"costello" poems
Beat-Up Old Car
Vastly under-appreciated possession
In dull blue, a MK1, no less, with original rust
Inside lingering scents of Exchange and Mart
top-notes of WD-40 and miscellaneous mix tapes
A car like this gets into your life
in lumpy knuckle-barking unsubtle ways,
stays there in subtle ones
That long drive back to Yorkshire
in the quintessential exemplar
Clutch cable snaps.
****** and Crap.
Hardly helpful but can be accommodated
with enough thought
rough though it is
on starter motor
and nerves whenever
anticipatory powers inadequate
and we are forced
to a complete red-light stop
Brakes dodgier, exhaust noisier
than ideal or legal
Gender-ambiguous
elderly tyres flirt outrageously with slick tarmac
Showing their canvas underwear
and male-pattern baldness
Keeping this unstable, unsafe, unreliable
ultimately essential lump of metal
moving and on the road
is a fine art
Engaging, fluid and intense art;
The Clash and The Specials
Costello and The Cure in support
A distraction then
getting hauled over by plod
somewhere near Bury St. Edmunds
Thatcher's boys.
Tax? MoT? Insurance? ID?
No real interest shown
Any passengers in the back?
Clearly no. Pickets?
Pickets? What?
Please open the boot sir... Oh.
On your way lad. Drive carefully
I was, officer, I was
More than you will ever know
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 9:52 AM UTC
he spends his time
rowing through the
rugged, blockaded channels
of my catharsis,
the bitter staccato
of ****** habit.
his love
can be as jagged
as gashes in an
Elvis Costello record
thrown against the wall--
the frayed words of the last love song
Billie Holiday ever uttered.
he is two
exclamation points lit on
fire, kerosene pumping through
tautly wound muscles and
caressing our funny bones with
sandpaper.
he is
dulcit woodwind melodies
and jilted viola strings,
epic poetry and grindhouse theaters,
McQueen gowns and thrift store bargains,
the kiss on the forehead
and the nudge for a *******
he is a double helix.
he is the beginning
and end of every sentence.
Sep 4, 2010
Sep 4, 2010 at 3:45 AM UTC
Fourteen years old on sensory overload.
The evening news.
Burn baby burn.
Da bomb. Sauteed mushrooms.
Drop drill in all the classrooms.
Lesee. If I crawl under this wooden desk with hands over head then
I wont end up toast ? Outa sight.
Puff That Muthfkn dragon. He still got a condo by the sea ?
I remember thinking how privileged and exciting to live in the USA.
But. Burn baby burn.
Watching late night reruns till the station signed off. No CNN then my fren.
The Duke.
Abbot and Costello meets The Mummy.
Free T.V.That was a first for I.
No T.V. In Belize. None. No gun violence either. Hmmm.
My Lai. The Panther Answer.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 2:35 PM UTC
Yeah, I’ll say it,
No, I am not scared,
It’s been here all day
Does anyone care?
Yes! I am sober,
I am not seeing pink,
We try to ignore it,
But frankly....it stinks,
Some ignore it,
Yes, I tried,
But something this big cannot be denied
Its bound to get messy,
Where is the broom,
Who let the elephant into the room?
©B L Costello 2018
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 5:21 PM UTC
consuming cigarettes like candy at a theme park
shoveling, inhaling
before mom takes it away
incubating cool concrete
to hatch eggs of non-conformist
thoughts, theories, therapy
Costello glasses fog
with skinny-jeaned laughter and flannel
bellows only audible within the confines
of claustrophobic, humid basements
spilled with beer out of sun-lit
fear.
stay ****** ****** up and disconnected
feigning parental disregard and lacked motivation, except
to pet cats to the tune of vinyl
manicured with dust
seeping with lust
for the past
when rainbow-striped sweaters were cool.
pound the drums too loud for ears
sweating out anger and distrust
stuck to reconstruct or fit in
become the grey, the void, the in-between
the one thing you don't want.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 7:30 PM UTC
Before you became a diabetic,
Before the pain and the anesthetic,
We ate,
We smoked,
We slept past noon,
We played until we were out of tune,
We laughed at the cost,
“Go ahead…bill me,
I guess something has to **** me”,
And now…it is,
Imagine that,
But ****
I miss being stupid and fat
© B L Costello 2016
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 7:35 PM UTC
Please don’t wake the giant,
She really needs to sleep,
She could disturb the elephant of whom no one will speak,
I know we can get thru this,
We must not give up hope,
We cannot get our feet wet,
Please don’t rock the boat,
Because,
Giants are not real
Facts cannot be denied,
If I keep them covered,
My feet will be dry!
If I keep my mouth shut,
They can never tell,
Let’s not talk about it,
Shhhh…
What is that smell?
©B L Costello 2019
May 30, 2019
May 30, 2019 at 1:06 PM UTC
Remember how you begged to play?
You practiced and worked so hard,
Remember how disappointed you were
When they laughed you out of the yard?
You thought there was something wrong with you,
You bravely asked what it was?,
As if you were a child,
Those cowards said....
It’s “because,”
Because?
Just…“because”,
“That’s all!”
Did they think that would make you fall?
So cruel,
So quick,
It took no time,
Because,
No one ever asked them, “why”?
“Because”
They don’t even know the function!
“Because”,
A subordinating grammatical conjunction!
Without a sentence,
Without a reason,
You were supposed to stop and believe them,
Believe what fools can hardly say,
But you knew all along,
There was nothing the matter with you
"Because",
They were completely wrong
© B L Costello 2018
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 9:42 PM UTC
He plays with himself,
He thinks he competes,
But he never wins,
And he always cheats
So long in the game,
He doesn’t know why,
He likes to keep score,
But it’s always a tie,
Clean for minute,
They call it detox,
*** in a jar,
And shadowbox,
He thinks he ahead,
You can tell by his grin,
But he’s running a race that nobody wins
©B L Costello 2018
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 4:53 PM UTC
Without you, I don't make any sense;
Like macaroni noodles without cheese,
or Tweedledum without Tweedledee,
Like Abbott without Costello,
or a lemon that isn't yellow,
Like Chip without Dale,
or a ship with no sails,
Like Rocky without Bullwinkle,
or Simon without Garfunkel,
Like Yin without Yang,
or Zig without Zag,
Likeasentencewithoutspaces,
I'd be lost without your embraces.
Mar 22, 2011
Mar 22, 2011 at 8:41 PM UTC
I did not bring you into the world,
But I was happy that you came,
I took you home one afternoon,
Took pictures…..and gave you a name,
And you where my baby,
Dayenu……that was enough,
And like all things God gives you,
Someday…You must give up,
How blessed I was to have you,
To love and watch to you grow,
I did not bring you into the world,
But, I was there to watch you go.
© B L Costello 2016
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 7:06 PM UTC
Yesterday,
I Googled your name,
I searched under “image”,
Nothing came….
I dialed your phone,
It made me nervous,
A strange voice said it was “out of service”,
Your room is empty,
So is your chair,
I just can’t find you anywhere,
I looked in the mirror,
What else could I do?
Something familiar,
I look like you,
Sometimes your children are all that is left,
If I stare to long,
I get upset,
It’s only me,
10 years you’re gone,
Oh how I miss you, mom
©B L Costello 2017
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 2:49 PM UTC
I dusted off your picture,
A task I had denied,
But it became embarrassing,
I could no longer hide,
I held it much too long,
My hand caressed the frame,
So long since I had held you,
Nothing is the same,
I stared for much too long,
Such common sense I lack,
Into your eyes I lingered,
Though you cannot look back,
Fighting back the tears,
I returned it to the stand,
Seeking more diversion,
I went to wash my hands,
And now,
I do not touch it,
Its cleanliness,
I’ll trust,
I really need to vacuum,
How I hate to dust
©B L Costello 2016
Nov 4, 2016
Nov 4, 2016 at 11:03 PM UTC
One day it will rain.
The soothing water will wash
away the sins of the world.
The sun will shine.
Its light like liquid gold.
Behold! The Miracle!
Pain erased, sorrow forgotten.
Tomorrow will cease to be as well as
yesterday.
Only today will remain. Nothing will matter;
everything remembered.
The SON OF MAN will greet the children of his Father.
Tears no more. The Human Condition restored
to what Father planned.
Thwarted by the KING OF LIES.
Won back by the KING OF LIVES.
Everyone bows. Mountains crumble. Lakes deepen.
The SON laughs at humility.
After all he is but a Man.
Humanity at its finest.
Though his Condition no better.
Like a shepherd he leads on.
The strays and the lost
He has not forgotten nor forsaken.
Though they have.
They are sorry. They see their mistakes wishing for a second chance.
Their tears
wet the path to
Damnation.
The river of tears flows.
Engulfed by the flame.
The Fallen grins.
He is happy.
Misery loves company and He is misery.
The Anointed cries with them.
The SON empathizes.
-They are human.
He leads them with his crook.
Their tears dry. The river a cracked bed.
The flames subside. Morning Star laments
-It's not fair!
SON counters
-And what do you know about equality?
The gate is open. The future awaits.
Brighter than the Luminous City up the path.
The Struggle is over.
Peace begins.
Jan 3, 2010
Jan 3, 2010 at 8:32 PM UTC
“Very fine people, on both sides”,
I wonder just who decides?
The girl on the elevator clutching her purse,
Or the man in hoodie who got on first?
“Very fine people”,
How could he know,
She’s been a victim,
It just does not show,
It difficult to see the truth,
Underneath his jogging suit,
Just like him,
She cannot see,
the bible in pocket,
Or his PHD,
How fragile we are,
So easy we shatter,
God teaches us ALL LIVES MATTER!
©B L Costello 2019
Feb 15, 2019
Feb 15, 2019 at 4:23 PM UTC
Is tomorrow enough?
