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I was doing a little jig down the sidewalk
When all of a sudden
This red, bulbous, obstruction pounced into my field of view
I said, "Whoa, hotshot, cool down"

He/she/it did not reply
"I'm talking to you kiddo
Can you please communicate with me?"
It just sat there staring at me. Why?

You see, hydrants can be little stinkers sometimes
They'll talk your earlobe off one time
Other times they act like a sack of taters
They're just little drama queens

"Meow meow" said the hydrant
I take a look over yonder, than ask the **** target,
"Are you talking to me sir?"
"Meow," it said "I'm not sure I like your tone"

"You must be some sort of mind type hacker dealio
Cracking into my cerebellum, what are you doing in there?
Seriously man! Come on!
You must be going through emotional trauma. PTSD I don't know."

"Calm down buco, let's talk about this
Over a bucket of churned goat milk, I love that stuff.
How's Shirley? I hear she took up crocheting
I respect that"

"Grr, graa, paa?
Me oh my, this reminds me of pick up sticks all over again
Hey look at this man,
If you walk without rhythm, than you won't attract the worm."
I wrote this in a home for the elderly
Butch Decatoria Jan 2016
"Seriously? --you can join a club for that..."

There's a organization / a group / someone
created and dubbed
"Bureau" ...
--for poets, who's art is poetry...
who's passions flow within the blood
the written, the spoken, the ephemeral
"Word"
            the beautiful disasters, the contradictions
which is our providence:
                      humanity aside/besides/
inside Life...
Now all the times awaken - the wide asleep,
still behind the blindly
following / believing
                    their sweet nothings ...
The Bureau makes them official
the authority on Blah blah blah...

(And now the poem. A piece created by-- FishSparrow DreamKing...)


ON POETRY / ABOUT LOVE--YOU



mad-haired alchemist
having mixed two tinctures
wrongly
             such liquids
exploding
whilst hypothesized
unremarkable through the myopia
of every day lies
faces intimate with the thickest book
make out session
with the obtuse / research
a scientific version on finding a clue
the alchemy of madness
       telling who to be / how to be whom
or what to feel when in or out of moods

when poetry is life,
then it is life and love of it that
is absolute truth
the science of awakenings and you...
and the rest of you too.

........

A bureau, hmph
an organization dismissing the muses
and the breath
that we devour

a study on the facets
and romances
with life
              written art works
               spoken odysseys

magnanimous numbness of verbs

magic of lustrous *******
of star crossed
tempests
          evermore a ravenous
soul
Poetry

need not secret societies
or bureaus ...
nor research to categorize or label
with crisis without identity
****** or existential ...
"To be or not to be?" -- the answer is To Be, always to be... just because life is beautiful and awfully wonderful


The heart is only
a lonely hunter
if love were not its prey

to feel free
and truly alive
is the honest purpose

of the written
and the spoken

of poetry
of art  
of happiness

words
dancing the night away
in sonnet streets


who do we endeavor to example

when it is our own pen that must bleed
the maddening truths
that needs combustion
the foreplay of time / life whispering in italics
beautifully
breaking down

laughter's tintinnabulations
all the world
all the life        
            our Oyster...

But seriously tho'
what the dealio...?

when I want to hear
a fearless something
soaked
in the sensual
and is real

so good
the words       bleed    rain
beaus / utter not
those words not words but
but make our kiss
immortal
electric
             the heart's inner watercolor -murals
from the emotions the art  the dreams
intermingling

touching prose of roses
its scent a ghost
thick in the recollection
of farewells

the experiences we parallel
all in literature's Sistine gusto ...
somehow

communication
erected from **** tube boxes
and artifice waves of wide webs

the slang   jive  
secret languages whined
signs and pics
                      depicts / inflicts these times

slays the joy
and lovely words
of tiding  
of wise sayings      you say
with Monet expressions

" you're a lovely day "

ignite me
         (the) Beloved / the songs
the sun
a face of love
a glow


Do you feel me?

* lub dub   lub dub  lub dub*



haiku sonnet odyssey
poetry
that is Life...
                         Today's lesson - (seriously)
                         go learn to fly
                                                  a kite.
for:  the Bureau for Poetic Research... hmm..
Butch Decatoria Jan 2016
The severity of the seriously
scientific professoring of poetic licenses

severing limbs

and one's sanity to turn

into a lackluster one dimensional

word

for word

matter of fact,    i.e. Flat.




Now there is research and refined references

like mad-haired alchemists

having mixed two tinctures

wrongly

             such liquids

exploding

whilst hypothesized

unremarkable through their myopia

faces intimate with the thickest book

make out session

with the obtuse...




A bureau, hmph

an organization dismissing the muses

and the breath

that we devour




a study on the facets

and romance

with life

              written art works

            spoken odysseys

magnanimous numbness of verb




magic of lustrous *******

of star crossed

tempests

evermore a ravenous

soul




Poetry needs no bureau




The heart is only

a lonely hunter

if love were not its prey




to feel free

and truly alive

is the honest purpose

of the written and spoken

word

of poetry

of art     of happiness

dancing the night away

in sonnet streets




who do we endeavor to example

when it is our own pen that must bleed

the awful truths

that needs combustion

the foreplay of time / life whispering in italics

beautifully

breaking down




laughter's tintinnabulations

all the world

all the life        

            our Oyster...




But seriously tho'

what the dealio...?




when I want to hear

a fearless something

soaked

and sensual

and real




so good

the words       bleed    rain

beaus

utter not

the words not words but




electricity

inner watercolors murals

from the emotions

this art dreams

intermingling

touching prose of roses

its scent a ghost

thick in the recollection

of farewells




the experiences we parallel

all in literary gusto




somehow

communication

erected from **** tube boxes

and artifice waves of wide webs




the slang   jive  

secret languages whined

signs and pics

depicts inflicts these times

slays the joy




and lovely words

of tiding    of wise sayings

you say

with Monet expressions




your a lovely day

ignite me

         the Beloved / the songs

the sun

a face of love

a glow




Do you feel me?

lub dub     lub dub




the haiku sonnet odyssey

poetry

that is Life...







Today's lesson -

(seriously)

go learn to fly




a kite.
Qualyxian Quest Jul 2020
Aurelio on Franklin Street
Lord of the Rings liminality

George Will in the Washington Post
Obsessed with poor criminality

George Will is a racist
And he doesn't believe in God

I'm becoming an outer spacist
And my momma called me Todd
who is black jesus used as disguise to please us
so please just
trust sit back and led the bust nothin' but winded
dust no trust
in self gotta guard my wealth my stealth alone could
wake up dry bones
in the cemetery been buried since i came out the
world
a lil baby boy no joy to follow my heart set myself
apart
from the lynchin' systems still benchin' my thoughts
was brought
by the vote **** a vote id rather let the gunsmoke
matt dillion
feelin' up my adrenaline knockin' middle men
pains of sins
see devils swimmin' in the bottles of gin will the lord
let me in?
im dwellin' ain't no tellin' us whats next in the chapter
missed the rapture
gathering up my peeps in the ghost fleets chariots sweeps
fire consumed
as the whirlwinds bloom over my teary eyes cries of the
innocence
can't find repentance broke from the material residence
hesitance
cuz of the distance society pushed me close to the fences
pinches
my very nerves go to the herbs to calm nerves
almost swerve
**** im switchin' lanes on the highway of death lookin'
to my left
right pass i see the demons smugged in the cash
bank roll stash
left me with a spiritual **** hard to clash against
goodness
livin' out wickedness sick of this cold world they said
was bliss
im feelin' hopeless most played by the dopest chemicals
its a miracle
if you feelin' these blues diggin' in yo brain harder than
the news
no clues left for the clueless suckas ain't peepin' this
game strange
it's time to rerrange thangs back to days swang im
speakin' ellington
scientist like washingtons black kingdoms along with queens
statued stadiums
aim at 'em unsolved conundrums don't follow the strings
that humb
though heavens harp is sharp still tryna pierce light through
the dark
what larks the deepest intincts i creep at a snail pace guardin'
my race
whats the dealio they **** me cuz i rap real in the studio feel
me though
through this **** i blow enters ya mental to another astral
plane insane
cuz i see the pistols that flame from another hand to another
hand
my brothers understand but down the cannons up the
mannin'
like peyton breakin' from the occults strikes like lightening
volts
display of musical notes brain feelin' the quotes from the lyrics
i wrote
whats next in this world? feelin' lonely breakin' from frail
leisures
preparin' for black jesus...ahhh hail
justice always fail tryna escape heaven through hell where my shell
dwell
wonderin' like Enoch with an empty block lookin' for stocks moments
of shock
blazin' out of paragraphs flocks holdin' up glocks mentals suddenly
lock
ghetto rock foldin' to a golden *** smokestacks let the spirits out
through ashes
clogged the minds of the masses glasses put on so i can see through
the madness
nothin' but sadness journeyed with me on this never ending
story ignore me
all you want but the spirits will only come back to hunt no wicked
stunts
advoid the medias pump cuz they quick dump leave ya arched like
a ****
camels i be a verbal animal smooth lyrical criminal defines definiton
of a spine
see me in the lime light shinin' bright holdin' my might guns
is held tight
givin' grave sites delight waitin' for the final fight arms tight
signin' rights
away every since the nations caught america's ak destined for
doomsday
like it's black tuesday see the worlds crumblin' rich folks is still
humblin'
entities they can't touch nor see but deep down praise the black
community
no immunity left in blood brothers who got drugged through the
mud of a grudge
we holdin' slugs kin to the realist thugs stompin' in my old
skool lugz
linked up with past fillers heart of a killer wrappin'
the thriller
I decided I am going to be wonderful
whenever I can
and that what people say or project on me is their dealio

— The End —