"drawled" poems
walking through the big flea market
off of highway 19 north of Tampa
looking for whatever and something
curious and kitsch or campy
merchants selling in the parking lot
used blenders and old cameras
burnt out or faulty devices
DVD cases and game cartridges
old rednecks shout out opinions
in a cacophony of drawled signifiers
representing visions of despotic rulers
reigning a tyranny of taxes and decline
old glass containers and windshields shine
scattering high afternoon sunlight in the Sunday sky
sitting and resting used and content waiting
waiting for the wear and reduction of time
the market continues into indoor aisles
criss-crossing within a ramshackle structure
plywood walls supporting sheet metal roofing
an aroma of every greasy food wafting into one
people wrapped in worn fashions
whites in Ts and denim
muslim women in headscarves
a black deputy strapped down in uniform
the deputy enforces commerce laws
around the alternative marketplace
a variety of commodities are still available
bongs and e-cigs and incense and **** ****
parakeets cry out down one aisle
a stack of blue aquariums drone a bubbling hum
the stench of cedar and rat **** and hamsters
reptiles basking in the arid glow of heat lamps
all is right in America’s America
the flea market is the floorboard of that promise
an opportunity for anyone to begin
or start again and over and over
a liberal conservatism can be guarded well
with rifles or tazers at bargain rates
a conservative liberalism is applied openly
in the atmosphere of everyone for anything and everything
the dream of the flea market
a black market and a carnival
all of America’s cheap art on display
its people swirled into one
equal in their struggles and desires
reaching for resources and derivatives
buying low and selling higher
stealing and selling short
walking through the big flea market
on a hot and cloudless Sunday afternoon
looking for whatever or something
it’s a fun thing to do
originally posted to my blog https://sublimeobscenities.wordpress.com on 4/27/2014
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 1:17 AM UTC
Look at her
Greenfield said
he was referring
to Miss Money
a girl who sat
two desks in front
hair light brown
drawn into a woven plait
at the back
bet she’s
got **** on her
he said
you glanced over
your finger turning
the page
of the history book
some text
on the Tudors
some boring ****
who had six wives
or so you’d read
the girl was engrossed
in writing
hand gripping a pen
head slightly down
I wouldn’t know
you said
bet she has
Greenfield uttered
the history teacher
had his back
to the class
fingers with chalk
scribbling
on the board
you noticed
the girl’s neck
between blouse collar
and light brown hair
my cousin’s got big *******
he said
saw them
when she was dressing
one morning
while straying
at her house
getting ready
for a wedding
he drawled on
you followed the text
with your finger
the second wife
had her head
chopped off
poor *****
you thought
Miss Money turned
her profile captured
ear
eye maybe brown
then turned
back again
sunlight
from window’s glass
blessed her head
but Greenfield talked
of her figure
and waistline
instead
making motions
with his hands
in the air in front
history
was lost on him
Miss Money
moved him more
at least
some aspects did
not the finer things maybe
but he kind of
wrote and made
his own
dull history.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
You caught my eye but once,
You caught me eye but twice,
Then popped them in a cocktail glass,
And topped it up with ice.
Vermouth you added first,
And then a shot of gin,
A squeeze of lime, a dash of tea,
With salt around the rim.
‘One martini coming up!’ you drawled,
You slid it down the bar,
And so returned my eyes to me,
Like olives from a jar.
To those who swear that love is blind,
You've surely never been,
The subject of a stolen glance,
From a waitress called Nadine.
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 6:25 PM UTC
You caught my eye but once,
You caught me eye but twice,
Then popped them in a cocktail glass,
And topped it up with ice.
Vermouth you added first,
And then a shot of gin,
A squeeze of lime, a dash of tea,
With salt around the rim.
_‘One martini coming up!’_ you drawled,
You slid it down the bar,
And so returned my eyes to me,
Like olives from a jar.
To those who swear that love is blind,
You've surely never been,
The subject of a stolen glance,
From a barmaid named Nadine.
Apr 7, 2020
Apr 7, 2020 at 6:31 PM UTC
Sweet, sweet lies dropped into my ear,
Whispered slowly, so slowly, drawled out
In that voice of yours.
You swore, so heart-breakingly sure, that you'd
Never go back to her. You promised you
wouldn't and you'd be thrice ******
Before you did. I looked into your shining eyes
And I let myself believe.
You told me you wouldn't go back to her,
Her vapid smiles, how she enjoyed hurting you,
Like you enjoyed hurting me.
You said I wouldn't find you regretting that you
Left her. You said you'd rather **** yourself.
One fine day, she appeared on the doorstep
She was everything I thought she'd be-
Beautiful, graceful, deadly.
You didn't stand a chance.
She beckoned and you ran back to her,
Ready to be her pack horse again.
Something told me that I'd be seeing you again
Seeing you when you repeated it all over again.
Aug 6, 2012
Aug 6, 2012 at 7:28 AM UTC
There is a certain type
that I am apt to like,
a Galliano smirk, it's true,
won't make me take a hike.
A bourbon habit, one raised brow
a slow-drawled "Well, hello" -
call me a sucker, I don't care,
I admire a brogue-shod fellow.
Wrap him up in hairy tweed
mixed with well-packed denim,
the physicality of Welles
and literaryness of Heming (way).
Politics were not a factor,
or nationality,
he engaged my interest
with his brand of flattery.
Challenging in points of view
debating through small hours,
I'd much rather conversation
than all the world of flowers.
For I've no need of roses
to get my fix of blush.
His whispers in a crowded room
will rise me to a flush.
This man of perfect manners,
I'm as Venus when I stand
with my jazzophile Jupiter,
conjuncted, hand-in-hand.
Shooting stars if wished upon
may bring one single wish.
Thus I knew, the day I met him,
I had found my bliss.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 7:00 PM UTC
you are tearing my life apart like a part was missing.
as if I never had a heart.
I was only so smart till my life darted and twisted.
I was once a piece of art
when I didn't need that assistance.
and as it goes,
life tightfisted and listed what a suicide could be.
it drawled out the name and I had saw that it was me,
and I was on my hands and knees yelling and begging that it please not me.
"NOT ME PLEASE!"
that's when my life was gone and I could no longer see.
sometimes that's just how cold blooded life can be and to me I wont wake up tomorrow to see what another day could bring.
'cause I've had it with life and all these insecurities.
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 9:51 PM UTC
Mr Dodd paid a visit
to the man in the tree;
he asked the man to tell
of the sights he could see.
The squat little man—
who spent his life behind leaves—
shook a bough by Mr Dodd and said
“You would never believe.”
“But why would you live alone in that tree?”
asked old Dodd, and he began to climb a branch.
But the man in the tree lazily
warned Dodd to stand
Where he stood—
from a high-up limb, the man’s voice
wandered down to Dodd’s ears.
“There is a road that slices
Through miles of fields,
herds of cows and small houses,
and leads to a hulking metal city
where lines of gloomy people trickle out.”
Back in his cottage, Mr Dodd dreamt
of the road and the fields and the cows;
but the city unsettled his sleep,
and he woke at last knowing how
Little he knew.
Then Dodd made breakfast for the millionth time:
a buttery bun and some cornflower tea—
he couldn’t smile at the noise of the kids in the town.
He went through the day in his usual way:
he tapped on his xylophone,
he painted his thousandth self-portrait,
he read from his book in a slow monotone.
After lunch he liked to sit in his garden
and smoke from his chestnut pipe
with the eight-inch hickory handle
and the green green herbs inside.
The sunlight pressed the smoky stink
into the weave of Dodd’s vest
When Gilbert—Dodd’s groundskeep—appeared,
seeming so distressed.
“Your sunflowers’ stems have all broke!” breathed Gil;
“I hit them with the mower—”
Mr Dodd saw the sunless stems
and nervous Gilbert cowered.
But Dodd looked Gil straight in the eye
and asked him a question instead:
“Have you ever seen the city, old Gil?”
“I only heard tell,” the relieved Gil said,
“But what I’ve heard is that they that go
can’t come back alive.”
Dodd sent Gil home, who leaving said:
“I also mowed over a gopher; I think he might have died.”
The next day, Dodd went back
to the man in the tree.
“Hello again, Dodd” drawled the voice from the leaves.
“I’m leaving today for the city,”
Spoke Dodd towards the voice.
“But how much nicer it might be to stay
with me in my tree; you could see everything—
all here for you on display.”
No, Mr Dodd thought better of it—
he threw his pack over his shoulder,
nervous of what's new and unknown
and the thought that his life here was over.
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 12:20 PM UTC
Rest in Country
We'd just lobbed into Vungers from the Dat on R & C,
Innocently strolling was **** Knight and me,
Across the Flags to the Some-Such Bar wherein the girls drank 'tea'.
And I can still see Max beside me striding to the Some-Such Bar,
With the baby-sans about him going just that bit too far,
With their practiced tugs and pleadings going just that bit too far.
And of course among the baby-sans the cowboys moved in too,
Which didn't worry me too much my cash was in my shoe,
But Max was Max and in those days, not like me and you.
‘Watch your wallet, mate,’ says I, ‘in case it comes to harm.’
‘No fear of that’ says mighty Max with patriotic charm,
Then he tucked a cowboy baby-san beneath one brawny arm.
Well! 'You silly ****** put him down’ but Max went like a rocket;
'I'm off to find the White Mice 'cos this bastard's picked me pocket.’
And I groaned aloud because I knew that me and him would cop it.
Sure enough, there gathered round an angry, shouting throng,
In Asia you don't maltreat kids, no matter right or wrong;
Believe you me our lives that day depended on that throng.
And I got hit with an iron bar (the hat protected my head),
Whilst Max had a pistol ****** into his belly and really should be dead,
And across the Flags M.P's I saw, turned white in craven dread.
Australians too, those coppers but no good to Max and me;
The gutless ******** turned about just so they might not see
The riot raging fiercely now about my mate and me.
I'd say forty upright citizens we met that Vung Tau day.
Policemen, soldiers, rascals, all with us two in affray;
Those Aussie ****** save our lives? They'd turned themselves away.
Thank Christ the mob stayed leaderless, our riot's end surprise;
And the cowardly action of those two? 'twas blessing in disguise,
For a Yankee Jeep barged through the mob and drawled 'in here, you guys'.
It barged back out then drove full speed to the end of R&C
Where the Major spoke severely to **** Knight and me.
While quietly back at the Some-Such Bar the girls sat drinking tea.
Saved
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 10:08 PM UTC
Let’s just kiss and make something up.
It’s plain that I’m not sleeping enough
as a practiced insomniac you know,
and make coffee for us in the morning.
Last night we fell over laughing,
exhaling smoke I drawled,
“Everything in this kitchen it sticky”
everything.
For five minutes I think we laughed.
I made brownies.
You held me around the waist,
and spoke with your eyes.
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 11:28 AM UTC
89 degrees and humid, sunset at 8:30.
Eastern barbeque smokin out in the backyard
the grass is getting lo-o-o-ong, but
it can wait until next Sunday.
iced tea, sweet, sinful tea
and no cowboys in sight.
just Low Drawled Camouflage Men
and Freedom to Own a Gun,
black n milds, porch swings and
mosquitoes turn up in your ear holes
like politicians touting their pro-life campaigns.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
A long time ago, when we were young
My brother used to be a funny guy.
He could sometimes break me up a bit
Without really ever seeming to try.
So, one day, when he asked a favor;
I could tell because he wasn’t snarling
He batted his eyes like some movie star
And ended saying “Hunchy, lumpy, darling.”
Now all my brothers had Missouri drawls
And, it turns out, they never lost them.
No matter what I or teachers would say
They drawled no matter what it cost them.
They didn’t really have very much regard
Or use for the propriety of the King’s speech.
It’s almost like good grammar and prose
We just a bit too far out of their reach.
So, I wasn’t surprised I failed to understand
This strange request from my young brother.
After all he talked just like relatives, neighbors,
And most of all, sounded “Jess lack his mother”.
But this one time I had to stop and ask him
Would he please repeat what he asked me,
Because for all I was worth, at that moment
His meaning was blithely slipping past me.
His answer, you see, started me right off
On a hunger for rhyming, slang and puns.
My lifelong romance with games and wordplay
Had accidentally, but quite solidly begun.
Because Hunchy, lumpy, darlin’ it seemed
Was saying his way to me, “Honey Child,
Lambie Pie, Darling.” I got it and I screamed.
I laughed and rolled around on the couch
And took it instantly into my grabby brain.
That one little misheard bit of movie-talk fun
Hit me as hilarious and worth saying again.
I’m sure he picked it up from the TV;
Something from a forties comedy movie.
Thinking it was a bit glib, he purloined it
And he was right, I thought it was groovy.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 1:30 AM UTC
Farewell my lovely,
Henderson had said,
Pushing his hat to
The back of his head,
Breaking a smile a
Mile wide, giving Jess
A touching lips kiss,
A small salute, thinking
Of war, the shedding
Of blood, a medal
Or two, all in one
Piece, if he got through,
Which he didn't, caught
His dying end in
42 and his
Drawled words lingered in
The air wherever
She went, on the porch
Sitting and looking
Out at the sky or
In bed gazing at
His photo on
The side, wishing he
Had lived long and loved,
Not fought fierce and died.
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 2:41 PM UTC
she drawled a certain way,
i found incredibly, indescribably...intolerable
of course i couldn't resist
her uncouth demeanour
her permeating wit
she was hard boiled
quick tongued, bit down hard
chewed me up, before out i would spit
once those lashes
whipped my way
i was caught in that lethal gaze
ready to sacrifice any ol day
she knew her power
knew more, it was beyond her control
as she lost all perspective
in the finish swallowing up every single one of us
whole...
May 28, 2012
May 28, 2012 at 6:27 AM UTC
Pleasure erupts,
from the contact your hand makes upon my skin.
Goosebumps arise,
from the gentle nip of your teeth
against my neck.
Consoling me,
of the aching that is to come.
Acceptance dawns,
apparent in the gleam in my eyes.
Anticipation,
like slow, drawled out suffering.
I quiver,
with the waves of longing that engulf me.
Sends me to another dimension;
Lost somewhere,
between the sheets and the shadows,
that light dares not touch.
Again and again it strikes.
You always win.
And carelessly,
I want more.
I will always want more.
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 6:18 PM UTC
It’s s’posed to be ironic
You drawled,
Over a pale green t-shirt
With the faded stain
Of the letter “T,”
That syrup-smooth tone
Even the bees recognized as sweet,
Buzzing around me as if
To catch what dripped out next.
Who would’ve thought crawfish
Could make my stomach flip?
And could anything sound more exquisite
Than fishin’ ho-wels and gaytah tay-els?
And when you paused,
For too long,
To catch your breath,
I held mine,
And prayed that you’d keep going.
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 10:42 PM UTC
"DONALL DEMPSEY INDEED!"
'LLANOD YESPMED?"
he squinted at my driver's licence.
"It's pronounced CLANOD!"
I said with extreme exasperation.
"Y'are not from these here parts
. . .are ya fella?"
he drawled dryly
squinting closer firstly at me then
back again to my !D.
"I'm of Welsh/Turkish extraction
but I was born on Venus!"
I explained as if to
a little kid.
"Ha ha...haha!" he snorted
a tiny trickle of snot
yo-yoing up and down
his hairy left nostril.
"Ha ha...if you were to
spell yer name backwards
it would spell:
Donall Dempsey!"
I was not amused.
"Ya know...that crazy hairy
Irish earthling poet dude!"
"I'm not him!"
I fumed.
"Alright...alright...keep yer
antenas on...geeeez!"
He handed me back
my Id ID.
Tipped his hat.
Wiped his nose across his sleeve.
"Welcome to Mars.
You drive carefully now!"
I stepped on the rocket boosters.
Left him eating my stardust.
****** customs!"
I yelled to myself.
"Huh...Donall Dempsey
...indeed!"
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 4:11 AM UTC
"Well ain't that a cryin' shame!"
he drawled over a split grass shoot
**** birds, better luck next time son."
trying to comfort me
at least out of my silence
"Well shoot, hows about you take a seat on the porch?"
squeekscreekcreek
wrenching a sigh
popped back into a rocking chair
"Here son, roll me a cigarette"
trying to comfort himself
his egg-yolk hands held out a glass jar
made with rainbows
full of ****
and a tattered rolling paper
the gum almost invisible
"No no no, do it the way I taught ya!"
a cigarette's a cigarette
"hrrmmmph, that'll do.
Now, tell me what it is you lost again?"
the smoky words sliding out into where there once was green
the bed sheets clung like water
Apr 18, 2012
Apr 18, 2012 at 1:55 AM UTC
Again the sky
Takes good-byes,
And I heave one
Once again.
Good-bye.
When you quipped
Ciao so flippantly,
Or rolled au revoir
So knowingly;
When See ya
Really meant
See ya soon,
I heard it all
So promisingly.
When you said
Later, it meant
Sooner than later,
And you drawled it out
So wistfully,
Knowing sooner
Lovingly.
This time
Come back
And say
Good-bye again.
Good-bye,
My girl,
For now.
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 11:44 PM UTC
Slowly, she clutched the covers tighter to her chest.
"Oh Aleshaaa... you can't hide..." drawled the monster beneath her bed, it's choked voice gurgling thickly at the back of its throat like a blocked sewer pipe.
#twosentencehorror
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 6:01 PM UTC
Look at me like an animal,
with-drawled and wing over young;
my peers.
Separate them from us, perceived as vile.
You fabricate a false stigma,
a shrouding ghost stench we excrete.
You’ve kept me from connection,
congealed by your false projection!
Falling farther from coitus, laughter, and joyous.
Torch of aspiration, doused in fabrication.
Curious, like a bee,
buzzing around but can’t see.
Craving sent bitter,
they hate all but those sitter.
Elect thyself primus.
Hate me like a sinner.
Blasphemy to love brother or sister.
You can’t mask your vileness.
You’ve kept me from connection,
congealed by your false projection!
Falling farther from coitus, laughter, and joyous.
Torch of aspiration, doused in fabrication.
Apr 28, 2020
Apr 28, 2020 at 3:20 PM UTC
A / Korean / friend of my mother’s returned
from Seoul with a gift for me / a Hanbok /
glowing with violent shades of pink and yellow
when I settled the / chima / on my shoulders
and tied the / jeogori / around my waist
I felt like a / white girl / in an / oriental costume /
The year I turned six / my white brother /
brought me to his school when they talked
about / South Korea / a real live / Korean /
to ooh and aah at while a map on the whiteboard
displayed my far off land for them to ogle
with / wide eyes / I leaned into the mirror
that night and ogled my / small eyes / that no
amount of widening could make / white /
All those / white / kids called me / ***** /
Like / ***** / in your armor? I thought
When / my white brother / got married no one
thought I was there for him everyone
thought I was there for his / Vietnamese /
wife. We’re here for the / white boy / his / Korean /
friend drawled. My ally in this sea of / white /
May 12, 2021
May 12, 2021 at 1:18 AM UTC
Writing, I thought I would never miss
But when I am doing it I am in some sort of bliss
Corny I know, almost better then a kiss
So what if it goes amiss
And
People dis
Try correcting a kiss
Some may resist
That would be the pits
Writings you can correct this
On this
In this
Of this
And make it more crisp
So with this
I have missed your work
And the network
All the fine artwork
I hope you have missed mine
It was not all that fine
But they are mine
None that would make the headlines
But still just the same I am proud of mine
Never trying to outshine
Some with a crazy punch line
Some with very short lines
Some even on the borderline
Some I guess I should have drawled the line
But genuine
I am glad to be back
To enjoy yours and mine
!!
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 8:00 PM UTC
As a kid he was odd,
a collector of scraps and small animal bones
a snivelling creature of the night,
he'd scurry about and hang around people's homes,
the wind would caress his hair as the dawning sun shone
on his tatty corduroy trousers and shirt,
like any other normal boy, he'd catch freaky insects
and make gross pies out of wet dirt
but that beaming toothless smile
suppressed a sadness so intense it twisted itself into pain;
from slimy cocoons latched onto his stomach
flew out wicker-work butterflies of fear and disdain
for, every night he would lie awake,
shivering in cold sweat
paralysed in terror, too scared to scream
as the thing of nightmares drawled beneath his bed
with a CRUNCH and a sickening SNAP,
it would feast upon his collection of dry animal bones
then slink off into the darkness
to raid all the other neighbouring homes
alas it was only a matter of time
'til his parents stumbled across the source of his dread -
the apothecary of horror descending upon their helpless souls
draining their bodies dry and leaving them for dead
turning to face the boy for the first time
blood dribbling down its lumpy chin
it's eyes burning, luminescent and yellow,
as maggots and ticks burrowed in its skin
"Why do you not turn away child, succumb to your fear and face thee?"
The Vampyre rasped, it's voice high with amusement
"Who could dare stare into my eyes and not scream?"
and the boy's answer was simple
so simple it took the creature by complete surprise;
"Why should I fear you, when I don't fear death itself?"
And with this the boy gestured towards the first light of sunrise,
and as the Vampyre swooped in
to take his last breath
he smiled, embraced the decrepit creature
welcoming the chilling kiss of Death.
AJ
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 5:25 PM UTC