"cush" poems
it was a strange and fragile Kombination--
a desperate, lonely Hunger,
frenetic Thrill to sate--
we didn't speak each other's native Tongues
but Tongues we shared
in what we found, of random Meals,
and Pocket Lexika to taste
hidden Idioms we strove to understand..
our Bodies splashing Wasser
in the murky Spree, ******* Fountain by Berliner Dom
licking Lips of Bier und Eis a ways away from Reichstag Bullet Holes
below the steel Spirale encased in Glas
transparent Government--a Show for Tourist Stroll..
our Smiles glinting, coated international, that Week agreed
"eine schwester-bruder liebe.."
temptation--and propriety--preserved--
pale lotion, paler skin to honey in the sun
aloft in hostel bunks we shared--
a cush historic castle, touristische nook
of maps and candy pockets, so geil..
gleeful us, to melt from moscau and new york
we shared the deutsch between us,
ein bisschen englisch,
a bit of russisch too for fun...
our soulwise checkpoint charlie held the lust at bay
despite lustgarten romps
and walks beneath the lindens, lane of sighs..
an awkward bridge of question-words we built to muse about the stars
and what we see with only strangers never seen again.
we named ourselves an instant familie...so you could snore on me,
and let me stroke your hair
without the guilt of infidelity
the freedom from, we traded in our blatant,
goodbye tears you shed, i kept inside to craft mnemonic gems
i share and savor in again
'
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 8:56 PM UTC
I grew up knowing we are a broken race,
A race that changes smiles to frowns on everyone's face,
A race of pity, a race of self destruction,
A race of slaves, a race of savages.
I grew up knowing that we are the poison to the sea,
Acid to the earth
And pollution to the air.
I grew up embarassed of my colour,
Embarassed of my Nation,
Embarassed of my Continent...
I guess I didn't know better
That one day I will discover of our Greatness.
I discovered that our forefathers walked all four corners of the Earth.
Let me rephrase that...
Our forefathers were acknowledged in all corners of the Earth.
I discovered we were once tutors of the world,
We were once Astronomers of the stars,
Travellers of Mother Earth,
Doctors to the sick
And Founders of great kingdoms like Cambodia, parts of Egypt, America etc...
We were founders of some of the world's oldest civilisations,
The olmec vivilization.
African child, how far have you fallen?
I get so much joy and pride when I look back,
Back beyond the slave's era,
Further before the missionaries,
The beauty I see.
I am overwhelmed by the greatness of our Africanism.
Where did it all go wrong?
We have such great history
But it all sounds like a myth or a mystery
Especially when I say that we once walked tall and high in the foreign lands of America,
Not as slaves but as residents and rulers.
Our history shouts of our greatness,
It tells us that the first man to be saluted as Emperor of China
Was the son of the soil, the son of Africa.
Our history tells a story of our existence in India,
Our great kingdoms in Cambodia and Scotland.
Our history even goes back further to the ancient times of the Bible.
It speaks of ****** a great man in the eyes of the Lord,
The father of Cush, the founder of Cushite, a black nation.
It saddens me to see us disrespect our elders like this
For they hold our rich history.
They hold the bridges we have forgotten,
They hold the secrets of our Nation.
They were there when mama Africa gave birth to us
And we will weep when mama Africa swallows them up.
We will not cry for they have gone
But we will cry for the knowledge we have buried.
If you don't believe me ask the sage Ntate Credo Mutwa.
Wake up Africa. Wake up and Rise...
Rise African Child!
Nov 7, 2019
Nov 7, 2019 at 7:30 PM UTC
Drum up the emoticons of Tweeners
Lost between the couch cushions
Smoking on Cush,
Listening to lines of lying lions.
No soul,
Symbols twisted into idols
Non-paralleled,
Prophets for profit
Refusal to obey convention
Convection will guarantee a feature flight
To where?
I don't know.
Nowhere near never, never land
The fall will forever fragment followers
Peons of lies, hope, and mirrors
Cause is not lost, for change
Moons tide motions for…
The ebb of conscious thought, drowning the flow of seceded freedoms.
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 10:52 AM UTC
some mornings
even my hair
seems to behave,
when i don't need
it to -- like weather
or feelings.
after
today, i was content.
i finally got my bed
just the way i like it,
settled in, surrounded
by cush, and plush and
(dead insects)
despite
a growing discomfort
in my belly, i'm still fine;
saltine remedy, mint tea
potion.
a lovely girl asked
me to catch dreams for her.
of course i will, in jars like
fireflies, natural lanterns
to light up your
imagination.
but the
aching in my belly
seems intent on staying
until addressed appropriately--
sneakily
creeping up on me
like adolescent shenanigans--
acknowledgement is
reminiscence, the kind you
don't fancy at 1:00 am.
so i mulled it over,
going home; like
a kick in the shins,
it made me realize
that the little place
in me, maybe a vein
or vesicle, is still
missing.
it used to
be an ***** a limb;
in months it shrank to
an extremity, a digit,
finally infinitesimal--
but still
missing.
