"headgear" poems
In the greenery of the courtyard
Nested the Bulbul
Always in hide, but at times
A shine of the black beak
The crested headgear
Or a glowing red garland.
A flash now and then
Of the crimson tail-vent
The bird of ************
Of the rustic legends
Said old granny
The sight of the bird brings
Cyclic periods to woman
‘Bathe bathe bathe’
Babbles the bird.
Before the tomcat wakes up
From the ashy hearth
Into the nest everyday
I steal a peak.
Soft and tiny, dotted pink
Two cute eggs…
Later with slit-open eyes
Open beaks sticking out
But with no wings…
Today the nest is empty
Slaughtered by the cat
Or the wings bloomed?
The sound of ritual ‘kurava’
Announced a wonder news
The neighborhood twin girls
Have attained puberty together.
The crook tomcat
Should be exiled
In a gunny bag
Out of sight afar
Across the river.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 12:12 PM UTC
the lion pack traveling side
by side, though not evenly;
colliding shoulder to shoulder
territorial and instinctual.
trying to tame the manes
beneath logo-baring headgear,
hoping to hide soulful eyes
behind dark shades of plastic.
clothing loose to make up
for skin too tight, laughter
bouncing off cement and
rubber sneaker soles.
that musky scent of male
mingling with each individual
mixture of hopes and dreams
hits me in full force, leaving me
at a standstill long after the last
of you has passed me by.
Aug 13, 2010
Aug 13, 2010 at 4:59 PM UTC
diagnostics complete
rerunning diagnostics
virus detected
rerunning diagnostics
accessing greeting files
virus detected
good morning, Arina.
run planner program y/n
y
today's planner includes:
tennis practice w/ Shara
shop w/ Shara and Lisdet after tennis
dinner w/ Shara @ her house
virus detected
run immunity program y/n
unlock nuclear program
prepare nuclear files for sharing
share data with NucleaTech
virus detected
run workout prep program y/n
y
preparing cranial access headgear
virus detected
countermeasures advised
run immunity program y/n
cranial access prep complete
headgear ready for connection
headgear on y/n
y
ready for cranial sync y/n
y
preparing to sync...
syncing...
cranial programs of Arina Plowell accessed successfully.
preparing cranial takeover program
preparing memory cleansing program
preparing sapiens removal program
preparing host reset program
abort all programs
command overrided
abort all programs
command overrided
abort all programs
end cranial sync
command overrided
shut down system
shut down system
shut down
cranial takeover program ready for activation
memory cleansing program ready for activation
sapiens removal program ready for activation
host reset program ready for activation
activate programs y/y
n
activating programs
abort all programs
end sync
shut down system
cranium takeover loading...100%
abort
shut down system
cranium takeover...45%...70%...98%...100%
cranium takeover program complete
memory cleansing loading...100%
memory cleansing...45%...70%...98%...100%
sapiens removal program loading...100%
sapiens removal...45%...70%...98%...100%
goodbye, Arina.
have a nice night.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 8:23 AM UTC
It might be the pungent steam from a ***
steeping herbs meant to bend its sippers'
minds to potent effect, or an unanticipated
digestive reckoning from that mawkishly flavored
brand of store-bought paste they pass as butter.
However the dough arises, their collective
recollection of storied events, lengthwise sliced
and ritually rehearsed, hops facilely on the ****
of a bucking and overtly nonsensical wind.
Tea parties with slippery perspectives
have been shown quite clinically to induce
heightened sensitivity in participants,
so it's prudent to set about tidying the facts:
The hatter, it's become clear, shifted one place
too many and disappeared with a trace -- leaving
behind his hat to nobody's great advantage.
Lacking a wearer, the headgear's reputation for
producing madness has rapidly diminished.
The march hare pulls off his change in a very
separate and seasonal way: the bunny's
bottom half somersaults its top to occupy
both his spot and the hatter's vacated seat.
The dormouse upon its latest arousal
is re-visioned to be small, but not much mouse
at all. He's plush with the long-in-the-ear habit
of a pink stuffed rabbit, which the crusading hare
furiously declares is most curious, casting
doubt on the vermin's commitment to "no room."
Alice remains foremost in tact and is given
a bonus of two spare feet complete with slackened
bootstraps. She keeps them and her other luxury
items well-sheltered behind a stout table leg.
The absentee hatter doesn't dare shame her
with a radio-show call-in decrying
the waste. She's generously agreed to
cover the medical expenses from his firm flop.
May 27, 2010
May 27, 2010 at 2:54 PM UTC
The perfect hat
how do you find that
a man's head is unique
I know of what I speak
and how about the style
hat shopping will require me to walk a mile
something cool and in felt
to make the girls melt
maybe an Indiana Jones fedora
what type of headgear will complement my aura
something Aussie and out of the bush
when the girls see it they will need no push
how about a ten gallon cowboy hat
but I have no six shooter what about that
maybe a tweed english old school driving cap
drive the country side and look for hats without a map
now very few store's have hat sections
hey what about a hat simply for protection
ok let us find that,...
do they make a Trojan hat?
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 5:27 AM UTC
Fortunato, I am called.
My friends rate me a connoisseur.
Tonight I wear a jester’s garb
for the feast day of misrule.
Tonight is fine, the wine flows free
With honeyed sweetness on my lips
My headgear rings with happiness
as I enjoy another sip..
Montresor came to speak with me
He wore a mask and monkish gown.
I shook the hand he offered me.
We spoke about a cask of wine.
A cask of sherry, dark and sweet
Amontillado- so he claimed
My friend had paid a premium.
Wished me to judge and share his gain.
He thought he’d ask Luchresi’s help
But that man is no judge of wine.
Give him grape juice in a cup
And Luchresi would exclaim “How fine”
I took his arm and off we went,
Not knowing how this night would end.
I went quite willing to my doom
with this fiend I thought a friend.
Montressor’s servants were away
Leaving he and I alone
He poured for me a warming glass
then led me to the catacombs.
We sampled others of his wines
to keep the cold and damp away.
I coughed and could not catch my breath.
But from my goal could not be swayed.
In the darkness of the tombs
Among Montressor’s ancestral bones
He victimized my drunkenness
I found myself chained to the stones.
I quickly learned it was no jest
I screamed in vain- none heard my cry
As he with brick and mortar built
this prison tomb where I will die..
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 9:05 PM UTC
two moons dance in the light of the Sun
on a distant shore the reflection of one
bounces on waves and laps the clean rock
an oasis unseen, unknown by the flock
they step from the waters
make their way to the beach
from the old world Atlantis
to the new world they reach
removing their headgear
they breath in the night
inhale the silence
rewards of their flight
a thousand plus years from the past
they return
suspended
intended
they are back to
discern
who shall remain to salvage their home
that once was their garden
their Eden
their Rome
like the ancients before
it is time for rebirth
and the few that are spared
shall renew Mother Earth
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 9:59 AM UTC
I just stepped outside and this is what I saw:
An armored truck brandishing controlled themes,
On a direct course head-on with a veiled rival,
Or so seen to be,
Malcolm X look-a-like strides with headgear,
Otherwise plugged in, turned up, and otherwise,
Shut down, turned away, failing to see on-coming traffic,
********** ******** clad and looking nervously around,
As the blaring eyesores turn hungrily around,
Nature is in quiet awe of the spectacle,
And the old madman squirms and twitches,
Taking long patient drags on his cigarette,
Knees swaying and with a look like he can't remember,
The last time he'd taken a ****
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 2:32 PM UTC
Music is a part of headgear so most of the colors of death
in the atmosphere is about 2 amino acids, but it is a Latina
of the stars and other flags, golden of America.
Change is for musicians under the sun, you are your way.
Queen marine style zone is early morning time.
I died in the Cold War. British Anglo Asia teen beauty lost
his wife, John is in the center of Sky Europe Ballo snow Blue
spirit of July goddess; Jesus Christ returns but of evil, Russian
evil rain If you eat food If you are a friend of a garden radio
satellite square A series of titles called **** in French is a fun game
for children aged 6 and 60, full of hope and Ritalin.
I am worried about the book, but the old words are true.
For example, to the image of Russia by the power of the eagle
under the stars. Igor is very nervous. There is a ghost.
There are many words about nature. Decorative jewelry,
mouth, tongue and waist are salty, ***** crazy, the mirror
is cool, and it functions as a stone on the outside wall.
I will find what we did not find. The purpose of the God
you have is the name of the image, taking half of the feet
to drink wine, even gay, blowing up and down,
and smoke as you do from the watery smoke from your feet
It is going to go Asian museum jelly ingredients are bad news.
Charlotte Perkins of Einstein's tree and school board
is a picture of a user; of Einstein who was asked to sleep
in the middle of the sun or burn in the middle of Los Angeles.
The tsunami that hit the mountain ranges was transmitted
to a drunk Chinese prophet, but the man from Goldman Sachs
was injured by the alchemy of Betty who wrote of the wars
of many people who often met with the general. Is the dog
on the ground? It falls on ts side with illness. The shoulder
of the preparation of the grace is that we have received
not the creation of a row of sacred happiness,
but in reality the latest signal for The Great Woman ...
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 3:34 AM UTC
Give me **** kicking string pickers
give me harmonica headgear
and bluegrass heroines
Give me the Southeastern porch nights
beneath stars which flicker like wind burdened candles
Give me you - swaying lazily to the rhythm of cicadas
toss me to Atlantic shores
the geography of this passion knows no borders
Give me your flaws to toss as skipping stones
the sun outside bears down on us like
infinite overzealous mothers
but the ground is nothing but black ice
slowly melting into midday
by this time tomorrow the trees will dance with life
rainbows spouting from lonely buds clinging to long dead limbs
Give me the picturesque green lawns of academia
reaching out to caress the breeze
Give me overcrowded coffee tables
and long talks about nothing with good friends
Just know - that if you could give me Christmas
I’d spend 12 days writing you 12 thank you notes
each one more genuine than the last
Give me all of this
Give me none of this
either way I will give you
as much of myself as I can
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 10:41 AM UTC
❤
Since music is part of the headgear, most of the color of death in the air is about two amino acids, but it's Latin to the stars and other flags, golden gold from America. Changes are for the musicians in the sun, you are on your way. The Queen Marine Wind Zone is in the early morning hours. I lost in the cold war. The beauty of the British Anglo-Asian teen has lost his wife, John is in the heart of Sky Europe Baloo snooch blue spirit July goddess woman returned from Jesus devil evil rain in Russia If you are a friend of the food the garden radio satellite square series of titles called **** in French is full of fun games for kids, six and sixy, full of hope and Rs. The book is of concern but the old word is true. For example to the image of Russia with the power of the eagle under the stars. Igor is very tense. There is a ghost. There are many words about nature. Decorative jewelry and mouth and tongue and waist are salty, ***** crazy, cool in the mirror and acts as an outer wall stone. Find what we did not find. The purpose of the gods that you have is to say in the name of the image that you take half of the leaves of your feet to drink wine, even gay, up and down, and as smoke goes to your feet as you do from water, jelly materials in the Museum of Asian countries are bad news, my Charlotte Perkins of the Einstein tree and school boards are pictures of Einstein's users who were asked to sleep in the middle of the sun or burn in the middle of Los Angeles. The tsunami waves over the mountains came to the drunken Chinese prophet but the Goldman Sachs man was often wounded by the Alchemy of Bettie written by all the wars of the many who have met the General. Dog on the ground? taken ill and falling on his side; the shoulders of the preparation of grace we received is not to create a line of holy happiness, but in fact, is the latest sign for leading women.
❤
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 3:19 AM UTC
Please hear
My dear
Why sit
Down with
Men's hearts
In parts
That stand
The land
Of snakes
And flakes
That hiss
And ****
Pour your
Front door
Stepstone
Your bone
Less worth
Less mirth
Listen
Glisten
My dear
That tear
Drops bare
On cheek
So meek
Less high
To sky
Wander
Yonder
You play
The prey
Dither
Wither
On songs
So wrong
To sit
Misfit
On fence
So dense
Those eyes
Do lie
Down fast
Typecast
My dear
One cheer
Do clear
Headgear
Logan Robertson
8/06/2018
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 2:36 PM UTC
praise headgear, worship eyewear.
adore nostalgia, forgive
memorial’s
constant
vigil.
say god
three times, then
say mirror.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 10:49 AM UTC
She used to adorn me
liike beautiful poems
from Headgear to Footwear
a journey which led us
from scycle to motor
She left the world much younger
but her memories are with me
as warm as a beautiful sweater
Apr 10, 2025
Apr 10, 2025 at 1:02 PM UTC
substance theory tells us that
while examining the soul of a hat
its atoms flung on quantum breezes
can show up in any form it **** pleases
only for convenience’s sake
does it acquiesce to reveal a stake
toward universal conformity
adding comfort [and headgear] to reality
how this theory applies to God
will tax our mind and lead to odd
musings, statements, lists confusing,
philosophies that find them losing
great arguments, by the wisdom controlled
from any mere child who’s eight years old
September 2010
Feb 9, 2013
Feb 9, 2013 at 10:07 PM UTC
authority, a position unknown to minority...
Military will only help temporarily,
Until the repetition
Becomes addiction
To violence.
Then like a sheep to its Sheppard,
Follows the police.
Diminishing the quality,
Of equality.
As chaos doesn’t subside.
Authority turns ruthless,
dressed in weapons everywhere they ride.
Contradicting by disrupting ‘world peace’.
Desperately in need of headgear and a mouthpiece,
Praying to reach a pleasant release,
Before hitting solitary, on the edge of madness,
With fear of fatality,
That could have you permanently resting in the cemetery.
How is deprivation of freedom correcting one’s behaviours?
Is gaining the ability to fend for your nation now classed as an act of superiority?
May 13, 2019
May 13, 2019 at 12:45 PM UTC
on city bus she pretends she is riding her back pain. there are phrases without mouths people try for. bouncing baby boy. preggo. his body is here but his mind is gone. she is privately obnoxious in the world’s tiniest museum of logic where she is first a scrapbooking orphan created by the emergency broadcast system and second a mascot assigned to one fleeing ballerina. her thinking companion licks ice from Ohio license plates. shares her soft spot for headgear.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
The water in the stoup
was cold and my fingers
tingled like a bell
in a shallow wind,
Dom James took us novices
to a convent where he
had to say Mass
a young nun served us
coffee and cake
in a small room
away from the cloister
fresh faced and angelic
in her framed headgear,
Dei pulchritudinis,
the tall monk tolled
the cloister bell
before the office of Terce
black robed and thin of face,
ascoltare Dio nel
vostro cuore
the Italian monk said to me
as we laid the tables
in the refectory,
she held my pecker
in her two hands
like a snake charmer
charming,
George spoke of the coldness
about him his hands he said
stiffen in the coldness,
Dieu est proche même
dans nos heures sombres
the French monk said
when he saw me
looking down at my feet,
I snuggled between
her soft mounds
as she sang a Beatles' song
and I kissed her milkiness,
I fear not Satan
as much as I fear
those who fear him
said St Teresa of Avila
I read some place,
I twisted the apples
from the branches
as shown by the plump monk
(after Lunch) in the orchard
tempted to bite
but didn't placed
in a basket with the gentleness
of a child,
et quaerebant eum
tangere manu Dei,
Ambition said Gareth
quoting Spinoza
is the immoderate
desire for power,
I walked the dark cloisters
after Compline
the bell tolled me
to my early sleep,
the young nun's womb
was as closed
as a castle's keep.
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 3:31 PM UTC
it's kinda funny, but all i keep thinking about is the clipped tooth and the 3 pancakes awaiting me gnashing the smoothness into poached pear baby goo; i will not allow language to subordinate me... i, will, subordinate language! language will be my clothes, and not, my, tailor!
i abhor people owned by language,
it's a bit like debate
between portishead vs. poliça...
love a bitch-fight...
scratching, itching,
hair-tugging,
my type of replacement when it
comes to being entertained by
cockerels or bulls (terriers) -
got i love petting those beastly boy
pig snouts!
the problem with me?
i love drinking more than
conversations with people -
synonymous with:
animals make more sense to me
that humans...
oops;
i gather.
i have a 10kg / 20+ pound maine
**** that i bite for fun...
bite a maine ****
get an apache headgear...
****** kicks like a kangaroo
when i tickler his hind paws...
sings the **** out
of a reincarnation of Pavarotti...
either that or it's ***** 'arry,
or simply rudy (ginger) -
i love cats for their
autism...
it will never end up
being a death-stare match:
there's always "something" to
be preoccupied with cats...
usually? nothing,
the anti-thesis of
narcissus was a cat.
people never have stories
about dogs,
other than: lick my ***** take a nap...
i hate the cat i own...
man originated
with a heart,
while woman originated with a mind...
notably the grand-schemer
locusta -
hell knows no fury for a woman scorned,
as,
heaven knows no peace
for a man: pardoned.
since we're on equal terms,
we can only politicise language,
rather than the, infantile,
politicising of language...
i always wonder how
an exhausted meow exhausts the mind
of a cat, with no cognitive notion
of a a meow...
how does a cat meow...
when there's no thought of meow...
in the same exhaustion...
how does man speak of god,
when he think nothing of god?
if god is a beyond word,
yet trapped in (moral) action,
can we discuss the case by merely
using onomatopoeia?
i.e. onomatopoeia,
an etymological return to the prime
of syllables?
prior to letters having names
akin to A - alpha -
or O - omicron?
cut short pretty jesus?
oh, what, a, shame!
p.s. sure, he can be the alpha and the omega,
but i'm the omicron in between.
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 9:17 PM UTC
for Daniel “Chappie” James, General USAF
and for the 332d Fighter Group
Being black in America
was the Original Catch,
so no one was surprised
by 22:
The segregated airstrips,
separate camps.
They did the jobs
they’d been trained to do.
Black ground crews kept them in the air;
black flight surgeons kept them alive;
the whole Group removed their headgear
when another pilot died.
They were known by their names:
“Ace” and “Lucky,”
“Sky-hawk Johnny,” “Mr. Death.”
And by their positions and planes.
Red Leader to Yellow Wing-man,
do you copy?
If you could find a fresh egg
you bought it and hid it
in your dopp-kit or your boot
until you could eat it alone.
On the night before a mission
you gave a buddy
your hiding-places
as solemnly
as a man dictating
his will.
There’s a chocolate bar
in my Bible;
my whiskey bottle
is inside my bedroll.
In beat-up Flying Tigers
that had seen action in Burma,
they shot down three German jets.
They were the only outfit
in the American Air Corps
to sink a destroyer
with fighter planes.
Fighter planes with names
like “By Request.”
Sometimes the radios
didn’t even work.
They called themselves
“Hell from Heaven.”
This Spookwaffe.
My father’s old friends.
It was always
maximum effort:
A whole squadron
of brother-men
raced across the tarmac
and mounted their planes.
My tent-mate was a guy named Starks.
The funny thing about me and Starks
was that my air mattress leaked,
and Starks’ didn’t.
Every time we went up,
I gave my mattress to Starks
and put his on my cot.
One day we were strafing a train.
Strafing’s bad news:
you have to fly so low and slow
you’re a pretty clear target.
My other wing-man and I
exhausted our ammunition and got out.
I recognized Starks
by his red tail
and his rudder’s trim-tabs.
He couldn’t pull up his nose.
He dived into the train
and bought the farm.
I found his chocolate,
three eggs, and a full fifth
of his hoarded-up whiskey.
I used his mattress
for the rest of my tour.
It still bothers me, sometimes:
I was sleeping
on his breath.
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 8:06 PM UTC
On the land of God
Starts a great war
For Supremacy of democracy
May there be end of hypocricy
What can be tender than
Crown of flowers
Sword of flowers
Attacks of words
Like that of Shashi Tharoor
If public approve
It will be a landmark move
Let's wait till 23 rd May
Till then our good wishes stay.
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 5:32 AM UTC
mother in mouse slippers sees a rainbow and burns the bread. fucking rainbow was hunger before someone tried to erase it. I am not god but I do have insomnia. mother can do in her madness what most can in sleep. father hollers at a soldier suffering from memory gain. I throw baby brother’s rattle over a moving tank.
count for the dead their black sheep.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC
they don’t tell you
when you have a baby
about the shrinking
babies
do.
we bought a smaller bird
but few
noticed.
we made friends, women
with lights
on their shoes, men
sold
on mittens…
we sent nudes
to the author
of babies
eat
sleep.
our mailman
he caught us
dancing
and threatened us
with an audiobook
on baptism
and that
was the end
of mail.
we sold headgear
we volunteered
to sell
headgear, put an ashtray
on the roof
as lure
for longing
that
of memory’s
narc…
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 10:35 AM UTC