty)
3/3/2014
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 7:12 PM UTC
Poignant prose chucked out and recycled by morning.
Turned out trick repeated til boring.
The local band just started touring.
Sonnet's blasted until the ladies are 'whooring'.
...
Roxy Music dropped David Byrne.
For Ellie Goulding and a remix of burn.
Robert Johnson's been reworked.
Ratatat rap as interest is perked.
Dylan picked up the silent game.
Making ambient noises which all sound the same.
The Rolling Stones joined the church.
After buying some of Hoosier's merch.
Nicki Minaj claps her ****
Laying down a tribute for Terry Fox's stump.
Benefit concert soon to be run.
By the played out Glee Club composing Fun.
Beach Boys dragged in with the tide.
...And Stars Collide.
NOFX has gone clean
Fat Mike's gone and become a dean.
Tom Waits stomps out to Kendrick Lamar.
Hacking up bits of blunt induced tar.
Bumping out in Steve Ellison's car.
To Captain Murphy's karaoke bootlegged from a bar.
...
Less than 10 good tapes a year
Even fewer if referring to those others actually hear.
Jack White's gone third eye blind
Getting over run by his drug free mind.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
i’m going to steal you….
In the middle of the night
I’m going to steal you
Like an expensive piece of art
I’m gonna steal you
Like the rain steals the dryness
Of the dessert i cry on
I’m gonna steal you
As you sleep
As you dream
As you mourn
While you eat cookies con leche
While you watch a random movie
As you iron a wrinkled old shirt
As you cook huevos rancheros
I’m gonna steal you
Voy a robarte
A la antigua
A la buena, a la mala
Between sombra y resolana,
I will carry you in my canana
As a bullet for revolution
I’m gonna steal you
While worlds wage war against each other
As the corn goddess watches over
Little children of a poor neighborhood
In Vegas
Voy a robarte
Y llevarte entre las piernas
Like bootlegged tequila
During the prohibition
I’m going to steal your superstitions
And show you
That words carry such a strong action
So strong
That we seldom belong in our own realities
The realities imposed
By every single law of attraction
I’m gonna steal you
Like la Llorona
El calzonudo
El Diablo blanco
Los gitanos
Or el viejo del costal
As you rest your feet on the floor
Ponderously looking at the sky
In your search for a perfect star
In july’s cielos…
I’m going to steal you…
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 5:23 AM UTC
The only thing I want for Christmas this year
Is an idea, one that doesn’t crack under pressure
Or insist on its originality, like 50 Shades to an era
Raised on bootlegged copies of the Old Testament.
Holidays are overrated but just this once, Santa,
Bring me a body more intangible than yourself
That can stir up the kind of emotion that adults
Would lie to their children for. It’s torture, the way
Few words sound before they join the tongue,
The way some names should never be spoken.
You can wrap a gift in a hundred different skins but
If it’s still fragile enough to swallow, snort or smoke,
Then Santa, I insist you hold onto it this year.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 4:36 AM UTC
Melancholia
is not mine
but a fruit that I chew upon
slowly at first
nippling the bud at the tip
******* the juice from the tip
baby,
just
a little bite
creating trenches
in skin, tiny crooked marks,
the footprints of the biter,
the mark of treasure hidden.
And you look so tangerine sour,
baby, doesn't matter
it's a dream of my own
mine only
and i'll watch as
salvia lingers off your skin
slathering upon the constellations on that that is lanky and pure
and the hairy forestation of your past discretions
stretching wide from fingertip to fingertop
see x marks the spot
that bitemark there--
is the foible my strength.
bootlegged and stolen through
a many tear ago.
just hoping to find
moon craters and lagan lollies
once again.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 7:13 AM UTC
By S E T
Those Shelter Island nights,
When the air hung sweet and salty
and the shell-laced, pebbly sand
still felt jagged against your toughened feet,
Inviting and profound
You walked with your best guy friend,
Tawny, and burnished from the summer
side jobs, gap tooth and lightly nasal
desperately wanting not to hear his yearning
paens to your best, most glamorous friend
lamenting her leaving
Who'd been up for half the month,
She of the glittering auburn hair
and TV roles, and heartthrob drummer brother,
and even then, deep, throaty laugh,
Wondering if she'd go for hick, Long Island him,
Instead, to feel his teen-age muscled lips
bear down on yours, even if you fidgeted
with desire and uncertainty, half-longing to bolt
Never letting on that second fiddle
was not your instrument of choice
Crossing the warm road to (pinch yourself)
board Chuck's yacht
The only one you knew who had a yacht,
not a grand affair, with modest galley and monk-like sleeper
but a yacht no less,
And drink the bootlegged verboten
beer delicious, slightly acrid,
Stealing away, out the kitchen door
after the small stones clattered against your sleeping window,
Your signal to renounce the troubled house
for a midnight ride down paradise cove.
Aug 28, 2016
Aug 28, 2016 at 5:15 PM UTC
There is a wall between me and forever.
Frigid
Blocks of silence encapsulate what I thought I could be,
Leaving me sweating in this heat.
The chill echoes throughout my bones,
I'm too tired to chip at the frost.
Warmed by self annihilation,
Self medicated, to keep my body temperature above death.
Self worth, value slips under
The waves of internal youth.
I dream of sun-kissed light,
Drawing my stomach into itself.
I've got a bootlegged life,
Long overdue.
A noose around my ring finger
Diamonds around my neck
Visible to none,
Seen by all.
Quiet, the loudest concert I've ever been to
Keep it up, you're being recorded
Your epitaph a video,
Looped on replay
For eternity
An exhibition
A dedication
For the Ice Age.
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 9:53 PM UTC
Ya gave this old cynic hope
real. authentic hope that
courses through your veins
patiently pulsing a potent potion of purpose
perplexing passers-by repeatedly
'cause the heart finally matched my mask
my smirk splitting stygian skies so starlessness simply seemed inconsequential
'cause there was a light a the end of the tunnel
roaming blackness became romantic ambience
inside darkness finally reaching a shred of light, deafening death's call
budding blossoms began bringing ambition back to the barren soul in me
And then you took it all away.
As quickly as it came, you were gone.
and I pretended to be strong,
to not care, and to understand
because it happens; sometimes you just lose feelings for someone
And yet, I can't justify the radio-silence
the horror movie-esqe once there, once gone of your voice
telling me we were fine, and that I was fine
a single hand bringing boatloads of bootlegged peace
yet it was all just hormonal infatuated affection
affecting affably and offering alliance when I needed it most
So no thanks for the stab in the back
I'm doing fine, thanks for pretending to care
(as the boiling bathtub of blood blemishes floorboards below)
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 11:00 PM UTC
the girl after will be
a bootlegged version
of me
she will never taste
like me and
i hope she writes
you poetry but we all know
her metaphors will never
erase the ones
i left stained on your lips
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 3:11 PM UTC
Apollo 11 lunar module named “Eagle”
prediction defied naysayers ain't no boon
dog gull announced successful landing
while voice of Ole Blue eyes did croon
in Sea of Tranquility on moon
sometime about high noon
halting advancing armies
from one after another platoon
set down pontoon
bridges across the river Kwai (dune
axe why, the spatial event
July 20, 1969 witnessed great withered
figureheads regaled American dignitaries
even many an centenarian old prune,
plus lovely bones as skeletal rune
none other than remains formerly
Robert Hutchings Goddard exhumed
subsequently astronaut Neil Armstrong
uttered "That's one small step for man,
one giant leap for mankind,"
though skeptics good n plenti
claimed hue moon phase
would never become crater!
Three astronauts gravitated,
celebrated accomplished fete
instrumental proffering accolades
glock o' spiel trumpeted didgeridoo
courtesy King of rock and Queen
arduous encapsulated endeavor
spurred ravenous appetite
they got the moon cheese
lunar than later nibbled moonpie
washed down with spot of tea.
Heroes welcome greeted
podcast linkedin crew
upon their successful
accomplished impossible mission
returned to umble Earth
bootlegged moonshine stowed
within light saddle
sore ring hearts skipped beat
felt over the moon,
nonetheless by George underwent
thoroughly good medical examination
afflicted with minor malady,
not deemed more serious
than cardiovascular lunar tick.
Fast forward Fifty Earth orbitz chock
full of journeys light years distant pock
marked little uninhabited rock
quite quaint outer limits mostly schlock
of twilight zone by Spock,
he of Starship Enterprise.
No hint what prospects doth lie ahead
for future generations, centuries after
present madding crowd long since dead
yes, the space travel science fiction
authors flesh out today
will arrive within blink, whereby
fantasy with reality will wed.
Jul 22, 2019
Jul 22, 2019 at 8:52 PM UTC