(now) i'm having trouble
making my peace
with the fact that you'll have
that artery, or capillary,
or soul atom for awhile
or forever, maybe.
but i think, i posit
in fact, perhaps
by march, a few
months more,
i'll forget and
be able to say
"it's yours."
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 4:45 AM UTC
the self destruct button
is waiting for that fellow to push
he'll blow himself up like
a snooker ball off the cush
it won't be any surprise
to see him blasting himself away
this very explosion was fated
on a forthcoming day
the firing switch is set
for the big self strike
whereupon he'll be ******
into the air as a flying pike
soon the event will be
happening on television
let us not miss watching
his most important mission
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 7:18 PM UTC
Walking down the ***** needle filled streets I see the poster everywhere. I swear any unclaimed space all around Van Nuys there’s my naked body and fake eyelashes. Thank God for computers otherwise my ******* would be recognized no matter where I was in this ****** city. Its not a cush life doing what we do, but hell it pays rent in this God forsaken place.
Apr 27, 2012
Apr 27, 2012 at 2:23 AM UTC
I used to live downwind of the slaughterhouse,
the one below the high bluff where the state pen towers,
commanding the best view of the marsh lands
and the stink ponds making lime outta ****
for the crops not meant for human consumption;
by the dry grass parks with the broken backboards
and the netless hoops that never slow a ball down.
I used to live downwind of the rendering plant
where the bubbling lard becomes aerosol
and the air reeks of freezerburn bacon and feces,
below the high bluff where the trustees cut grass
in the clean air not meant for the locals
mixing with the immigrants and loser folk
who have knots in their shoelaces that
press against bone when chasing a loose ball.
This town never grew up. Doesn't need to.
There's plenty of ground for the taking.
Plenty of farmers selling out to the downtown club
who cobble the streets in past time fashion,
netting big gains from the professional set
lining the smooth roads annexed to the east.
I used to live downwind of the closing in stink
of renewal, where the cheap rentals and struggle
stores with the marked-up Walmart brands
lining the shelves - expired but still edible -
bide their short time compressed and diced
up like leftovers for dogs.
But this is America. I don't live there anymore.
I got myself a cush gig with a padded ladder
to the top. Did everything I needed to do
for that sure climb out into a cleaner air,
only to find myself bruise-faced and reeling
when the profits didn't match the dream
and the ladders were sold for scrap.
Aug 4, 2019
Aug 4, 2019 at 4:27 PM UTC
White Cookie-dough Cush
Rainbow munchies, puff-puff give:
Life's stunted Bonsai.
Jul 17, 2016
Jul 17, 2016 at 12:55 AM UTC
Spread the cush
Give'r a shush
Warn the push
Baby
We're goin' in the ****
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
Short and sweet
Tall and ****
Do I make you blush?
Slow and sleek
Fast and flush
Quick and quiet
Can you feel the rush?
Open and offered
Closed and cush
Locked and loyal
I'll beg you to hush!
Cold and clear
Hot and harsh
Humid and hazy
Wait for the push!
There's the final crush
So full and so plush
Now I give you leave to blush!
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 2:38 PM UTC
Who is a CRUSH?
Someone to brush,
our feelings on..
No need to flush,
our feelings of sadness down..
To make ourselves blush,
on looking at them..
To gush,
your shy on them..
As a cush,
To love them without a fear..
To thrush,
about their looks..
To smush,
yourself to the thought of being apart..
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 1:26 AM UTC
Get on with your Bad self
Go on with your Hustle
Into the bustle
And the gristle
Briskly
Frisky
Grizzly world...
Go 'head find and get that paper
Let your greenback wings unfurl
Telling you who to be
Made
So dapper...
Go Rise above
But still only talking
'Bout
That Unfathomable
Love
Still wrapping
The turkey in a noose
Letting bullets loose
For hundred dollar shoes
Shoes!
Shoo sure 'nuf!
Time to wake up / this close to the Sun
Wax in' & Flossin'
Ill prepared to Rise above
Pretending to exude
The same kind
Of Love...
You
Go'ne now...
You Dawg you - A "g"
N-word y'heard in Everythang
We trust
Go'ne muss it up!
I just must know
(My boo)
Didn't you?
Give the World
This Life
Much Love?
Fire in the sky... Fallen
Too high
At dusk...
gone to fly into the eye
(Cush)
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 1:45 AM UTC
Page one, Page two
same stuff, none new
Black White, White Black
andthenasounddifferentfromthelowbuzzormaybehumoftheairconditioning
Turnhead Turnhead
shoesshoesshoes go clopclopclop boinkboinkpass--
Turn ‘Round, Face Front
Charm Me, Sit Still
Page four, Page five
none new, dead drive
Eight times Six makes
andthenabreezeblowstreesinanalmostmagicalyetinsidesilentway
Dazeout Dazeout
swayswaysway light glitglitglit shimshmerdrows--
Turn ‘Round, Face Front
Charm Me, Sit Still
Read on, Till nine
dead drive, ley-line
What’s Greece, Rome’s what
andTHENasoundofGLORIOUSMAGNIFICENTifthatisevenaword
Ringring Ringring
Screamscreamscream feet bowmbowmbowm cush’seats
(Take a deep breath in, then exhale… smooth… steady)
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 9:26 AM UTC
I was somewhere deep in Kansas,
on a Triumph 69’
When your song came on the jukebox,
and hit me from behind
I was headed for a bad place,
and cared for nothing much
When I heard the song ‘Melissa,’
my heart and soul were struck
Entranced, your lyrics captured me,
like nothing had before
When you sang about ‘The Gypsy,’
I headed for the door
But something made me turn around,
and grab another dime
Ten more times in that diner's booth,
still lost within your rhyme
Now back inside the bus station,
and sleeping on the bench
I scratch your words into the wood,
last dollar gone and spent
My bike outside against the wall,
the kickstand now long gone
And out of gas, my hopes have dashed,
that unrelenting song
Waking up at ten unsettled,
across the street I pushed
The sign said Triumph-BSA,
the owner Mister Cush
He asked, “What’s with your motor,”
I said “nothing—out of gas,
But worse I’m out of money,
can I sell the bike for cash
Would you please just buy my Triumph,
I know it’s old and worn
It got me here through seven states,
runs great both cold and warm”
“I’ll pay three hundred on the spot,
on that can we agree?”
We walked back up inside his shop,
three bills he handed me
I thought about a bus ride home,
my thumb looked more in line
Facing East on old route #50,
my heart in deep decline
The first big rig that came along,
was bound for York Pa.
The driver said “If you like dogs,”
I’ll take you on your way”
In York I caught a fast ride out,
two ‘dodgers’ going North
And got back home with hat in hand,
your song to guide me forth
Two years then passed, I met my wife,
four more and our first child
And we named her ‘Sweet Melissa,’
her dad back from the wilds
Now forty years have come and gone,
my beard and hair both gray
I owe you Gregg, and always will,
your song, her name—that day
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
For Gregg Allmans- ‘Melissa’
Mar 4, 2017
Mar 4, 2017 at 7:44 PM UTC
I was somewhere deep in Kansas,
on a Triumph 69’
When your song came on the jukebox,
and hit me from behind
I was headed for a bad place,
and cared for nothing much
When I heard the song ‘Melissa,’
my heart and soul were struck
Entranced, your lyrics captured me,
like nothing had before
When you sang about ‘The Gypsy,’
I headed for the door
But something made me turn around,
and grab another dime
Ten more times in that diner’s booth,
still lost within your rhyme
Now back inside the bus station,
and sleeping on the bench
I scratch your words into the wood,
last dollar gone and spent
My bike outside against the wall,
the kickstand now long gone
And out of gas, my hopes have dashed,
that unrelenting song
Waking up at ten unsettled,
across the street I pushed
The sign said Triumph-BSA,
the owner Mister Cush
He asked, “What’s with your motor,”
I said “nothing—out of gas,
“But worse I’m out of money,
can I sell the bike for cash
“Would you please just buy my Triumph,
I know it’s old and worn
“It got me here through seven states,
runs great both cold and warm”
“I’ll pay three hundred on the spot,
on that can we agree?”
We walked back up inside his shop,
three bills he handed me
I thought about a bus ride home,
my thumb looked more in line
Facing East on old route #50,
my heart in deep decline
The first big rig that came along,
was bound for York Pa.
The driver said “If you like dogs,
I’ll take you on your way”
In York I caught a fast ride out,
two ‘dodgers’ going North
And got back home with hat in hand,
your song to guide me forth
Two years then passed, I met my wife,
four more and our first child
And we named her ‘Sweet Melissa,’
her dad back from the wilds
Now forty years have come and gone,
my beard and hair both gray
I owe you Gregg, and always will,
your song, her name—that day
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
For Gregg Allman
I Sent This To Gregg Last March,
It's on His Website. We Spent Two
Days Together In Richmond Va. In A Blizzard In 1982
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 10:37 PM UTC