"framers" poems
Set fire to the Antique Shop,
We’re one step ahead of the cops.
Mannequins of Elvis begin to melt.
Free from past matters; free from guilt.
Promoting the prosperity
As we hoard hostility
Androids ambushing Arkansas,
They seek to find ménage trois.
Achieving self-awareness
They want fill the void’s emptiness
Chugging R & R by the fifths.
By our thumbnails we dangle off cliffs.
Thread by thread, the veil unfolds.
Standing all alone, I’m left in the cold.
Show me how much you care.
Push me in my wheelchair.
Listening to what drives you crazy
Eventually helps you stop being lazy.
Lilly is spinning me dizzy
She belongs to the world of yesterday
The haze is now fading away.
If only I could stay
for just one day
But Behold
I feel you should be told
I have come from the end
When the Earth is condemned.
As I tell the tall tale,
How we came to live in hell,
once we found the holy grail.
“We overcame our fear
The classified was made clear.
We launched all the nukes,
By order of the Skywalker named Luke.
The framers were lousy architects;
They left the balance completely hectic.
The CEO’s got away with fraud.
Thinking their work was the will of God.”
I met you in the gloomiest bar.
We speed across the town in my car.
Questioning why we remained silent.
The flickering florescent light compliment
The tone of shallow yellow paint,
I can finally hibernate.
After I left the oblivious,
Do I finally notice,
It’s hesitation that leads
me astray from redemption.
TJW 2013
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 6:14 AM UTC
framers and confounders,
gold-sifting pitch-shifting
plagiarist compounders,
dreamer cells --
all stragglers and strollers;
trollers, ex-tollers,
frontier comptrollers...
was a pupil for a day,
gave two eyes for an A,
said "I'll tell you what I see just
tell me what to say"
2 fore thoughts 2 free thoughts
of sons of freed slaves,
think tanks and barnacles abound:
I see twenty-six characters in need of an author
to try me line by line
'til beseeched and swayed
I reach the antithesis
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 9:54 PM UTC
Sentient street,
As we walk through the gates of sentience,
Like a child,I quirked my head,
Left~right and back with innocence,
To glimpse at their seemly slums;a nimble haul of dread,
Tucked me,as I gander the miscellany artistry,
The winsome combs on their chambers,
By builders and framers,
For all;but the aesthetics I knew belonged to the affluent,
An erudition I needed not to imbibe as a student,
Oblivious of myself;I spotted their melancholic eyes in their inscriptions,
And read the histories and encryptions,
The stares they gave tremored my heart,
And tore the arteries apart,
My soul wept for their bereavement but tears was deficit in my eyes,
As I march to the yard of his repose;I said"A journey we shall all embark"
Gawking at the annexation of other chambers,as grief berserks,
I got there,
I stood meters afar and stared,
As the priest blessed the yard;And prayed for his soul,
Conferring him into the bossom of his maker,
And instructing the digger afterwards;to dump him into the hole,
His folks quaker,
And bade him their farewell with flowers,
In their last hour,
But as they fetch sands and stones to wrap him,
In their faces I saw grim,
When the diggers spat and slapped;his coffin with stones and shovels,
For this has been their long awaited muscle,
And in deligence;they deliver,
"This journey I will embark too"I said,
As I stood in my shiver,
And withdrew and left in mopes.
Sentient Street
©Historian E.Lexano
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 9:48 AM UTC
Into, up to
I find secrets
Then you sift through
Unwind leaflets
Writer's tales,
Tailored truth
Liars framers
Seed and roots
Cutting sutured
Secured and subtle
Stapled reason
Duly muddled
Out of downing
Seeking heaven
Love pronouncing
Lively set in
Joyous trust,
Oh brightest heart
Last together
Rifts apart
Language laughter
After hunger
Hanging rising
Rhyming wonder
Out of nothing
Trifled trinkets
Search the wording
Finding secrets
Oct 19, 2016
Oct 19, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC
The living room clock pounds like -
the framers hammer
The wood floor becomes an unintelligible -
ghost
The nostrils of a rail engine sojourner begin -
to shriek and moan , Alabama breezes rattle -
the chimes , the one o'clock tolling of the
town bell , the cries of the whippers , the thrush -
and the barn owl
Laden , eighteen wheelers thunder down the -
rural roads
Black and tans implore the Planters moon to -
'move along' , every crawling creature engaged-
in buzzing 'night song
June bugs tapping the windows , keeping -
time in the early morning crescendo ....
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 1:37 AM UTC
. All is the same there.
I left the stone yet the storms may have moved it a little.
I said hello to your hotel.
Yes the Durley Dene is good with a spa and a wonderful cream some tea oh and chandeliers of course. The other Bournemouth hotel whose name I forget was all mirrored furniture and starchy tablecloths.
Saw two films in the little cinema with a fellow traveler while others sheltered from the storm in the hotel lounge with sandwiches and games.
I avoid private views so a day at home after a quick trip into Dolgellau for the post etc. Hope you have a real good time in Dunoon.
Oh there is a good photography exhibition at Burgh Hall and the cafe is open there too. The library is open in the Queens hall and has stunning views.
A friend showed me her photos of whales up the watter. ..teaching their offspring to hunt. The watter turned red. It is said they swam up to Glasgow where they turned and headed back.
The framers up the back road may be open so one can visit his pet lizard. Have fun.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 1:12 AM UTC
just keep writing little melodies
soft and sweet
and harsh and in between
fragrances smelled in the middle of the night
taking on their magic flow
dwindle and fall into what is
and make it work wonders all over the side of the wall
and drop ash into the discovery plate working framers framing cash
perhaps there was a fight?
don’t worry about that
just play through the jungle
working on masked critters
creating jellyfish with their new makers
shaking violently at the end of a new scene
and making worthy the shocking ending of beauty
and conjuring makeshift work on tranquilly
and understanding
letting the appreciated
be appreciated
and letting the disenfranchised
have a little piece of the pie
its all in measures
and its working just fine
letting people grow old together
alnd letting new ones know where to take it in
and deciding in the end
that it is all a catch
and the worthless dying speak to the worthless still
and the growing old must grow old quickly
and they preach their insanity
and then the man asks himself
Am I a platform for people to stand on?
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 2:30 AM UTC
in the
framers eyes
our hearts
are ripened
and seasoned
for the
young lover's
harvest
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC