"dewey" poems
I hold this jar of fireflies
Under the moon
Stars
And wind
They float inside and wait
Sweeping across dewey grass
I count them
One by one
On and off they flicker, see?
Twilight I set them free
Don't they look so lovely?
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
choke down pomegranate seeds
we all have needs
you had to eat
and hades put his hand over
your ****** mouth
at night
and in the morning
demeter tried to follow
your footsteps in
the trail you left
through the dewey grass
she sits alone at her hearth
and sings to the bonnet
she had knit you
this will do
this ill will
not swallow you
Sep 29, 2012
Sep 29, 2012 at 9:48 AM UTC
The nighttime never bothered her
It went hand in hand with solitude
When solitude was a friend.
Cold breezes
Dewey feet
Star-filled eyes
The nighttime never bothered her
Until the magic was snuffed out
With one lustful shout.
Frigid winds
Numb feet
Lifeless eyes.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 1:11 AM UTC
Goodbye my beloved
my best friend
my cartoon strip
my spicy blend
my confidant'
my story-teller too
my source of bliss
my beautiful you
Goodbye my soulmate
my aggravation
my dewey tears
my joyous elation
my dark devil
my saving knight
my funky mixed salad
my angel in white
Goodbye my jellybean
my every color
my brilliant star
my only stellar
my addictin high
my curvy wurvy road
my far away companion
my emotional garbage load
Goodbye my truck driver
my ever pessimist
my deep sad poet
my christmas list
my squishy hug
my dictionary
my thesarus too
my harry-carry
Goodbye my healing crystal
my happy thought
my **** dreams
my man I have not
my heaven on eath
my hell here too
my disneyland
my passion that grew
Goodbye my mysterious moon
my brick wall
my favorite song
my bounce to the ball
my craziest joke
my sun in winter
my dirtiest thought
my fantasy reader
Goodbye my phone friend
my tug of war
my fleshy goosepimples
my bird that soars
my bright lightening
my roaring thunder
my white rose
my hopes down under
Goodbye my perfect lover
my satin sheet
my carribean vacation
my favorite treat
my majestic mountain
my green thumb
my cycle rider
my last crumb
Goodbye my first spring rain
my catalyst
my curious dreamer
my lemon twist
my catch of the day
my white cloud
my emotional abyss
my cake upside down
Goodbye my only you
my hopeless dream
my love of loves
my everything
Nov 15, 2009
Nov 15, 2009 at 5:26 AM UTC
I see you over the tops of uneven books.
I see your golden brown hair,
as wild as the tall tundra grasses.
I see you drop the musty book,
onto the pale grey carpet.
And you are unaware, of my peering eyes,
sneaking glaces from under my Algebra book.
And that the numbers are carved in my mind,
as if ingrained onto the bark of a dying evergreen.
PS700-PS3499 you are searching for great American poets,
as your hands glide over the worn leather covers.
Leaves of Grass, Sorrows Built a Bridge, Works of Poe.
As you glance at the Dewey Decimal Numbers,
Numbers flourish in my mind.
The probability that you would like me,
Numbers are more cohesive than the words,
that I have written to you in the margins.
In the distance I see you surrounded by your books,
deeply focused-serene,
I too am a poet,
I am a poet of logic.
Fixating on the truth showed by facts.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 4:07 PM UTC
From plane to plane, and none by none
The circle trails towards all but one,
For seeing Deaths could not prevail
The night's cool mist and Dewey Hail.
To the Gods that soar with thunder,
Straight edge wing, we'll bring asunder-
Fragments: aluminum and iron-
With mossy cellars rusting pyres.
Daybreak screams, alike my notebook,
With the hopes: Eternal Outlook,
And smoke-emitting plants and cars,
And night-birthgiving lights and bars,
All set dim, fluorescence unseen.
But in broad day? Our shame will scream.
Further! Muster, lavished Brother
In Greed, who forces towards plunder
Mine and mine companion's others
Times, sepulchers, decent gestures.
To learn to hate the natural shrub
Is same to love the rust we rub
From decay of Louis' Arc,
Death, humanity soon embarks.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 10:54 AM UTC
A lavender sky unfurls before me
its plumes shifting
imperceptibly
while the sunrise
pends at my back.