It has to be,
Today is almost gone you see,
Yet here I linger,
Alone at last,
My memories repeat the past,
The moon does rise,
Still I am inspire,
Embracing my muse,
Thou I am tired,
In the dark
I smoke,
I wait for the day
I will meet tomorrow….
Unafraid
©B L Costello 2016
Oct 20, 2016
Oct 20, 2016 at 6:18 PM UTC
Some say I’m over weight- while some say I’m fat.
I say I’m big ***** - my doctor told me that.
What does weight matter? - does it mean I can’t love?
I was made this way - by GOD up above.
My brother is tall and thin- they say he’s bones and skin.
Why does weight matter?
Can any of us ever win !
They say when we walk down the street
We look like ABBOTT and COSTELLO
He looks like a bamboo stick
While I look like a cello.
We’ve learned how to accept the jeers
And to control our rages and emotions
For “IN GOD” we put our devotion.
Love lives in any size bodies!
Big or small, short or tall
GOD has given love to all.
Why do people love to criticize and find
Fault with every one, when they themselves
Have faults , which can not be undone.
When I was growing up , there was a saying
For both fat and thin, and no matter
which way you put it
Both sides would always win.
They would say : the closer the meat to the bone the sweeter it is
And: the more the meat, the better the treat.
So to all you criticizers ! We will not be put down.
For you are the one
who walks with the heavy crown.
© L. RAMS
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 9:08 PM UTC
Niagara Falls . . .
"Slowly I turned,
Step by step,
Inch by inch . . ."
I am Lou Costello
Stuck in a jail cell
With some ****** lunatic.
Getting the **** beat out of me.
Every time.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC
She was so attractive,
Back when she was ”right”
She went to work everyday,
She said her prayers at night,
To this common life,
She had come,
so far,
“it takes courage to grow up and become who you are”,
Resided,
Then content,
something had to break,
They said she was an ‘accident”,
But people make mistakes,
And, still she is forgiving,
She is actualized,
It doesn’t even matter,
You don’t look her in the eye,
She who you looked down upon,
Now makes you feel strange,
and all she ever did was ask,
“Have you got some change”?
©B L Costello 2018
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 10:16 PM UTC
I should write about something worldly.
Something important to satisfy the media addicted,
I have seen brilliant poets write about the events and world politics,
I know it is important,
I would love to stand in the shadows of Cohen or Dylan,
Talk about the “Future”, or the times that are “A ‘Changing”,
But my muse is not entertained or interested in Donald Trump,
That shooting last night,
It is tired of walls and boundaries,
It is too busy to be angry,
That careless nymph wants me to tell you how beautiful you are,
How you make me feel,
And what it is like when you touch me.
Rhapsody is real,
I abandon my fears,
How happy you’re love has made me dear,
This may not enrich the critical mind,
I hope you will forgive me in time.
©B L Costello 2017
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 2:59 PM UTC
Long before she was ever rejected,
She was planned….
At least expected,
Before children laughed,
Before the police….
She was loved,
She kept the peace,
I wonder if they see her now,
They who loved her…..and who taught her how,
To tie her shoe,
To washed her face,
Who left her in that awful place?
Somebody loved her…..
Before she went crazy,
Once…..
We were all….
Somebody’s baby
©B L Costello 2016
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 6:05 PM UTC
I chew my butter,
It doesn’t melt,
Trust worthy as Lucy Van Pelt,
He tells me his troubles,
I don’t complain,
I tell him where to leave the change,
It makes me happy to watch him fall,
He runs like a girl,
I move the ball,
I asked him play…I was feeling kind,
That block head does every time,
Sometimes he such a basket case,
I could punch that red head in the face,
But he looks sooo cute on that pitcher’s mound,
Sometimes, he's just so Charlie Brown
©B L Costello 2017
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 10:05 PM UTC
“We don’t want em!”
That’s what he said,
He’d rather grab what’s between her legs,
He has no idea what she is worth,
To him,
She’s just another skirt,
But she is beacon that shines in the night,
You can’t fold her arms or dim her light,
She welcomes all without a sound,
Silent lips and heavy crown,
Colossus over land and sea
She bids them all,
“Come to me”
It’s sad,
He has no idea……
Has he?
I think he’d even call her “Nasty”
©B L Costello 2017
“With silent lips, “Give me your tired, you’re poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
(Emma Lazarus "THE NEW COLOSSUS")
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 5:04 PM UTC
GRANDMA’S TATTOO
“You could cover that tattoo,”
She said….
”show some respect”.
“Do you think if I did….
the world would forget?”
“But your old”,
“And……it’s strange,”
“It looks like a price,”
Grandma smiled and said….
“Well I’ve paid all my life”,
I challenged her vanity,
And…she fought with her pride,
Never again,
Would she ever hide,
I am older now
I no longer wonder……
…..about that tattoo,
Or the cost of those numbers
© B L Costello 2016
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC