"helicopters" poems
i
give me my lifes´
the day crowded bright
and the night sumptuous..
give me my pretty wife
where love at first sight
bind us..
give us two souls blithe
fused as light within light
sweet bounteous..
let us soar and dive
like content swallows might
time in lost happiness..
( and let trouble and strife
bind-us the more tight
like our first kiss..)
give then to two one life
white to white
whole as stars
as love unto death
might break apart
and ride the cosmos..
ii
the jonah by james herbert
a heist goes wrong and a colleage
is shot..
just another debacle for our hero
in a long list
that has him transferred to the
drug squad and east anglia..
to live in a caravan..
keep his eye on the locals
and drink strong beer..
ellie his partner
makes him eat
and they fall in love
though various tentions rise
due to his troubles..
some flash backs
a left baby in a toilet
sadistic stuff at the orphanage..
bullies and dodgy collars
his step father is strict
he is an ornothologist..
there are drug related incident
a dead vole
a us pilot bites the farm..
some little boy thinks he
can fly..
the water supply
some pilfering
some heavy knocks
some bad lies
some kitchen
small potatoes
but all part
of mr herbert´ s charm..
a huge storm
the spooky old mill
a wild trip..
and regression
bad men
bad men..
lot´ s of struggle
the raw products
towed in by trawler
assembled by the knights
torn
and a lost twin..
a monster in the flood
where others die
a maitre d..
a ***** salesman and
his girl in a caravan
the fishermen..
helicopters and
victory for
the forces of good..
and the jonah
gone and all
is light..
the end..
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 8:01 AM UTC
Accountants hover over the earth like helicopters,
Dropping bits of paper engraved with Hegel's name.
Badgers carry the papers on their fur
To their den, where the entire family dies in the night.
A chorus girl stands for hours behind her curtains
Looking out at the street.
In a window of a trucking service
There is a branch painted white.
A stuffed baby alligator grips that branch tightly
To keep away from the dry leaves on the floor.
The honeycomb at night has strange dreams:
Small black trains going round and round--
Old warships drowning in the raindrop.
8.9k
Against the thick black curtain on horizon
of still, gigantic cumulus cloud formation
three flitting army helicopters deftly display
a shadow play on jolly life of dragonflies,
I am compelled to think, as I drive past this
along the road skirting Bangalore garrison
Feb 25, 2016
Feb 25, 2016 at 10:59 AM UTC
All I do is win, for I'm an Ace
Painting a bulls-eye on everyone in the place
In my plane I leave everyone else
bailing out of the fight in disgrace
If I was a horseman, I'd be War
'Cuz like the card game
I win against Kings and Queens
and take them out of the deck
like the Joker on the sidelines, alone and bored.
I don't need a Diamond to win you Heart,
and I don't wanna join your Club,
this was skill and not luck from the very start
I am the Ace of Spades,
and I'll use my ***** to dig out your graves
I've been painted on the sides of planes
cars and trains
helicopters, submarines,
and the munitions that deal out the pain
I'm a trick shot Ace with the pool stick
As a quarterback, I've yet to throw a pick
As a pitcher, I make the other team sick
The starter and the backup plan
the Ultimate Ace in the Hole
The best card in a poker hand
lay me down and the money's in the bag
I run solo, streaking across the land
You only need to hold me in your hand
and your enemies will become ****
and I'll give 'em a taste
of this whirling dervish's mace
Leave them breathless upon the ground
as I rob the air from out of this place
you'll stand in awe of my greatness
take a picture, make a statue
Fill up every empty space with my name
For I am an Ace!
Oct 5, 2011
Oct 5, 2011 at 2:39 AM UTC
An ethnic Tajik
A Sunni Muslim from the valley of Panshir
He stood and fought when danger was near
He fought proudly with his Muslim brothers
For the way of life they held so dear
Soviet attack helicopters
Tanks too
They attacked in vain
Ahmad has a heart so true
He was going to warn the West
Of the 9/11 attacks
Osama put a price on his head
I wish the Lion would come back
Death to communism
Afghanistan is the true Muslim's land
The Taliban are evil
And belong buried in the sand
Ahmad Massoud's spirit can never die
To Allah
His spirit will fly!
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 4:32 PM UTC
At Bookshop Santa Cruz
I look at a book about the East Bay then and now
One picture strikes me: 1969 Sproul Plaza
Govener Ronald Reagan has the National Guard spray
tear gas on protesters on the steps of this Berkeley Administration Building
People run in black and white
they look like my parents
The helicopter is so close to the ground, like the Vietnam War
I was three
In the backseat of our VW Bug
My mother was driving me to Strawberry Canyon
for a swim
Then she got scared--something on the radio
We turned around
I didn't understand
She had to protect us from tear gas
We lived in a war zone
Everyone was very upset
We were attacked by our own government
Even children were fair game
An innocent frog is placed in water
If the water temperature is raised gradually
the frog will sit there until it dies
In 1980 Ronald Reagan became our President
Much to our dismay
"70% of pollution comes from trees" he had announced
as Governer, he was obviously a man of science
The vice grip clenched, the water temperature raised
as we felt around us the world becoming more
difficult as a middle class
we were supposed to wait for crumbs to fall
from the table of the rich folks
fighting over the bits like starving animals
Budgets were cut
Prices rose, wages fell or disappeared completely
We were at war
1985: I took a class in Economics in college, a UC
I learned that Supply Side Economics was
a silly idea written on a napkin at a fancy restaurant
where the fat ones eat
and the crumbs are thrown away
It was all a sham
An excuse
The vice grip tightened, the world became
more difficult
not the American Dream my parents grew up in
To be middle class was to struggle and struggle and still
not have anything
The frog began to die
Somehow we saw that
Reagan drifted away, but his ghost
remained, a respite in the 90's
Then we were at war again
Not just tear gas, but carpet bombing
Guerilla warfare in the streets of a hot arid country
Oil companies, already saturating our ground and our air with their products
Cashed in
The frog is near death
We struggle, and nothing gets better
Only a respite
At a fancy restaurant
on a napkin someone wrote
a new theory of Economics
that became like Scientology
Outgrew it's ridiculous inception
And became real
Ronald Reagan dropped tear gas
from helicopters on Sproul Plaza
and it drifted to Strawberry Canyon
where children learned to swim
But that is child's play now
the frog is about to die
I want to pull it out.
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 5:01 PM UTC
My daughter
The superhero
Just told me
How she made
The London Eye
Out of helicopters
With their rotors
Broken off
And a gigantic wheel
Much bigger
Than herself
Of course
It's much bigger
Than her
She's only 4 ;)
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 4:26 PM UTC
Their lies are prompted
from teleprompters
and executed flaw-fully
from taxpayer's helicopters.
They say we're protecting
foreign daughters
while filtering profits
to desert clad marauders.
Blank faced public
fear conversing religion and politics
while passively electing
lunatics with trigger switches.
Arm the rebels
they bite the hand that feeds
the middle east burns
while America ******* bleeds.
The white, blue and red
camo helmets on their heads
farm fed frat boys
equipped with jackets of lead.
We watched Saddam crumble
his statue beaten with shoes
but the same war we already fought
the puppets now will choose.
Fight the good fight
support the troops.
Drone strikes by twilight
**** the troops.
An Army of one
Sempter Fi
Do or Die
I won't shed a single tear when you come back in a casket
covered in a flag you valued more than your life.
Our heroes are our welfare
stop blaming single mothers
plastic bags tied around throats
water boarding dissent, it smothers.
**** the Medal of Honor
I'm tearing up your portrait Obama.
How many can benefit from free tuition?
But we give it to those trained to slaughter.
Our priority is the police state
Nazis pretending to tote freedom.
We sip our Americanos
And retain nothing from the newspaper we are reading.
**By Evan Ponter
@evanponter**
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC
twinkle birds and tessellates, bends my mind to outer space. lands me in infinity of never ending affinity to the universe.
but sweetest ideas were shortly lived at reality slowly sifts away to repeated visions that turn loved faces into panic that glitches me into unbreakable circles of walk away, walk away.
no awareness of a before from this feel the abyss of this helplessness **** me into no ending so I seice to begin.
but as the panic subsides my mind starts to ride the energy that resides in my being from the kingfisher floor to the fish strewn ceiling.
sentient beings **** at the seams, my dream of weightlessness pull the windows to break towards the secrets of simple existence.
invisible water sends the strands of fur swelling and glowing into talk of the polar bear whose hair weaves into the atoms that feed my jumbled dreams.
hands rip through the plaster as the sounds grow louder and faster, helicopters shake the boiler from the pipes but I still feel great.
the tables tremble as I soak up the bass and the treble. sensual overload through my eyes the magic multiplies, angels can hear my sighs as the roof opens to tunnel towards the skies.
geometric patterns that I could never have imagines circle and sweep, creeping my further from sleep.
I have breached something new, an extreme that dares its self to be seen only my the few who ****** it. I grab these new senses and attach it to my masses of emotions, that have been formed my these chemicals. neutrons and protons that explore the breadth oh Pantones schemes, weaving into the atoms that feed my jumbles dreams.
release my mind from the confines of rinse and repeat, out of easy street and onto the sunrise that surrounds me. revelations that never siese to confound me.
destruction was peace pulling my beliefs, daring the world to touch me as the floor tips the cabinets from the walls. I am small. here in this perfect world. my hands make the plants grow as they show me all it takes to break the confines of the human condition is to expand your mind and reposition your nervous system to reach a different supposition.
little lion
please read my other work if you like this one!
http://trivialitesofabusymind.blogspot.co.uk/
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 5:02 PM UTC
Suited up as I try to maintain
In this ground cracking weather.
Heavy bags on my back
And artillery in my hands.
Goggles dusty
From the blistering sand
That slice my face like razors
With every gust of wind.
The scorching temperature
Is on hell and every breath
I take is so dry that my tongue's stiff.
One canteen, a few packs of food,
And a mission to complete.
My boots are laced,
With my feet feeling like people
Trapped in a burning building.
The further I go the more my body
Feels like it's being cremated.
I must reach my destination....
As helicopters pass through
Dropping explosives the size of a
Small child with the impact of
Several meteors hitting the earth.
Running like a track meet and
Maneuvering like a game of Dodgeball.
Gunfire, bodies, and thick smoke
As I bypass fallen aircrafts.
Approaching my target which
Will be my final destination.
BOOM! I found myself airborne to
Only hit the ground in unconsciousness.
BEEEEP! Is all I hear as I try to get
Up and regain consciousness.
Just a little over a hundred yards to
Go with a blurred vision
Feels like a lifetime.
As I'm reaching my target with
Bullets whistling pass my ears....
It's time. I set up my shot....
I hold my breath
Heart pounding with adrenaline
I'm studying
I'm focused
I'm ready....
POW! As my 50 caliber jerks
Back into my shoulder kicking
The dirt off the ground like a horse
At the Kentucky Derby.
MISSION COMPLETE!
As I'm going home with a bad case
Of paranoia and a Metal of honor...
I still have disastrous flashbacks
And ****** nightmares.
But....Nothing compares to that
STORM in the DESERT.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 2:54 AM UTC
while the debate goes on and on,
as to which country has the longest, continuous
democratic parliament, have it on on good authority
that the subject above,
is it better to love your kids too much than not enough?
was the first among all temporal discussions ever held,
despite periodic tabling, the debate remains unresolved,
the question unsettled even after 1000 years+ of argumentation
when over time, Universal Adult Suffrage finally came to be,
the debate became renewable, enflamed, divisive most contentiously,
various coming down on each side of a point of view topically
since mother, father and child, i.e.
pretty much everyone, definitionally,
claimed total expertise,
and sparing the rod was deemed by most to be illegally,
no plebiscite, amendment or ballot initiative was resolved resolutely,
the beat goes on continuously as new children reach voting age, sagaciously repeating their view, personally
my view?
I’ve tried both and failed equally
so I’ve little to contribute,
so let it be stated in manner unequivocally,
the sweet sensibility says too well,
but helicopters crash and monied snowplows
run over other both their own and others better deserving,
leaving all of them buried in snow piles street side,
while those who blame their faults on insufficient love,
are later most demanding more attention than any,
having becoming painfully hardy, by being treated hard about,
hard on themselves and worse to others
everyone knows the answer to this question for themselves
but I’ll leave you with this,
permitting a child to fail is a winning strategy,
as long as there is no legal limit
regarding the amount or frequency
on lifetime hugging
Mar 28, 2019
Mar 28, 2019 at 2:14 AM UTC
hollow shells.
am I talking about
kids
or
bullets?
trust no one
helicopters give them panic attacks.
am I talking about
kids
or
war veterans?
is there a difference these days?
this blood spatter on the walls
will keep getting painted over
anyway.
when we speak of courage,
we talk of those long dead.
the heroes
the martyrs
the saints.
but I've seen courage.
it's in the fight.
it's in the picket signs at marches
held up like pleas to the heavens.
it's in the kids who threw themselves in front of a gun
and lived.
dying bravely means
going
down
fighting.
fight until your lungs give out.
fight until your knuckles are ******
fight until your knees are trembling.
and then,
keep fighting.
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 1:05 AM UTC
I looked up into the sky
And I saw
Velociraptors
In helicopters
And I knew
This was the day I trained for....
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 9:51 AM UTC
In the linoleum dungeon
Sparkling swiffer creature
Squirts the floor
Calls polyphemic odors
Opening
And the crazy stench of allspice
Biting lime and draconian breath
Burning the nostril coins
Copper shield bending the cilia
Oven mitts plastered with narcotic grease and decomposing meals
Of yesteryear
Unclear
She speaks between steaming inspirations
Hoo-huh
Exhale the fire
It's'a hotta pasta lasagna
As the helicopters flap their handy rotories
Fast fractal birds
In circumfereferential motion
Cool down our mouths
Ice cubes in the juice
Plop a shot of gin
With that silly child's grin
And the room slowly cants
Begins to spin
As we laugh at the spots we cannot
Pin
Staring at the stellar mountain chains
Thrusted stone
Busted metal
Stabbing up into the sky
Competition
Where is the home beyond the horizon
Where we ate good meals
Not made alone
With parental guidance
As the days were stolen
By the erosive time
That spinning wheel
Well,
It's deep in us now
And the cells metastasized
Realized
That heaven is hell.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 3:51 PM UTC
*A pack of cigarettes, some gum,
some condoms, and $50 were stuffed
into his cargo pocket, in his left hand
a 9 millimeter, 10 rounds in the clip
he spotted a dead Vietcong.....
Yellow and scrawny....
a bullet through his right eye
his brains seeping out of his skull....
A little girl, walking down the dirt field road
a rice bowl in her right hand,
a bayonet in the left, it was covered in blood
Up the road, he spotted a fire,
the sounds of AK-47's whipping through the wind
a pile of bodies stuffed on top of each other
Ears and fingers wrapped around bare skinned necks
the smell of rotten flesh....
To the south, a **********
high heel boots, lace *******
and a mini skirt, unkempt hair, pitch-black
red lipstick and hazel colored eyes
$50 for a ******* $75 for a *******
$100 for one hours and $200 for two
condoms still stuffed in the cargo pocket
A back alley, a sloppy *******
the ****** broke.....
The gum is still wrapped in foil,
unwrapped, slowly chewed, sweet then bitter
the roar of helicopters and the blast of grenades
American flags ripped and set on fire
A single bullet, a silent gasp.....*
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 2:52 PM UTC
It’s almost 6, and the night is fighting with the last rays of sun,
Its armor and sword are both stronger the glow of sun, Stars comes out like your eyes, breathing down my neck,
Sitting across the Chinese restaurant in, with a cigarette dangling in your fingers blazing as harshly as bitumen laying on road as your skin on my skin was last night
You have been constantly eying me like I am breast of the freshly cut chicken,
I take slow sips of my beer, opening and reopening my fortune cookie, but it’s already been cracked and my fate has been sealed,
I pity the planets and us, we all are stuck in our orbits, and we always talk about the corruption in Russia and about pirates in Somalia,
We take detour of this city, and only this one, driving circles around the Wal-Mart, buying coffee beans and condoms,
I quiet my raging mind, which writes essays about the Greek gods and Atlantis; it fights with the night, but night plays word-games,
It twists its words into lyrics of lovers and pours them in my mouth, and twists its fingers in my ******
Its, almost 8, there are two bottles on the table, emptied like my heart, your ash tray full like your lungs with smoke and lust
Its 8, and sky is cobalt with streaks of lighter shades passing through like the Helicopters on Independence Day and I take this as my sign, and leave 20 dollar bill and a letter which screams “I’m gone”,
Bustling street and a Vegas sky welcomes my heart to the possibility of finding Atlantis.
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 5:32 AM UTC
1.
Late-spring's dilemma
Is unabridged and sweet;
Beardtongues and fuchsias peer through grass blades:
Blotches on the bristly canvas.
Camellias? Still in April.
2.
Slices of rye shift on my plate;
Miramar’s war machines whip overhead;
My mouth opens into the Gulf of Kuwait;
The toast becomes
Moldering lips of Pendleton.
3.
There’s a single-story house on a hill
That to helicopters
Looks like an easel.
Great canyons open
To the south and west; the street clings to time—
A pianist’s metronome
Waltzes crosswise on an eardrum.
4.
The eucalyptus bends the deafening breeze.
Are you still dredging Coronado's cradle?
(The tide
Disintegrates the illimitable skyline.)
5.
An unlit Anza-Borrego beats about my ears,
Stars piggybacking the horizon.
The cacti shrivel:
Glitter in a hurricane.
6.
End-of-spring guesses
Prey upon a betrayer’s conscience.
Stilted, they flash ephemerally.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 10:04 PM UTC
5am wakes a blinding bright orange sun
Standing out against the pale grey sky.
Below, a cityscape of grey.
No cars and few people move this early.
Portland, like most of us, is having a foggy morning.
Two bodies fade to color on a rooftop.
Their crusty eyes
Crack to vibrant orange light,
Half expecting search helicopters
Or seagulls pecking at their limbs.
Praying, for ravens.
They only find each other.
A beach towel beneath them
Half a bottle of ***** beside them
Next to their backpack and undergarmets.
It almost resembles a prayer circle.
Kicked blanket at their feet,
Brazier overhead,
Belt and trinkets to the side.
Lord knows what they were summoning last night.
They sure as hell can't remember.
They only remember touch and smell,
Light lavender hips,
Big Bourbon chest,
Fingers tracing artwork in the dark
Admiring both
Memories and their permenance.
Unfortunately,
This wasn't permenant.
After they climb down it's
He to a hospital.
She to a husband and child.
The orange sun coo'd too early.
Just two hours of freedom
Before the goodbyes and consequences.
A short glimpse of another world.
Hoping for closure.
One step forward.
Three steps back.
When their bodies left the rooftop.
They held hands.
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
James Brown Wasn’t Wrong... !!!
You Have To Pay A Cost...
To... Move Like A BOSS... !!!
Otherwise You’ll Get Dropped...
Like... HIROSHIMA Bombs... !!!
If You Don't Move Strong...
And With Power Like KONG... !!!
That Helps You To WIN...
EVERY Fight That You're In... !!!
Because To Move Like A KING...
Takes... REAL DISCIPLINE... !!!
Which ISN’T Something...
That Subordinates Bring... !!!
A King Has Linchpins...
Just Like Wilson Fisk...
Or Bosses Equipped...
To RAISE TITANIC Ships... !!!
Or Flip Scripts Like CRIPS...
Whose Bloodline Is Rich...
In VIOLENT STINGS...
And BRUTAL Killings... !!!
If Their Path Is Crossed...
By... Bosses Or Cops...
Who Need To Get Stopped...
Because What They’ve Got...
Are Movements That Flop...
Like Heads Who Can’t Box...
So... Quickly Get Rocked...
When Chin Checks Connect...
Like Bullets Do Chests... !!!
You See Bosses Don’t Sweat...
When Pressures Upset...
Their Plans And Projects... !!!
They Just Use Their Minds...
As Well As... Wise Guys...
Or Made Men Whose Vibes...
Prove That They're Willing To DIE...
To Maintain Gangster Ties...
For Dons Or... " Patrons "... !!!
Escobars Or Those Known...
As Yes... Don Corleones... !!!
That’s Right Gangster Bosses...
Who DON'T Stand For NONSENSE... !!!
They Move Like Top Shottas’...
Who Fly... Helicopters...
So QUICKLY Solve Problems...
By Using SMART Plotters... !!!!!!!!
Who Stand By Their Sides...
That's Right Like Their Wives...
And Give Good Advice...
Because They Are Guys...
Who Are MORE Than Wise... !!!
When It Comes To Insights...
That Help Them... Survive... !!!
In Times Where They Face...
Detection And Fates...
That Fill MORE Than Graves... !!!
So Bosses MAINTAIN...
By USING Their BRAINS... !!!
And By Knowing That Fame...
May See Them ERASED... !!!
But Bosses Have Style...
And Have To Profile...
A FEARLESS Mindset...
When They Face Arrest...
Or Those Who Leave Heads...
of Horses In... BEDS... !!!
And Bosses PROTECT...
Their Fam’ To The END... !!!
But When They Face Threats...
That Limit Their Resistance...
An Option They'll ACCEPT...
Is To SHOOT Their CHILDREN...
And WIFE To Quell Threats...
From Their... Opponents... !!!
Right In FRONT of THEM...
And Then Say... "What's Next ?"... !!!
A REAL BOSS Moves DREAD... !!!
Or Are Those Who Express...
With TOTAL CONFIDENCE... !!!
When It Comes To Poems...
Or Spoken Words Said...
So That’s Right I’m The Type...
When It Comes To Tight Rhymes...
And Poetic Lines...
Who Does EPITOMISE...
One of The... TOP FLIGHT... !!!
Because Cash Might Be Nice...
And Can Get You A Wife...
Whose Body Is Tight...
And... Corporate Ties...
Or A Gangster Type Life... !!!
But You’d Best Recognise... !!!
That Just Like James Brown...
It’s... How You Get Down...
That Proves You’re No Clown... !!!
And That You Are STRONG... !!!
NO MATTER What Lifestyle...
Or Money You’ve Got... !!!
If What You Profile...
Is A POWER That ROCKS... !!!
That Makes Others NOD...
In Acknowledgment of...
The Fact That You’re One...
Even If You Are NOT... !!!
Who'll ALWAYS Get Props...
Because You....
... “ Move Like A BOSS ! ”...
Sep 22, 2021
Sep 22, 2021 at 9:19 PM UTC
Sometimes on the way out of Giant,
I'll spend some time freeing change
from the receipt-paper
bindle in my coat pocket
for one two-twist mystery prize
from a Folz machine.
Two quarters:
Enough for a sapphire ring and a cheap
laugh while I juggle coffee-cream cartons,
a sack of December oranges, Certs,
cinnamon mouthwash, a dented can
of green beans 'cause it's cheaper,
red toothpicks, Ziploc bags, a barbecue
chicken TV dinner, Noxzema, a 32-case
of Poland Spring water, a Valentine's
Hallmark card and envelope, a bottle
of pink grapefruit Perrier,
two quick picks for Cash 5,
gluten-free potato chips, garlic salt,
some cumin for $2.82, and a copy
of Vogue.
I strap my groceries in the passenger seat,
and see them sitting straight up as I had,
childishly marveling at the lush
maple leaves washing the windshield
edges in green, leaving helicopters
and dew trails.
She and I watched slug trails
beneath mustard streetlights glisten
like Berger Lake.
Bright as the last cigarette my grandma snuffed out in a smokeless ash tray.
Bright as the first line of road flares that separated me from a burning Taurus.
Bright as the quarter my grandpa gave me for the Folz machine in the Sylvania.
And bright as the emerald ring I showed him.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 3:27 PM UTC
the only aircraft over head:
sea rescue helicopters;
no commercial flights
every now and then
shattering every nerve
military jets
low fast dominant
and deathly
May 30, 2014
May 30, 2014 at 10:28 AM UTC
About time,
I've paid my dues I've crossed the line,
This moment I thought would never come,
Is in my grasp, the deed now done.
Don't get me wrong, I loved my Mum,
But all that passed would surely stun
Even a saint or the Lord above,
So tiring being an aimless dove.
Now I'm ready to take the world by storm,
Show them my worth, no longer act forlorn,
The wife I always wanted by my side,
I can finally get into my Kingly stride.
The Little ****** that remains,
Harry's willful character that pains,
I've summoned experts to hear what they might say
To finally obtain a sample of his mysterious DNA.
I'm not claiming he's not mine,
But as Americans would shout, ‘I wouldn't bet a dime’,
Thank goodness I've got my other boy,
A stand-up chap that brings me nothing but pure joy.
As to Camilla, my soulmate from the start,
From whom they never could tear me far apart,
She now stands by me as my Queen,
You saw me beam with joy like a lovestruck teen.
Don't get me wrong,
I'm painfully aware my reign may not be long,
But while I'm here, I plan to make my mark,
Understanding this job is no cakewalk in the park.
I've got the Aussies wanting to jump ship.
The Canadians on their own perennial trip,
The Scots plotting for a Clansman King,
And Parliament seeking me do next to nothing.
Yet I've got a plan,
Something that will surely stun,
Become a multimedia star,
And thus take them all across the bar.
I can jig, dance and sing,
Fly helicopters, do pretty much of anything,
Plant trees, help save our World
How can all of this be thought absurd.
Politicians just blow smoke,
Send their countries near flat broke,
I instead bring Billions in
Collecting smiles from wheresoever I have been.
That said let me enjoy my moment in the sun,
Reflecting on all that's been and done,
My resolve is firm, my duty clear,
My life's work is aimed at all, both far and near.
So rest easy, enjoy the ride,
Sailing smoothly on a flowing tide,
Over a thousand years in the making
My oath is one of giving and not taking.
May 8, 2023
May 8, 2023 at 11:31 AM UTC
In my garden is a clean little pond
Fructified by tadpoles besides tiny fish
Where water lilies bloom by day
White and violet, a lovely sight
Over it hover pairs of dragonflies
They come in plenty on summer days
When the day is bright, soon after morn
To lay their eggs on lily pads
Like helicopters, they skim up and down
With their tiny propellers coming down
Sometimes like surfers over the aqua blue,
Perform rare feats, with brisk movements
Their filmy gossamer wings glistening in sunlight
And their bulging eyes reflecting iridescent shades
If ever we try to catch one…., sensing danger
They would rocket up, as fleeting flashes of light,
Into the air…. gliding and spiraling
Even in my sixties, whenever I spot a dragonfly
My mind catches up with those memories
When as children we chased them- ‘hush hush’
Trying to trap them while they perched on a fence or pole
How delighted we were holding them between our fingers
As they helplessly shivered thrumming their filmy wings!
Making them lift small stones double their weight
In their quivering thread like hands, a huge task for them,
Had been our greatest thrill then…!
Were we sadists……??
I still wonder!
May 16, 2016
May 16, 2016 at 11:27 PM UTC
Some things are sadly poetic
Like the cougar whose boyfriend
Won’t come back outside and she’s alone
At the only table in the cold
smoking a pall mall,
Having a beer.
Some things are refreshingly poetic
like leaving the office for a bit with the boss
and going somewhere
where there are domes made of pure gold
and priests who pour milk on them from
helicopters.
Some things are interestingly poetic;
like the poet, turned novelist, turned artist,
who does landscaping to cover the spread.
Some things are courageously and nostalgically
And hurtfully poetic,
Like not seeing your family for nine years
Because the money’s good where you're at,
And plane tickets and passports are outrageous.
Some things should not be
poetic, but they are, because they are truthful
And that is verse;
like the waitress who was *****
when she cashed her check at a grocery store
after the night shift
and she wasn’t the only one in her car
when she got back.
Some things are poetry because they come
Into this world quietly
And bleeding internally,
and yet they survive
Even though their lungs are full of fluid,
And they can barely breathe.
Some things are poetry because they happened
And nothing can change that.
And because
Poetry is
unchangeable, immovable, and
grotesque, beautiful, uncomfortable, calming,
disfiguring, life-giving, ****** up,
Possibly ****** possibly a nectar
That God
or whoever the ****
allowed to be put on paper,
Possibly a way to talk about pain,
Possibly roided up with someone else’s words,
Possibly a way to talk about
the pure dream of a girl’s body
Without being a ***** *****
Poetry is love in the worst
and most unimaginable ways.
Mar 13, 2012
Mar 13, 2012 at 8:39 PM UTC
courting the sun
after a cool June
in my vintner's garden
close to the southern border
carefully sipping
his latest selection
a good year
you can taste it
looking out from the hill
across the river valley
I listen to his children
proudly telling how
only yesterday
they filled 50 sandbags
just in case
the deafening roar
of an interceptor jet
splits the air
just for seconds
leaves my wine glass
trembling
three helicopters
slash their way south
and come back later
over the winding road
on the next hill
the last tank of the column
disappears
we can hear
not far away
over there
sounds like explosions
we enjoy the sun
Helmut opens another one
of his treasured bottles
and tells me
what he will do
if They come across
he is a good hunter
and an excellent shot
I sip the clear wine
watch how the sunlight
lends its brilliance
to the half-filled glass
I feel a little bit
like Humphrey Bogart
in the wrong movie.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 9:23 AM UTC