"cannonball" poems
My gorilla wears tennis shoes
He reads the paper and sings the blues
My gorilla, my gorilla
My gorilla, he's a sensitive guy
I took him out for a wedding, and man did he cry!
Tears all down his tie
Well, he can drive most greens from the back tees
But his putting brings him to his knees
My gorilla, my gorilla
My gorilla loves pork and beans
He rides a scooter in his cut-off jeans
My gorilla, my gorilla
He can make a mean souffle
He's great with omelets, but his specialty is flambe
So I eat one every day!
He's been working hard on a half pike
But his cannonball empties the pool
My gorilla, my gorilla
My gorilla is so much fun
He buys taquitos for everyone
My gorilla, my gorilla
My gorilla loves tequila with lime
He's taking classes at a school for mime
Cracks me up every time!
Well, he's looking cool in his "white face"
And his French beret looks oh so fine
My gorilla, my gorilla
Oh yeah...
Jan 21, 2013
Jan 21, 2013 at 4:46 PM UTC
Ever felt like you had the one
for you, and
you just let her duck out?
See, I got this girl.
See, I had this girl.
See, this girl really ****** me,
see?
This girl was an island girl.
This girl ****** in torrents.
Argued in cannonball barrages.
And hugged like a linebacker.
Those island girls are thick:
all thighs,
all ***
all fire
like the volcanoes we all come from
and forget to remember.
But they remember.
And they live it.
See, this island girl, was a bigger, thicker one,
and I could throw her around any way I wanted.
And she liked it,
and I liked it,
and,
I'm telling you,
this island girl could take an ass-canning whooping
like nobody.
I mean, I'd make sure her ****** became
a bruised rose
and she felt it.
But,to talk about love,
the *** was a good thing,
but she could argue,
and I think I like that
more than I'm beginning to realize.
Just like a short poem on a ***** day.
Aug 5, 2012
Aug 5, 2012 at 11:37 PM UTC
Inhale. Hold. Submerge.
This is all the grandest illusion
that’s one disappointment away from shattering.
Take a deep breath
feel the pain in your chest.
Every night
I drown in a wine glass
Dive off the ledge with such fever and ferocity,
The splash of a cannonball--
No high marks from the judges.
When you look at me,
I know now it’s irreverent.
We are a lie.
In the deep end, where I can’t touch anymore.
Time to wash away this sin
Hurt doesn't go,
It just lingers
Like our ghosts, lurking behind closed doors.
I can’t be rid of you
Because I don’t want to be.
Go on,
Haunt me until the end.
But I know
You cannot swim
so for now,
I'll sink further and further
into wine so dark
I disappear.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 4:49 PM UTC
There is not much more than lunch of your poor soul's gut. That which has hidden your chase,
Be it the same flurry you face, or the chaste, widowed band of loons
Supplicate snail-movements, while wading through the stiff lagoon.
Everything must, while the fissures grow grumpy.
While the dust settles inwards and the cracks fill with stuffing.
The particle stands stiff, while each nursery cries.
A pitter-patter of rain drops lurch the birds forwards towards flight.
Say the gumption to roost was the dork lit and idling,
Each abortion towards space, kept the rocket from flying,
Like the cannonball sneering, or the whistle of men
The trial and tribulations of the miserly pens.
If be swore the moors, concrete beds shuffle the snores.
Unlike any trumpet of nose notes or horns.
How each curious grumbler failed the ewe of his flock.
Lil' crock lodgers counting sleep of each lot.
Who can practice commands, width that makes up a strake
In the morning the weir-men quaff each tea of their tastes.
Then comes to the rind, the hands each guided by eyes.
Stumps the bard of his nightshade in imported glass vials.
Show whomever the pleasure, the happy hell once began
Because under each gambit is the king of a lamb.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:10 AM UTC
She’s so cute I wanna eat her face,
like I’m high on bath salts,
she’s vegan,
but takes my tongue like a cannibal,
eat your hearts out Haters,
cut my ear off and send it to her like Van Gogh,
ear off a part of the big picture,
or rather painting we’re painting she gets the first stroke,
we’re wild like animals untamable all in all the time,
into the deep end head first Geronimo cannonball,
Black Swan dive she’s gone alive,
the Pied Piper the Eyed Viper the venom & the antidote,
and I quote a quote I wrote myself,
“She’s the answer to my prayers”, the reason and the hope,
she’s the answer to my prayers,
and I don’t even pray,
okay actually on the low I do pray,
and I’ve seen a lot of amazing things but I’m still amazed,
I’m amazed,
and tomorrow isn’t promised today,
and tomorrow never comes,
but she comes and when she does she comes in waves,
I’m in a daze,
honey glazed and lovely crazed,
my bed’s a mess haven’t made it in days,
bed’s a mess but when we’re together we’ve got it made,
so perfectly misbehaved it’s insane,
lost myself then found my self all up in her maze,
and usually I’m not religious,
but she’s so delicious I must say,
thank you Lord or God Amen to her I give all thanks & praise,
and she’s so cute I wanna eat her face,
like I’m high on bath salts,
she’s vegan,
but takes my tongue like a cannibal…
∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆
Venice, California; 2018
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 12:58 PM UTC
The ceiling of the grand ballroom
Opens as if it were taking in a deep breath.
All of the golden oil painted negative space
And striped Moorish arches allow the chandelier to shine
Blood red.
The pirates hung from the ceiling,
Each with his wrists bound to his ankles,
Festooned in the shape of a teardrop
Or a bell or a drop of blood.
The Jolly Roger slowly turns
Without even a slight breeze or breath,
Dangling from a single chord of rope.
How jolly Roger used to be before the navy came,
Smiling at the sinking enemy ships set on fire by black powder.
Perhaps he still smiles, even through the darkness,
Even through the gaping, gasping
Cannonball holes you can almost hear moan
On the side of his ship far below the surface of the sea,
And hangs high and proud on his ship’s tallest mast.
Perhaps the pirates hang high too, robust and glorious
Like their billowing flag, shameless and naked
With nothing to hide and everything to be proud of, a trophy
Not for a queen and her navy
But for themselves and the successes of their wanderlust.
Jan 6, 2012
Jan 6, 2012 at 12:37 AM UTC
Revisited Merak harbor one late evening
a shape of sea fairy and colorful torches
were seen from afar , chattering calls in 4 languages. 4 squalls in once was a plage
their dancing flames asked me to come closer
I hurried along the sleepy shipyards
passing massive warehouses fenced by rusty wooden doors
giant padlocks accenting (reminded me of a fancy cocotte loaded with blingbling)
stacks of oversized containers solidly sat speechless. Sleepless.
The light of each torch lifted into the sky. Seen by another eye
1883 eruption of the Krakatau crater. 130 years later the odor of its curators
I ran closer. I fell. I laid there a while , got up and ran again.
I lost my head and missed my right foot along the way. I did not care.
When I arrived the torches were there in front of me
reincarnated into thousands inhabitants who had lost their lives
bodies covered with revolting cesspit oil
For a second they transformed into torches again. One blazing in my hands.
Regretfully, I had lost my head so I did not understand.
The fairy stared . I wasn't scared.
: come, come, …come purifying Sunda strait
dissatisfying the idiots thought it could all be fixed with tax rate
I moved toward embracing fairy arms
(Possibly, this close hugging love was only for beach-sea friends)
So, I united with the torches
A bit of a breach pushed us towards the petroleum . Demolished it all. Cannonball.
Black fog shrieking that same words : Keep up the struggle . Stay strong !
The alien residents might think I was making choices
but the fairy was leading me around
the torches reshaping the ghost-town
Chattering calls in 4 voices. 4 languages.
Yet, for the officials ears , all were still voiceless. Pointless.
(Pulo Merak - Cilegon - Indonesia )
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 12:27 AM UTC
Ordinary people
carry action figures
on their dashboard
and stop in still traffic
on their way to work
to stare at the circus billboard
wishing they could be
the incredible flying man
who soars above the Ferris wheel
and disappears beyond the horizon.
The human cannonball lives
with his mother
in a musty basement
filled with old baseball cards,
beer can memorabilia,
an ash stained billiards table,
Chicago Bulls jerseys,
and pictures of Goldie Hawn
and Evil Knievel.
The human cannonball has
high blood pressure,
frequent anxiety,
a wheat allergy,
a jaw that pops
when opened too wide,
a crick in his neck,
a bruised shoulder
from falling
into the net
over and over.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 1:31 AM UTC
There was a time when you could make me fall right back to highschool.
The days of virginity and innocence.
Years between our encounters and you'd always be just beneath my breath.
So juvenile and oblivious to all the ways you'd disappoint.
So attached and forgiving.
I found myself at the end of your plank too many times.
Cannonball at my ankles.
Looking down your blade with the point in my neck.
I'll see you again soon...
I always used to feel.
But now I can't conjure the same devotion.
The image of you has finally muddied and spoiled.
I noticed this transition and felt the change somewhere along the way.
Affirmation that I don't need always live on that plank with my heels hanging off.
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 11:26 AM UTC
One white page.
One black dot.
One white page
with one black dot.
That is all.
You see it.
Good.
Now wiggle that dot.
Just a tad.
Watch it shake.
A single vibrating cell.
A fly in the wind.
Trembling up. And down.
And down and up and right and left.
It's a ***** smudge
ruining your clean page.
So rub it out .
With your pencil thin rubber.
But it dodges like a boxer's head.
A darting fish.
You want to get rid of it.
You want a clean white page.
Plant your rubber down.
A dramatic staff in the ground
cracks the white soil.
But it circles you.
That fly, that fish,
that blurred boxer.
That singular cell.
It circles your staff.
Your statement.
Magnetically.
A metal ball.
Orbiting your invisible eraser.
To erase the invisible dot.
But it is there.
Circling faster.
Wider.
Angrier.
Leaving a trail behind.
Too fast for the eye.
The sultry smoke of speed.
The slipstream of a cannonball.
The page is warped.
Earthquake epicentre on the A4.
Shook by the fault lines.
Jutting canyons drop down.
Ledges crumble and crash.
Sugared pie crust
hit with a hammer.
Everything collapses.
Invisible things are also under
the spell spell of gravity.
Hit on the head by invisible apples.
But it's not invisible.
It's not a cell.
A fly or smudge.
An agile boxing fish head.
A cannonballing canyon pie.
It's not even a white page.
Nevermind the black dot.
It's nothing.
Not a thing.
Not invisible,
but the kind of nothing
that can't be seen.
Yet there it is.
Mar 11, 2012
Mar 11, 2012 at 7:29 PM UTC
A black cat with a grin and
A scythe, slashing thru
Space-time with a giggle
Invulnerable & finite. Untouchable rabbit
Stretches it's torso many meters out
Evading a cannonball.
Time to go to work; no doors here!
Rabbit shaped hole in the wall
Ever never fear!
4 Thirty minutes on a Sat. morning network
Talking animals accordion back
From falling crate crushes
Index fingers stretch their cheeks
Ha ha ha ha!
& a wagging red tongue, almost all week.
Piano dangling by a thread
Shrinking Shadow under your feet
It's right above your head!
You step aside just in time -
An anvil smashes you instead.
Too hard to explain to a real-lifer:
This has no point!
Jun 5, 2012
Jun 5, 2012 at 1:44 PM UTC
i find it strange to be politically correct,
without actually exercising any political
career-motive as a member of a government...
because that's what's we're being sold:
to be politically correct, without a career in
politics. doubly strange, to foster non-antagonising
views on everyday matters,
to later realise that whoever we're antagonising
from an environmental bias (rather than
a personal bias) we will never share a dinner with...
so like our opinions mattering in the first place
was by-and-large, just a media hoax to
ensure we were all prescribed the safety of
walking the tight-rope... and never really
designating ourselves the freedom of the constitutional
rights - this leftist bias remains intact,
on the canvas of freedom of speech, however
that freedom allows us to see rural endeavours in talk,
the once appreciated freedom is becoming a polarised
freedom to name & shame... a media hammer or nail...
because it's only freedom when enough people
agree with "us", to allow a bicep expression of
being backed up like some Spartacus...
i mean, i don't agree with most expression,
but i wouldn't **** the hornet's nest with the media
frenzy to appear politically correct... when
so few of us actually have any political power....
being sold free speech, to be later curbed with
political correctness is a bit cancerous....
given that free speech is equated to the voting X
from the age of mass illiteracy...
i don't see how free speech became a vehicle for
acquiring constrained speech dynamic -
when did we forget the chastity of speaking the airy-fairy
things in life on the informal basis, and when did we
become so ****** friendless, estranged, outsiders
to everything that matters... and now, supposedly
between butcher and greengrocer, talking about
the weather in cocktail smocking and bow-tie?
free speech gave us the rights to not ask for political powers...
on whatever governmental tier...
prescribing us political correctness has given the everyday
John the delusion that he can process political power...
the once famous strive for speaking what the hell you want
but not wanting political power changed into
being prescribed political correctness but no political power...
so i ask you... what's the point of being politically
correct, if you gain no political power,
unless you're a rat, a snitch, spying on your neighbour
to grass them out? because that's what political correctness bred,
snitches... those given political correctness laws
were never given any other political power...
added to the fact that they wouldn't have said anything
interesting / provocative anyway.
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC
Some girls have flowers in their hair.
Some have forests.
Some girls keep their head under water their whole life
Refusing to face the sky,
Closing the curtains, and telling the sun they are not interested.
Not today.
Some girls have heart beats like morse code.
But you won't get the message unless you're close enough.
Some girls wish on stars that only stare back,
Some stare at the blinding moon until it's beams shoot out their fingertips
Brighter than city lights.
Some girls have mouths full of gunpowder.
Their "i love you"s will leave you breathless, wondering whether you enlisted or were drafted into this war.
Some girls have eyes like pesky fireflies you will try to put in a jar for when it gets cold.
They will fly too far out of your reach.
Some girls have eyes like swimming pools, and you will bravely cannonball into their depths.
Some girls have flowers in their hair.
Some have forests.
You have wondered too far past the garden's gate.
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
jumping into a pool of yellow glowing liquid while rich, deep, full synth chords play. time has slowed down and i am in the middle of a cannonball and i can see bats flying over my head in the almost-darkness. friends surround me and are laughing in slow motion as i fly through the air. the sun has changed the whole scene to a tinted and washed dark orange and purple color. it’s like i put on a filter but it’s real life. the liquid is lukewarm, sort of like someone didn’t put a bowl of soup in the microwave long enough. there is no word in the human dictionary to describe this feeling. i’m done pretending that nothing matters all the time. i wish there was some way i could hook up my brain to a screen so you could see what i'm picturing right now. there’s no way that can happen though, so i will just continue trying to explain through words.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
St Simons Island, Georgia USA
East Beach, 12/4/2011
"Your focus determines your reality." —Qui-Gon Jinn
Witnessing an
amazing low-tide
phenomenon,
as if a walkway to
a parallel world
has suddenly appeared,
extending one-half mile
from East Beach
out to sea
People are slowly
gathering, walking, stopping,
stooping, staring in silence,
speaking softly—
I'm as eager
as Simon Peter
to join them, yet
somewhat afraid of
walking where
there has been
only seawater
minutes before—
Chattering dolphins
beckoning in the distance
instill confidence
So I join them,
stepping from the
beach onto the
other-worldly terrain,
first 42 steps confirming
we are not alone!
Surrounded by
a menagerie of
sand ***** clams,
beach flea amphipods,
sea roach isopods,
ghost, hermit, and
fiddler ***** even
cannonball jellyfish—
shades of the
Mos Eisley Cantina
on Tatooine
in miniature
But beware of
semidiurnal
tidal cycles—
Twice a day
at high tide
the sea, like an
unstable vortex
of a Chappa'ai,
consumes the
phenomenon,
even the beach itself
to the edge of
the dune
"The mystery of life isn't a problem to solve, but a reality to experience." —Frank Herbert
"So long and thanks for all the fish!" —Farewell message from exiting dolphins, translated by Douglas Adams
Mark Toney ©️ 2023
May 21, 2023
May 21, 2023 at 11:31 PM UTC
i have just come home from a long walk. the time is around 6pm
on an august sunday in new york city
i am listening to a record by cannonball adderley as the early evening sunshine streams
through my windows. i prefer vinyl to digital music. my apartment on 86th street is small but clean. there is fried chicken and fresh strawberries in the refrigerator but i am not hungry right now. i have 2 cats that are both 5 years old. they are well fed and happy. later tonight i will fall asleep in my big beautiful bed and dream of you and about how God works in such wondrous ways.
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 6:09 PM UTC
You told me you felt that our relationship was a pool.
That I have jumped into the deep end,
while you are still wading in the shallow end steps.
That you don't understand how I managed to get
myself into the deep end so quickly.
The thing about pools is this:
If you don't cannonball into the deep end,
you may never actually get in.
If you're standing at the shallow end,
the water could be too cold,
too hot,
too many leaves floating around,
too many bugs,
anything could convince you not to
fully submerge into the water.
If you cannonball in,
the hard part is over with.
You've dedicated all of yourself to the water;
mind, body, and soul.
There's no more second guessing.
There's no other excuse as to why you shouldn't swim.
There's no going back and that's ok,
because in all reality you wanted to swim.
You just needed to let go of the fear
that swimming will be too challenging.
Our relationship is like a pool.
I have dived in,
ready to fill this pool with love for you.
While you are still on the second step,
afraid of me.
Afraid that the love I give to you will be fleeting.
That I will leave you like everyone else has.
That my love for you is a joke,
that my love for you will never be enough.
I have a confession to make.
I have the same fears.
But I am still here,
in the deep end.
Waiting for you to look past your fears,
to accept them and dive head first anyway.
If you stand on the steps the whole time,
you will never swim.
You will never know the love I could give you.
Dive in baby.
I promise I'll catch you.
Jun 10, 2018
Jun 10, 2018 at 11:53 AM UTC
I am a front line soldier
fighting in a war with you
with your smile,
fighting the feelings growing inside
like monsters they are eating me alive
weakly stepping towards my end,
my eyes full of thorns are bleeding,
hurt by the teeth biting my soul
falling under your cannonball eyes
dashed to the ground
shattered like glass
sparrows of Death eating me piece by piece
under the red moon
again dying because of your smile
and your cold hands.
and all that remains
of what I am
is
you.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 3:21 PM UTC
I am a hexagon
with a tail
glowing
when you inhale
down the trachea
I go
teasing
my trail
quid pro quo
I split in two
and enter into two
pleura-covered chambers
and this is where
I might cause
unpleasant dangers.
I dissolve
on the membrane
of vitality
and tickle
the red cells
providing warmth
to reality
I leave red puddles
in a white desert
and I make kin care
with grueling effort
The core pumps
scarlet liquid
through upper
and lower
sections
It splits me
carries me
in all
different
directions
I end up
in the cortex
I alter
gray matter
I fumble
with your strings
I am the annex
of your receptors
I am a helpful
benefactor
I control
your flow
of information
your hunger
and your memory
in return
you are
worry-free
I make you happy
to be
I am THC.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 4:55 PM UTC
hold on,
just for a single
moment.
minutes fly by like seconds
& you fly out of my mind like a cannonball,
puncturing my ship of dreams in
slow-motion
all the way from one side
to the other,
shattering every structured thought I've ever had,
slowly flooding the decks with memories that would've been,
that have been,
that will be.
I hear the stained glass windows of
heaven
explode as splinters of hope
fly
past my head,
threatening to rip my feathered fantasies to shreds as I adjust the brim swiftly
& unsheathe my silver offense,
forged out of
hatred,
longing,
lust;
already dripping with foreshadowed revenge.
the captain's coat hangs
heavy
on my weak shoulders
as I drag my soaked guilt to the bow,
boots
slowly sloshing
through the blood & terror on my deck.
I feel my tortured breath,
in & out,
mixed with the harsh taste of salty rejection,
hear myself shouting orders even I cannot understand
above my men's screams of hopelessness.
I turn back & look at my ship,
eyes wide,
open to the world,
like a child who still has much to learn.
yet I fear I have taught myself too much as I look back on the chaos that is the sea.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 1:50 AM UTC
cannonball bodies
in stagnant ponds
tossed-out towels
under browning legs
fluttered words
and humid spit-kisses
mean that for now
our stray-mutt mouths are fed
discarded burnt butts
and whisper-splash bottles
angry coffee caked on tires
from nights of broken speedometers
and a.m. dinners
frustrated waitresses
and chuckling short-order chefs
shadow the backs of polaroids
august breaks in,
with cars on lawns and
weeks with relatives.
the sun sets early
and the moon predictably dims.
our blood hardens,
and we all stop simply flowing.
june is born
and our arteries melt again
watch hands are ripped off
pagers recycled
clouds make critters
and our coughs make clouds
lazy insects and
sweat sit on eyebrows above wayfarers,
reflecting summer’s praying,
under black glass, youth decaying
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 11:18 PM UTC
Dastardly shovel
Mine blister inaugurator
Hand twisting back blazing wretch
Oh, the oasis pool
Cool; are you crystal clean, heaven seem
To this pyramid bottom letch?
Dean swims jolly fat
Pharaoh tan lazy landlubber ham lover
Fat ****** life quite a catch
Shovel I should launch you
Waterwards rust absurd curb lust
To watch you bust in a watery death
Maybe not before a cannonball
Six-foot tall water wall a lot of gall
You got kid, did you learn to save your breath?
Hide away from this blue collar day
Backbreak reality returns, furnace fanfare
Sailor sweat jumping ship not a hand left
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
.
The sails, the wind the deep blue sea...
Life untethered is the life for me--
War is brutal upon the raging swells
the clashing sword and cannonball...
we pray against a bitter wind
the tattered sails, they rise and fall...
Rare to touch the earth below our feet
to always heed the sirens call...
The smell of death on salty air
their final dance in this aquatic realm...
Liquid dreamers hoard their take
while whiskey eyed captains clench their helm...
Sailing through the Isle of Whyte
shattering its' mirrored waters...
taking all the gold we can find
to raise our sails and daughters...
The goblets of gold we raise each night
are toasts to leaving Rome...
We'll make new trails across old wakes,
we'll crash through seas of foam...
You can take pirates off the sea
but it will always be their home...
Feb 17, 2010
Feb 17, 2010 at 12:54 AM UTC
I wish i was a fly in the wall
So that they wont bother to scrutinize every move i make
I wish i was a fly in the wall
Least people wont see me if i stumble and fall..
i wish i was a fly in the wall
least they would not know my smiles are fake
i wish i was a fly in the wall
For them not to discover theres a hole in my soul..
I wish i was just a fly in the wall
So that they wont be able to judge me which i really **** hate!
I wish i was just a fly in the wall
For them not to laugh at me when my heart starts to break..
I wish i was just a fly in the wall
least they wont notice when madness in me starts to call
I wish i was just a ******* fly in the wall
Because i wish those imbecile would give me a break!
And my heads starts spinning like a cannonball all ready to strike
I just wish they would stop bothering me and start to get a life!
And my heart starts blazing like a wildfire so abrupt
Shhhhh Shut your mouth up! please do not interrupt!
And my soul my lovely soul is starting to create a chaos inside me..
Thinking..
Pondering..
Ceasing the moment
Chasing the stars
Wondering..
How to end this ****** war
In the end i'll celebrate my glory
They are like a maggots now in my freaking memory..
+++>FreakyAngel
7/23/2015
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 10:20 AM UTC