"frisco" poems
You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.
Daddy, I have had to **** you.
You died before I had time ----
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal
And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off the beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.
In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My ****** friend
Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.
It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene
An engine, an engine,
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.
The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.
I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You ----
Not God but a ********
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.
You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who
Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.
But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look
And a love of the rack and the *****
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.
If I've killed one man, I've killed two ----
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.
There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagersnever liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you ******* I'm through.
29.7k
They came for us with tanks and guns.
We stood our ground—the old and young.
All our troops had mustered round
our Capital--Sacramento town.
A New Republic, we’d declared,
and its defense,
among all would be shared.
With the Bear Flag flying high
we all came to fight and die.
Young men in their combat boots
repelled the dictator’s first wave of troops.
Civilians came from South and North
to resist the fascist ruler’s force.
From Frisco and from San Jose,
from San Diego and L.A.,
from Calistoga and Marin,
thousands had come pouring in.
Then US bombers burned the city,
for the orange Fuhrer had no pity.
They won the battle, but we all know
from history, how these things go.
An occupation cannot last
against a people whose strength holds fast.
The tyrant’s troops will tire, while we
will fight on, until we’re free.
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 11:17 PM UTC
***** from the bottle,
Warm.
Hot dogs from the package,
When your down and *****
The grotesque becomes magic.
Pawning a guitar for a pellet gun,
To procure breakfast.
Squirrel stew in the back of a scamper camper.
Spotlighting bullfrogs,
And mopping floors for a hot meal,
And a cold beer,
And a sympathetic ear.
Nights when the blacktop turned into void,
And the painted lines became a tightrope to nowhere.
Full circle,
Bangor to Frisco,
Any woman who was willing to sleep in the bed of a truck
Was a queen for as long as she stayed,
Always had **** concealed on me,
The copper piece of road currency,
To the gold and silver, of *** and gas.
The exchange rates would change overnight,
But syphon some gas at a truck stop
And it all will be alright.
Misspent youth, following bands
And getting lost along the way.
***** from the bottle,
And hot dogs from the package.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 6:35 PM UTC
In the air, floating just next to the window
solidly constructed
as sure as the golden highway
stretching from Frisco across the Bay
looking square
as the acres of boxcars
north on the interstate
on the south side of Chicago,
it's all atoms...
This morning my son postulated to me a so-far unrealized condition
relating to matter transmitters and, probably, hyperspace. "What
would happen, " he asked, "if some guy transported himself inside a big rock?"
Indeed.
Putting on my ears, I considered the situation. Would the hypothetical solid mass of rock give way, shudder just enough to allow the insertion of a soft, squishy human being? Or would the spaces in their respective atoms--rock's and human's--intermesh neatly with each other? Molecular integration? But such a challenge to the atomic bonds holding the things together might result in a nasty atomic accident. Would that leave a human-shaped void inside the solid rock, a mold exact down to the finest details of skin texture and even eyelashes? Imagine the crystal-filled waters seeping down to find such a hole--Behold!! Geode Man.
Holding my silver pen extended
like a rapier before me,
I dissect the wispy chunks
of smoke. The balance of air
that gave them form
is destroyed. They are
no more.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 4:29 PM UTC
I moved in with Mr McGoo , he seemed a pleasant bloke
a bit chatty for one but then beggars cant be choosers.
He gave me the guest room and a skeleton key and
a King James Bible. He left , mumbling something about an
Optometrist's appointment as he stumbled through the door.
The Flivver coughed, spat and rattled.Mcgoo was in control
and of he roared away still mumbling about pork bellies and such.
Herky jerky relic with a hurdy gurdy horn.
The winding stairs led me hither so down the rail I slid
In search of McGoo venture. To suss where the safe was hid.
Rumor has it that He struck it rich one day and promptly
sailed west and bought the House of Divine Pleasures
overlooking Frisco Bay. Who knew.
As luck would have it, he forgot to close the safe so
there it stood wide open a square hole in the southern wall.
The Standing Shiva glared at me his arms like deadly serpents
One named Beckon the next on Call. The other six arms bristled
with bronze and iron death.The Shiva winked his middle eye and
tears streamed from the other two.
The safe still hung wide open McGoo was such a bounder.
He knew me well and he could tell the weakness in my soul.
for he and I had broken bread and severed heads in youthful
days of yore. He knew I was a scoundrel and a thief.
The Shiva had a weakness for women and the drink and
him with eight arms and such became to be a bit much at the
pleasure spot in Frisco. He had to go. So
I turned and returned from the liquor cabinet a bottle of
McGoo's best bathtub Gin in tow. The Shiva came a running cross,
a smile a mile wide drooling. With arms outstretched, boy he could fetch.
Could not hold his spirits though. Never could. Out cold in no time flat.
The safe gaped open like the grave six deep.
So. I walked up slowly to it and strained to look within
There sat old McGoo's ear trumpet and spare glasses
a handful of rain checks stacked neatly in a corner.
Along with his last will and testament written out in Braille.
Just then I heard the Flivver pop. I had to stop.
close the safe. Empty the flower vase on Shiva.
Up the stairs I bounded. closed my door and started
Sleeping.
Oh McGoo , you've done it again.
Dec 8, 2012
Dec 8, 2012 at 9:51 AM UTC
You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.
Daddy, I have had to **** you.
You died before I had time——
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal
And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.
In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My ****** friend
Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.
It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene
An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.
The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.
I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You——
Not God but a ********
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.
You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who
Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.
But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look
And a love of the rack and the *****
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I’m finally through.
The black telephone’s off at the root,
The voices just can’t worm through.
If I’ve killed one man, I’ve killed two——
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.
There’s a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you ******* I’m through.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 2:45 AM UTC
You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.
Daddy, I have had to **** you.
You died before I had time--
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal
And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.
In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My ****** friend
Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.
It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene
An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.
The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.
I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You--
Not God but a ********
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.
You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who
Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.
But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look
And a love of the rack and the *****
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.
If I've killed one man, I've killed two--
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.
There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you ******* I'm through.
-sylvia plath 1932 -1963
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 3:00 PM UTC
Jack Kerouac made my momma hitch
down the west coast from Seattle to
Albaquerque in the 1970s but she
never made it to Mexico
Jack Kerouac made my dadda struggle
through an English major only to dig
ditches and deliver mail twenty years later
Jack Kerouac made me who I am today
a Dharma *** looking for any highway
outta here to Frisco to New York City to
subsist solely on coffee and searching for
Nirvana and being forever unsatisfied
with the name I was chained to at
birth people ought to choose their own
Jack Kerouac made who I am tomorrow
completely impossible to discern but he
filled me with blank paper and handed
me a pen and Thoreau the great
Transcendentalist made me write in
the dark but Jack Kerouac made me
transcend the ******** and write
for nothing for Buddha for smoky
haze for the turtle that walks with
the world on its back I may now
never stop looking for me in the
streets of Denver to ask me where
I would be without Jack Kerouac
Mar 14, 2012
Mar 14, 2012 at 7:59 PM UTC
If I fell in love with you,
I would like to
Make my dreams come true,
You could fulfill all yours too,
So come on, honey,
Just one look will do,
I'll lose my heart to you,
Like all the moonstruck do.
We could go all round the world,
Just like other
Moonstruck boys and girls,
So come on, honey, don't be scared,
We are only young once,
Say the word,
I'll lose my heart to you,
Like all the moonstruck do.
Bali, Frisco, Rio, or wherever
You may choose,
The world's our oyster, honey,
There'll be no more bad news,
We could leave tomorrow,
I tell you we can't lose,
We will soon be
Saying bye bye to those blues.
If I fell in love with you,
I would like to
Make my dreams come true,
You could fulfill all yours too,
So come on, honey,
Just one look will do,
I'll lose my heart to you,
Like all the moonstruck do.
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 10:25 PM UTC
She came down from Mt. Rainier
wearing khaki park ranger's garb,
a female Moses descending Sinai,
clutching a leather chapbook,
survival notes for a “Dangerous Life”.
Nightingales were songbirds for the grief,
as MS stole in like 'Frisco fog,
unnoticed by a comet-blinded public.
And when the awards came,
strokes of jackpot luck,
acquired enthusiasms soon were
dropped in excruciating back spasms.
She touted poetry as civic-glue,
paste for a populist purpose.
Olympia’s oracle rarely leaves the house,
curtains drawn, newspapers unread,
writing feverishly, as “The Body Mutinies”.
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 10:10 PM UTC
Like human drones,
They trailed the messiah
From Frisco to Guyana,
In search of Eden
Among anacondas, tapirs,
Diminutive Wai Wais,
And Purple-heart giants....
Where torrential rain
Blasted the ****** soil
Like B-24 bombers
Over Normandy...
And piranhas
Shredded human flesh
To naked bone
In black-water creeks
Coursing through the Amazon...
And a fledging nation
Of less than 1 million
Navigated the treacherous canefields
Of independence...
Why....?
The question lingers
Like maggots on
900 rotting corpses...
Why....?
The answers wither
Like 900 minds mesmerized
By Jim the messiah...
Forfeiting lavish luxuries of freedom
For the Temple's tickets
To a worry-free ride...
To Heaven.
~ Pablo
(#JimTheMessiah)
3/1/2014
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 9:51 AM UTC
somewhere over two packs a day
budget smokes
tobacco and chemicals swept up off the plant floor
combines with well over one thousand gallons of Jim Beam
hate-fest on the liver and lungs –
from under twenty the ******* and LSD
sherm’s with the break dancers
in the Frisco Bay
years of **** abuse
both via the nose,
and also from a foil tube
………….
and then the ****** –
50 plus years old in an emergency room
looking at pictures
of 10% heart function
fuzzy, grainy, distorted,
and true…
major life changes ensue
through with smoking and eating garbage
afraid of road rage
and defibrillation
sitting in a basement
thinking about my cannabis oil
and a November trip to Colorado. –
phone calls to friends expressing a new version
telling the youth the lifestyle isn’t always the way
living fast and dying young
doesn’t always work
rarely leaves a pretty corpse
and won’t make you any more of a badass….
to live one’s life to the fullest
each and every day
with no consideration for the outcome
sometimes has you looking at pictures
of healthy lungs
plaque free arteries
a clean liver
and only 10% heart function –
Images I have never seen
waltz through my mind
slowly turning and moving to and fro
one, two, three
one, two, three
the rhythm matching the unevenness
of his most important muscle
I sit quietly on the edge of my bed
thinking over a lifetime and my best dear friend
I hope we make it to November. –
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 5:10 PM UTC
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Fashionable Death Cults Then and Now
After the June 1941 German invasion of the Soviet Union and Einsatzgruppe mass shootings of civilians, the Nazis experimented with gas vans for mass killing…
-Gassing Operations | Holocaust Encyclopedia (ushmm.org)
Dozens of migrants were found dead in an abandoned big rig in San Antonio on Monday in what appears to be the deadliest human smuggling case in modern U.S. history.
-At least 50 migrants found dead inside a truck in San Antonio, officials say (cnbc.com)
We have our death vans too, not well-organized
But rolling down the American road
Unseen by our leaders in their personal jets
Flying to Frisco or maybe Cancun
Bombings and shootings on the street and in church
Job lots in hospitals, by the dozens in schools
For we too specialize in genocide
And may Moloch and Herod bless our AR-15s
If any children survive, we’ll call them Generation Something
And tell them each day how inadequate they are
Jun 28, 2022
Jun 28, 2022 at 11:05 PM UTC
There's a tale that is told
In the night Yukon cold
Of the shooting of Dan Mc Grew
The truth as it's known
Is a legend that's grown
And the truth is known by very few
It's twenty years on
The Malamutes gone
There's nobody left from that night
But there's talk of some gold
That sometimes is told
Of what happened just after the fight
There is word of a bar
"The New Yukon Star"
And a fellow down there who can play
The place it is grand
The best in the land
And it's found down by Old Frisco Bay
Now, remember the poke
Of McGrew's the tale spoke
And what happened when Dan was now dead
From his neck it was freed
And the poke held the deed
To Dangerous Dan's claim it was said
When the Northern lights glow
Bringing life to the snow
They say that old Dan walks again
But twenty years past
Dan took that breath, yes, his last
And left the world of mortal men
Now, the saloon down in Frisco
With a barkeep named Cisco
Had a picture of Dan on the wall
They say that his ghost
Makes it smile when you toast
Dan McGrew when it is last call
A traveller came
And remembered Dan's name
One night as he sat with his drink
The piano was loud
And he saw through the crowd
A face, which made the man think
He once was a cop
And on occasion did stop
At the bar when Dan McGrew died
He looked at the face
But wasn't sure of the place
That he knew it, but **** boys he tried
There's a place saved in hell
For those under the spell
Of those who cheated out old Dan McGrew
In the stories it's told
how his poke with his gold
Was stolen by someone he knew
Think of the name
Of the one living with shame
From Dan's last night beneath the north star
Just who could build
A place always filled
A hotel and a popular bar
There on the stair
With long silvery hair
Through cigar smoke that made the air blue
Was the girl who once danced
And had Dan entranced
The girl known only as Lou
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 8:35 PM UTC
The government sealed up freedom the other day
I guess the reason, so it wouldn't get away
They put up a smoke screen so we'd laugh at Tina Fey
All the while stepping in to take it all away
They bought the banks and businesses from Frisco to New York
And look who's talking through the mic, the biggest world-wide dork
Face the facts and slap your *** 'cause we're now communists
They'll be no more retirements for The United States Socialists
I know it's pretty uglier but, we just watch t.v.
Instead of getting off our duffs to keep our country free
As long as we have video games and blue-ray DVD's
Does anybody give a **** that we're all new commies
We let this happen to ourselves; Now tell me how could we
Pay six hundred million daily to our enemies
And tell me Bill how you're still free when you averred on t.v.
"I set a time bomb to explode/implode economy"
These men in power, please agree, are quite sickening
They've made a mired mockery of a land that once was free
How can one be a capitalist when the country owns the banks
I'm ready to reload my gun, those S.O.B.s need thanks
copyright 2008 1 Armed Poet
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 4:29 PM UTC
it is nearly December
and here I sit
alone
on the beach of Buxton
just in front of the immaculate Hatteras Lighthouse
only a few surf fisherman
are within eyeshot
maybe half a mile towards Frisco
and one obvious resident of the area
bronze skinned and soaking in more
of the late season Sun
walks her Lab along the shoreline
it is every bit 72 degrees
and the light breeze is only perfect
the terns float in the hundreds
a few hundred yards offshore
as I admire them
I spot several dolphins on the move nearby
one jumps like a kid showing off
this is followed by a dozen or so pelicans
playing follow the leader a foot above the ocean
then dive bombing for fish
I come alive when I step from the concrete to the sand
when I hear the beautiful music of the waves pounding the shore
in perfect, slow rhythm
this is where I find myself
where my worries drift slowly out to Sea
with every precious moment I have
in these
Outer Banks
Dec 1, 2017
Dec 1, 2017 at 11:58 PM UTC
I was listening to Novello and
Flo'ella
had her head across my pillow
talking to some fellow
from somewhere down in Arkansas.
I saw at once the discrepancy
of her and me
and where our interests lay.
mine somewhere in 'Frisco or maybe even Monterey
and hers in some Southern lawless place
I turned her face to face me
quietly I explained
that I'd be leaving on a plane
and that she should do the same.
She took a knife
Screamed,
'if you don't take me for your wife
I'll take your life and put it in a crystal ball'
Guess I'm not going after all.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 2:24 AM UTC
One summer
I travelled up over
Around and through
This great mass of land
Neatly divided into 50 separate
And a couple picked up along
The way
And just when I had seen enough
Resting my eyes at a diner in West
Hills, NY
-the one with the Red
cushioned seats that still
smell like leaves of grass-
An angel, a fallen cherub a shining
Shimmering cousin of Christ!
Poured my coffee
As I tried my best to focus my eyes
And grab a glimpse
(My god I could feel her!)
Of what I knew was surely heaven
In disguise
And I squinted and she smiled
And my heart exploded a billion plus
Light fragments back into the
Atmospheric beginning
And I, humbled,
Apologized for the mess
But she just smiled New Jersey
Past the pines
On down to New Orleans
And across 1845
Up to '49 Frisco
And back through
Theicyflatwinds
Down marked twains
And Great Ohio
As I entered the 51st State
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 6:36 PM UTC
This is a story of actual truth
It happened in my 27th Year Old youth
It was September 1984 when I went to San Francisco, California on vacation for Seven Days
You might partly was when I went astray
I toured the Frisco City Downtown and out
I even went to South San Francisco
But there was an upper part of downtown that the Tour Guide emphasized to avoid
So I asked why is the area warranted in not to go up
I am the adventurer type
So I really wanted to explore
I wasn’t scare, but my decision was sure
The Tour Guide gave me instructions in how I should act and dress
So I did just that
I wore a Do rag completely around my head, Torn Clothes and a Bad Attitude
The Bad Attitude was street talk using cuss words
So I ventured up
As I was walking and continued too walk, it was apparent that people were becoming lesser and lesser
Once I arrived, in the alley was confronted with a multitude of Motorcycle Gangs
One of the Cyclist stated to me that I didn’t belong in the area
My response was, “I am in the area now”
I acted tough with my response, and ready at any given moment to rumble
I played in off
After a while, I then decided to return back to downtown
So I learned why no one wanted to go uptown of Frisco
It wasn’t an area where I would encourage anyone to go, but it was an experience of acting like a Gangbanger to feel the vibe
I definitely was taking a chance
This wasn’t a mission to advance
I just simply held my stance
But I was told I could have been killed and loss my life
However, the experience was how I rolled being my own advice being the Gangbanger ways.
Jul 6, 2019
Jul 6, 2019 at 9:10 AM UTC
Sometimes my phone sends me an error message.
“Storage almost full,” it tells me.
“Your device may not function properly.”
My device and my mind have that in common.
Words march across pages, grabbing me and
pulling me in, but in the end I am left in
the real world with the stories I have consumed
swimming in my mind. The words are a part of me.
Tattooed on the insides of my eyelids.
When I close my eyes, I am Jo March.
I have sold my hair. It was my one beauty.
Beauty is important because my sisters and
I are supposed to be Little Women.
When I close my eyes, I am Sal Paradise.
Dean Moriarty and I talk for hours.
We dig everything from New York to
‘Frisco, as we continue On the Road.
When I close my eyes, I am Lizzy Bennet.
Mr. Darcy has snubbed my family and myself,
and I hate him. But I love him. If only the two of
us weren’t filled with such Pride and Prejudice.
When I close my eyes, I am Hermione Granger.
I am the brightest witch of my age, and only I
have read Hogwarts, A History. Without me,
there probably would be no Harry Potter.
When I close my eyes, I see the error message.
“Storage almost full,” it tells me.
“Your device may not function properly.”
So I open my eyes.
Who am I?
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 1:03 PM UTC
I have turned the pages now
Your face has faded and it's clear
The love we had has wilted dry
But it was here we said goodbye
And knew we had our future poured
Beside a locked and bolted door
It was, you see, what’s meant to be
But who decides these things for me?
I think of how we traveled here
We nursed each other out of fear
And forgot what had led us there
Because we never understood
That all the world won't help us now
They never cared which road we took
Some clouds we made with others' help
Have parted us from sight and yet
We feel each other day to day
And wonder if we are so right
That we have blocked the pathway's light
Which leads to what we always wanted
With gates we used to fill with flowers
They need our nourishment its true
We have left them there without a clue
Is it too late to save them now?
I think of you on distant streets
Wondering if your path is sweet
I've hesitated far too long
To play again our favorite song
But then again your words ring true
Of how your plans did not come through
Knowing you so well I see
Your glow had not included me
For now while high above the world
Flying still away from you
I can think so clearly now
And see your shadow in my mind
But not your face it's faded out
Was that your plan or was it right
To miss you so and need your smile
You know it's sad, it's been awhile
But then again your plan is clear.
I've walked the docks in Frisco Bay
And been to Alkatraz and yet
That prison followed me as though
It said to me you need to know
The walls are not what binds you there
It's knowing that the wind somehow
That I have felt will somehow blow
And reach you face in candle glow
To cause the flame to flicker bright
I hope it gives you sight tonight
For I have sent it there you see
From deep within my soul to say
I am not a timeless whisper
There is a day when this will stop
And just become a memory
Without a shred of help from you
Our love will finally waste away.
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 4:23 PM UTC
Precede from the Presidio,
Pride and Prejudice on the rocks,
Letterman looms
with its men of rock.
Presume
the promiscuous
but don't let me bleed
from lashing out
because of a typical
impression if mine
of San Francisco as a tot
****** isn't it
******* off the public ***
or being in a twit, worried about Travis Tritt
All is actually well though
at last in San Francisco
where the Doggy Dinner
Hot Dog Stand chain
is probably still in existence
although I haven't been
to Frisco in a long, ling time.
If you're not in a stir
about the place
you probably won't see
people wiping snot
from their noses
or popping no-doses
or worried about nine to five
Yeah Jacqueline Susan as a hair.
May 30, 2017
May 30, 2017 at 11:30 AM UTC