The delicate white wings
flutter just above the dewey grass revealing
silently
the city of fairy moths
welcoming today.
The myths of me and mine
echo quietly
with the rhythm
of my hollow heart
as the bruised horizon
brightens blue.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 1:54 PM UTC
Dewey Dell Bundren
Had her baby
And ran off to college
Worked single-mother hours
To keep her ****** apartment
And never missed a class
She married the first theology professor she could find
The kind
With the horn rimmed glasses
Drinking imported scotch
Discussing literature around the fire at night
She got a degree
At Northeastern
High honors in history
She never knew all those books were about her
And the people she came from
The places
Had their stories told
In the pages
Shaped everything she had ever known
She was grateful
For her history
And once a year made the trip
Back to Jefferson
Mississippi
Put flowers on her mother's grave
Still tasting
the bananas
Hearing herself saying
"Hadn't you ruther"
Still hearing Jewel
Cursing softly
******* you, ******* you"
"You sweet sonofabitch"
Still seeing the mules
Swollen
Floating
Bellies up
Past Cash and the coffin
Leg broken
In that biblical spring flood
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 1:00 PM UTC
were you a 50's
godchild in the city,
wing-tipped feet
running the streets
all week, ketchin hell...
then you gots that check
come friday
and needed a taste of heaven...
you and the dog pound
swung mid-town
to broadway & 47th
after 9,
and joined the line spilling
from the royal roost round 48th...
by 10, the joint was jammed
with gents well-coifed,
matching honeys, and the sounds
of money being made:
chime of silverware ~ cling,
and the cash register's ~ swish cha-ching,
and the chatter of guests,
servers and bartenders
doing their thing ~ wah da bing
then the lights dimmed
leaving a semi-dark haze
of gray smoke swirling
over the crowd,
and mc symphony sid
grabbed the mike:
*"...welcome to the friday nite jam session
at the metropolitan bopera house
ladies and gentlemen...."*
hysterical hoots and applause
followed
as the circular spotlight paused
center stage,
unveiling:
~ the miles davis nonet ~
featuring,
max on drums,
john on keys,
gerry and lee on sax
and a genius
on trumpet
'twas the birth of cool
and soon the rhapsody
of modern jazz
waxed hypnotic,
casting a spell
over god's children
when budo chased lady bird
down allen's alley,
spittin'...
riffin'....
boppin'...,
poppin'.....
superfluidity
like acid through
varicosed veins
the earth stood still
it seemed
for 4 thrilling hours
as heaven rained a rifftide
onto the lucky crowd...
and dewey's sublime trumpet
exorcised the devil
from the week that was...
~ P (Pablo)
(7/24/2013)
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 5:13 PM UTC
I sent a message out to sea, through
wasted words it begs for your return.
If the nautical clamor delivers it to you,
we will be reunited soon.
For weeks I wandered this lonely harbor
sunset after sunset and hoped that the coastal breeze
wouldn't bring with it your scent.
I saw your face in my dreams, and
that was almost too much...
I sent out a message in a bottle,
if it should reach your salted hideout, you'll soon
find that your vessel is calling my soul to your sea...
Sunrise after sunrise I wander this dewey harbor
and search the docked ships for something familiar.
And at night I'll sit out on the jetties, my eyes follow the
guiding light out to sea and I'll think of you,
and wish that when the coastal breeze blows east,
you will accompany it back to me.
So I wrote a message, addressed to my love out at sea,
telling of my desires to join you.
I'll leave this port behind and
the sea will be our home.
I sent out the message in a corked bottle,
and hoped the waves will carry it your direction,
and that you'll allow my love to be your beacon
through the rough seas and guide you to shore.
And night after night, I will sit and await
the arrival of my craved mariner.
Jul 12, 2011
Jul 12, 2011 at 7:08 AM UTC
Autism prays for...
Chuck E. Cheese
Maya and Miguel
Huey, Dewey, and Louie
Mom and Dad
Pizza rolls
Subway sandwiches
Grannie
Greeney phantom
dogs,
the Brady Bunch
His greatness
His provision
and comedy cartoons
to watch all day.
Amen
May 31, 2014
May 31, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
Frail demeanor of library index cards
packed with Dewey’s decimals
stared upon so many times
some of you stigmatized with graffiti
“Read This” and “Don’t Read This”
as if the vandal knows
I wish to ****** each one of you
good precise direction you give
care in punctilious hand print
of maimed athenaeum tenders
all with long stretched noses
bridging reading spectacles
eyeing out naughty gigglers
stigmatized themselves by
rolled up quaffs
with pushed in pencils
or retractable ballpoint pens
writing implements held so delicately
while you were ascribed
O index cards of my shielded youth
how you protected me, informed me
Guided me on treasure hunts
where my imaginings still take me
away, in isles of knowledge
information coded in numbers and letters
Yours is the power
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 8:21 AM UTC
Seven born to a home in the hills
Lost in the waste that time kills
Each segregated to a different day
Or so at least some say
Anthony couldn’t help but fall
Built too tall
As he hit his head upon a door
Running adjacent to the floor
Young Mr. Cooper took form
And quickly ran to his scholarly dorm
On the way he transgressed to
A fellow who
Used to dwell in the same domicile
Until he felt the environment was too vile
Fled the scene in the matter of a moment
Not knowing there wasn’t an opponent.
Reluctant to turn around
With no answer found
Another division began to develop
One, which was quick to envelope
Everything the boy thought
And freedom sought
The new guy Stephan sold the car
Got a job at a bar
Cleaning up there every morning
While other livers were still in mourning
He had to remove the lingering drunks
Still caught up in their mid life flunks
One always takes a swing
Ben Gunn wakes up feeling the sting
In panic he flees
Watching passing tress
Tracing the trail of something known
The place he called home.
Once in sight
This personality takes flight
Out steps Dewey Dell,
Who looks like a glimpse of hell
Takes a nap to restore
His body, which felt quite poor
He had expected to awaken
The boy was mistaken
Waking up on the cliff
Was a boy named Winston Smith
A devotee to a righteous cause
He just didn’t know what it was
Spent his days inside a pew
Surrounded by slim to few
As answers ceaselessly taunt
Halls made to haunt
Without hope he grew less attached
And quickly became Anthony Patch.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 8:45 PM UTC
Do you ever walk outside in the morning,
When the sun has only been up for an hour,
And you walk through the grass,
For whatever reason,
And as soon as the dewey grass touches your foot
You jump back onto the pavement,
Because you weren't ready for the chill,
Or you don't want your shoes getting wet?
Because I do the same thing,
But I wish that I didn't.
I wish that instead of jumping to the pavement,
I kicked my shoes off and lay down,
Soaking in as much dew from the grass as possible,
Enjoying the smell of nature in the morning,
Basking in the presence of the world,
Connecting to the Earth.
But instead, I hop to the pavement
Just like the rest of you.
Sep 15, 2015
Sep 15, 2015 at 9:33 PM UTC
Well, daylight passed
and the dark surrounds
And I was feelin' like a child
when I disappeared down
into the rabbit’s hole
who will go here unnamed
I was looking for something peculiar
A tea party for the verifiably insane
I’ll begin at the beginning
Dreaming as the days go by
and when the world comes to an end
In Wonderland I lie
In Wonderland I lie
………...........................
On that dewey may morning
as I was watching roses painted red
The Queen of Hearts yelled
with force, off with their heads
Well if all is fair in love and war
then I don't know what we are fighting for
So, I’ll begin at the beginning
Dreaming as the days go by
and when the world comes to an end
In Wonderland I lie
In Wonderland I lie
Nighttime passes
and the lightness shines
unapologetically slow
held prisoner by the sands of time
I came out the rabbit hole
to a world left unchanged
I was looking for something familiar
a fallacy the same
Well if all is fair in love and war
then I don't know what we are fighting for
So, I’ll begin at the beginning
Dreaming as the days go by
and when the world comes to an end
In Wonderland I lie
In Wonderland I lie
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 6:14 PM UTC
The Tenderness
My hand slow motion falls, with the soft of the gentlest rain,
sensed,
but not disturbing, nay reassuring,
by the quality of the sensation, rolling caresses over
the hillocks of her body, outlined beneath the
Sea of Coverlets
My arm rotates and reverses, back forth, up down,
as if it were a well oiled engine, the hand strokes with
a smooth four cylinder stroke, gentle coating the panorama of
her body on the surface of our Planet-of-the-Bed.
The woman does not stir, meaning the dewey doux
intensity of my touch, there sufficient to please but
not disturb, is a perfect ten, for I intuit, that she attends
to my comforting attentions, with pleasure
by the
absence of objection.
This will not be the first poem I have written on this day,
but though not premiered, the experience is newly born
with each escapade of tenderness delivered, and steel hard
iron of ironies, it please. me as much if not more, for fully
awake and alert, am receiving by the giving and though
she stirs not, my heart does, for the electrical pulses of my
soothing her, soothe me in much the same way.
This is how I make love in the morning.
This is why this Poems is well titled and entitled as
“The Tenderness”
Jul 25, 2023
Jul 25, 2023 at 6:54 AM UTC
I smoked a pack while we unraveled white and black.
Wrapped in your bare sheets I slept best.
Dewey skin in the morning light,
candy tongue
tulip two lips.
Alarm goes off you ignore it.
I loved messing your hair up.
You look better that way.
I danced around naked on the pedestal you plopped me on
as I let you sketch me.
You scolded to stand still and slapped my *** when I didn't listen,
but you looked so cool holding your paintbrush in your teeth,
studying my figure,
peeking around the easel with your big eyes and crooked smile.
I always left with stains on my hands and your jacket
on my shoulders with a new Camel in the pocket.
Your hand slid down my jeans and I bit your lip.
I could have finished you.
You were so mean to me constantly,
and I curiously indulged in your temptations.
Your ecstasy whispers in my ear.
But there's something special about being loved
by someone who hates everyone.
You thought I was interesting.
Thought I was pure in my mini skirt, but tough
because I never cried when you were yelling.
I just yelled back.
Thought I was brave and wildly adventurous,
standing on edges and throwing things your way.
Even I thought it would be different this time.
But I should've probably listened
to you when you used to tell me not to get my hopes up.
That way I wouldn't be here,
praying, which I never do
that you didn't mean it and you didn't want me to ever have
to know
why you didn't come home.
You would rather
it be expected than me be disappointed
when it's the morning after and you're lying there restless
while you're passed out in the back of a van,
shoes off,
shirt hanging off your back,
with cuts from cans on your hands.
*** doesn't make a sound.
It's the loudest way to shut someone up.
It's the silence that cures.
It's the cork stop in a bottle,
but it will glimmer when you spin it upside down.
I'd love to smash it.
I came in that afternoon and burned the edges of your drawings with my lighter,
smeared the charcoal on all your new pages,
and stamped my boot until all your brushes were in half.
I picked up your jacket that I sewn a special patch in
with my initials,
and I hit snooze when your alarm went off.
You didn't move.
I watched the dewy skin of your back rise
and fall as you were breathing,
sheets ruffled,
pillows on the floor,
empty side next to yours,
all alone.
I decided you look better that way.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 12:36 AM UTC
What happened,
to all the missed moments we had put in a box,
tossed away.
Dewey Decimaled
out like library index cards,
I always thought we'd be able find them again.
I never thought that before we'd go searching,
that building would be burned down by you.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
Dewey and Brisk…
Sweet nothingness-
Vast and real
You entice me.
Once life surrounds
A soul-
And starts to sing
A sweet melody,
The one of dawn.
Under violet light,
Restless and sleepless-
Signs of renewal.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC
I vowed to say nothing
but know this: I love you. I love you more than waking up at 5 AM after a night of camping, the smell of dewey cold conquistadoring my blunt and modern senses. I love you more than the girl who haunted my every waking moment for months after the solvent collapse. I love you more than when someone says, ‘you’re the most beautiful person I know.’ I love you more than the taste of freshly ground arabica bean on a cold winter morning, watching the snow flit past the window like little paratrooper angels here to spread the word of pristine silence. I love you more than nights spent watching the stars with a morning empty of obligation. I love you more than my crack addiction to knowledge. And you know who you are.
And when I write vaguely of someone I love
I hope you remember
It’s you, you beautiful freak of my life.
It’s you, it’s you, it will always
be you.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 9:33 PM UTC
There is no longer any excuse.
In fact, there hasn’t been for a
very long time.
We have seen bloodshed
on soil around the world.
Over one million lives,
in the name of
freedom,
democracy,
capitalism,
& I can’t quite recall the others
at the moment.
We have connected
through time and space.
We heard and we watched
Bell & Lindbergh
Ford & Armstrong
Gates & Jobs
transform the very fabric of our realities,
uncovering expanding realms
of possibility.
We have healed and protected
our fragile bodies.
Decades ago,
Mr. Salk became part of evening
prayers.
We began having less babies,
and we marveled for 112 days
at the beating of the first
artificial heart.
Wondering or not
whether new bionic inclinations
had affected our humanity.
We have evolved
collective creeds
through unexpected revolutionaries
and in spite of dragging feet.
While AFL & CIO
became household names,
Ms. Anthony and Dr. King
made us cry
and shake
and question
our very foundations.
And yet,
after 165 years of change,
I say, with a heavy heart,
and millions of people,
and billions of dollars,
and a dream,
that the 1850’s schoolhouse
has been only
feebly & perfunctorily
remodeled.
From their graves,
Mr. Mann & Mr. Dewey ask,
“What will it take?”
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 3:01 PM UTC
I've never collected trading cards
Though I once collected stamps
Until one day
The catalogue stopped
Sending them
I never followed the
Dewey Decimal System
In any place other than
The library
Where I spent my
Childhood days
Falsely convinced that the building
Was at least a block
Big
I've never been patient
For anything but a doctor
Though I once waited
Ten minutes
For the bus
And only got up to pace
Twice
But with her, I find myself
Collecting memories
Of snapshots I've taken
In my mind
Of her fingers
Tracing my face
And holding my hand
Gently
Because I'm never sure
How confident I should be
When holding her hand
Of her lips
As she talks
About things that
Excite her
And I watch them
Hearing her excitement
And wanting to kiss her
Of her teeth
As they are revealed
When she smiles
When she speaks
And as they bite me
I want to make her smile
When the world goes
Boom
Of her eyes
So beautiful
Framed by glasses
Or frameless
And looking
Up, around, at me
Displaying her emotions
And other
Evasive thoughts
And I can't help wondering
What runs through her mind
But it could be
The same that runs through mine:
Unfiltered bliss
Of her hair
The way it tangles so
Easily
The way it reflects
Her and matches her
And how the first time
We went bowling
I used it as a blindfold
So she would be surprised
When I
Kissed her
But with her, I find myself organizing
These memories
These thoughts
This unbridled energy
That is the happiness
She brings
The organization reminds me
Of a library
Or the TARDIS
Because in here with the memories
It seems bigger
And I might be a madman
"But it just may be a lunatic
You're looking for"
But with her, I find myself patient
I can wait
Steeping in happiness
Like oolong in a clay ***
Getting stronger and stronger
The longer away I am
I can grab my
Bag of memory
And every moment with her
Builds my supply
Like nothing could get me down
Not now
Not for the predicted future
And sure Chaos
Is hard to predict
But **** patterns, I'm making a beeline
For her
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 1:01 PM UTC
I got this idea I'd write you a poem,
One you could read sitting safely at home,
Or keep with you, out and about while you roam.
Some kind of impassioned ballad,
Celebrating all the things I held sacred,
A mirror to illuminate this sky that I’ve painted.
So I laced up my heart, and I shrugged on my soul,
I popped open my noggin, and I went for a stroll,
Right down Memory Lane, and left at the Rabbit Hole.
I kept on 'til I hit a velvet rope with posts of brass,
But I musta gotten too close to the bulletproof glass,
'Cause a big grumpy guard threw me out on my...
I realized, still rolling, it's all one massive museum,
Motionless memories mummified so I can keep 'em,
Lined up and locked away, as if they could be stolen.
Arduously ordered—organized for instant access,
A mental palace fit to make Sherlock get jealous,
That Dewey Decimal dude's got nothin' on this.
The slides replay every minute on the minute,
Time-compressed, Tetrised-in, so each moment fits,
Laser light shows engraving insignias inside my eyelids.
Tear-rusty gears grinding waterlogged cogs in reverse,
This melancholy machine, made to reflect you in verse,
Portrays a planetarium, perpetually projecting my universe.
Apr 20, 2021
Apr 20, 2021 at 5:43 AM UTC