"huckleberry" poems
On one of the myriad bays
along the Maine coast. Keep the holocaust
at bay I said to Dave because
you’ll spend all day gathering
2,000 calories and still be miserable hungry.
An undiminished population of humans is risible.
Black spruce and balsam fir,
you can eat the inner bark
in a starvation emergency.
There’s plenty of Cornus—bunchberry—
each orange pith around the stone
worth maybe a quarter calorie.
Lots of sarsparilla but the fruits
not out yet and to date I have not
savored one. Let’s see—dandelion
of course and huckleberry but
the most important source of sustenance
would be seaweed.
Learn your mushrooms! for the protein.
Accept the situation
come the apocalypse.
I struggle against my insignificance
but it would be better to struggle
against my ignorance.
Less effortlessness, more fishermanliness.
That’s the lesson of this Maine vacation
there’s a lot you can eat when in need—
the hips of roses and the pips of grasses.
And an endless supply of seaweed—
bladderwrack, dulse, kelp and thin green lettuce.
Sep 12, 2023
Sep 12, 2023 at 6:09 AM UTC
Tipsy daze were just foreplay
for the passionate midnight sexcapades.
Every Sunday
Drinking champaign,
Not practicing self-restraint
Sneaking into privet estates
Dive into the grotto pool.
My late night wicked pagan lover,
Two lonely hearts bonded over confessions in the dark.
We were nympholepts in retrospect.
All clinquant, in gold light
But turned to heathens, in the night.
Dancing in rhythmic eruptions of fevered delight.
Wondering eyes are tantalized
You are luxurious, feral, **** boy personified.
I was mystified by the wild & eroticized by the style.
A Huckleberry Finn identical twin, ohh but of corse
-You had a Porsche.
Oct 18, 2016
Oct 18, 2016 at 4:34 AM UTC
My darling,
upon the mountain's caress.
My schizo-friendly mess
in a pineapple dress.
I couldn't love less
or less of you.
Young explorer,
drifting from world to world.
A huckleberry eye
that shifts from trembling duress,
with my hands onto her back.
Why can't life cut you any slack?
The chair is going out under
as the skies are mumbling thunder.
My violin underneath the sin,
sounding from within
"...I love you."
Broken water
bounce from cheek to chest.
Your breathing sounds the best.
With my words onto your lips,
and how the saliva drowns and drips.
I grip around your hips,
with the world releasing a boulder,
that drops upon your shoulder,
and I shake you senselessly,
why can't god set you free?
I can feel from you to me.
Blood, down, to ever and let go,
with your body in the snow.
My river-drowned girl,
engulfed by the swirl.
Love, oh no, from year to year.
Your words so everclear,
"I love you, too."
Silver-shiner,
moon-kissed and ever so,
your feet on the bathroom floor,
the kills from the handled snore.
What I wouldn't give to drink
from your fountain.
What I wouldn't give to die
on your mountain.
My darling, from colored-t.v.,
with a kiss and a motel fee,
I could know what the known couldn't,
with my fingertips where they shouldn't.
Turn down the volume and say
that you'll stay another day
or three.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 1:43 AM UTC
the other night,
i had a dream;
usually,
i don’t remember
my dreams—
those unconscious
musings
of my mind—
but this night
was different;
maybe it had
something to do
with the fact
that i had fallen
in the shower
half an hour
before laying it
down on the
pillow...
...a trickle of
blood running
down my forehead,
transforming quite
alarmingly into
a babbling brook
consisting entirely
of chocolate milk;
my raft bobbed
up and down,
the demon who
haunts my nightmares
now clad in a
tuxedo—
a nice change
from the bright
pink trench coat
he usually wears...
...the demon’s
strong hands
propel the
craft forward
with a rather
Huckleberry Finn-like
affectation;
i turn my
attention from
my oldest friend
to the shore,
sparkling with
broken glass,
thumbtacks,
and mathematical
equations;
there,
i glimpse my classmates
doing burpees...
...suddenly,
a car crash
occurs;
the chocolate milk
becomes a very
narrow,
winding road,
the end of which
is obscured by
an angsty cloud
of disappointment;
the elevator
plummets horizontally toward
the 3rd sub-basement
of the shower;
my friend in
the tuxedo offers me
a steaming
cup of hot chocolate...
...which burned
my tongue,
causing me to cackle
wildly
and toss the
mug into the
abyss;
**** you cup!”
i scream,
utilizing my
full lung capacity
as i begin to
fall again,
down,
down,
down;
and then i was awake,
sweating, bleeding;
i may have a concussion...
Dec 13, 2018
Dec 13, 2018 at 3:37 PM UTC
I pierced my septum
with a magic bullet.
Is Texas really the reason
the president’s dead?
I’d give anything for a scotch
despite never having had one.
I loaded my gun with Pall Malls
and shot my brother dead in the woods.
That son of a ***** is the Able
to my Cain,
the scissors to my paper.
Pap has no son.
**** Huckleberry,
lying piece of ****
I scratched my *** with steel wool.
I drew blood,
(in pencil haw haw)
I’m tired,
despite being well-rested.
I ****** everyone in Gomorrah
over spring break.
Add salt to my pillar.
And you say I’m *******
immature.
Get loaded
in Bozeman.
I hate that you hate me.
The KKK wasn’t
this spiteful.
Dying on a burning cross,
I confess my sins
to Richard Dreyfuss
and ********* on
Judas.
He wipes it off
with the Shroud of Turin
but the streak is still there.
I sold my brand and licensing rights
for thirty pieces of silver.
I ******* came on Judas.
I never did anything to you
that you didn’t do to me.
My dad is bigger than
yours.
I’d abort myself
just to get a reaction.
I’m going to hell,
but at least I’ll finally eat
at the cool kids’ table.
I’m done fighting
with people I don’t speak to.
So how about you just hit me,
you just
*******
hit
me.
I’ll launch into whatever the **** I want.
I’ll ******* SOAR,
like a ********* 747,
I’ll **** birds into my engines
and spray their guts wherever
I please,
because I’m finally done being manipulated.
**** I don’t think
I even started.
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 10:35 AM UTC
Forgetting about that uptight blight.
Emanate apathy
Unapologetically.
Cheers to you Baby Jesus,
I'm all jacked up on pink Moscato; by noon.
Without a clue of what to do
Retreat to a beach
For a gala beset by an erubescent sunset.
What marry monarchs,
All clinquant, in gold light
All turn to heathens, in the night.
Perpetually transfixed
By a curious mix of
Rhythmic eruptions & fevered delight
Like fairies & nymphs
Amidst the moon of misbehaving.
Wondering eyes are tantalized
You are luxurious, feral, **** boy personified.
I was mystified by the wild & eroticized by the style.
A Huckleberry Finn identical twin, ohhh but of course
— You had a Porsche.
But we were far from bonafide.
All is well,
Who really gives a **** about a relationship cuff…
I was inherently drawn to the effervescence, of your soul.
Together in disconnected bubbles
Like a glass of champagne,
Sparkling to the surface effortlessly.
Daytime friends and nighttime lovers;
Nympholepts in retrospect,
Carefully tip-toeing around
Blossoming curiously & compromising cantor.
Over winsome side-long looks
The burgundy hardtop drops down
Into my body & out of my mind
Tipsy daze were just foreplay
For the passionate midnight sexcapades.
A midsummer’s night moonlit dream
Manifested midst the trysts of Spring.
Every Sunday
Drinking champagne,
Not practicing self-restraint
Sneaking into private estates
Dive into the grotto pool.
Worshiping the Sun, not the saint.
My late night lover show me your wicked pagan birthright.
Two lonely hearts bonded over confessions in the dark.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 10:11 PM UTC
Don't run from me
Don't play this game
I want to love you
And I'm not ashamed
Of what I'm going to show you
Yes, show you tonight
There's another side of me
So please don't put up a fight
Just hear me out,
Listen to what I have to say
You're a beautiful girl
I could look at you everyday
You're already my princess
So let me be your prince
Don't push me to the ground
Then I'd have to go rinse
The dirt off of my skin
But the pain will remain
Forever in my heart
Making me eyes steal the rain
So love me a little
Love me tonight
Come over here
Let me kiss you light
I'll be your knight in shining armour
I'll protect you every day
It's in your hands now
All you have to do is stay
Close your eyes and count to ten
Imagine the life that we could begin
We could go on an adventure
Just like Huckleberry Finn
My love for you is real
I swear it won't falter
So marry me
I won't leave you at the altar
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 11:07 PM UTC
A personable person propogated passion
Beneath my heavy heart
Alas, cried the caterpillar
You are not dead!
Though I have spent hours molesting your windowsill
Rapeseed!
Huckleberry!
Gingerbread Pie!
All these things and more have I maliciously misunderstood
But the lies of the soothsayer are frequently true
They are passionate pomegranates from me to you
The obelisks of oppression overpower your heartstrings
And there's nothing you can do
My villain!
My thief!
The princess of my misery!
The fiery orb and the blasphemous pirates!
Staring at your shoulders I see only my reflection
Turning on your heel my eyelids sparkle and linger at your doorstep
It's Goliath's head
Salmon and bread
Those deathly ideas which you purposely said
Tic tac guru
Just what is he to you?
And which of my words have you read?
Sep 18, 2012
Sep 18, 2012 at 6:24 PM UTC
Should I become a middle school math or English teacher?
Leave my bed early in the morning and return with test papers to grade.
With what authority will I persuade those kids to sit still and perform
calculations and interpretations.
I won’t be allowed to teach A Good Man Is Hard To Find. Nope, it’ll be
Catcher in the Rye, Lord of the Flies and Slaughterhouse Five. Novels
that annoy.
Poems and math are magic. Words and numbers are things no one has
ever seen or heard or touched.
But the administration keeps them separate. The curriculum’s
determinate.
The kids are beautiful but combustible. When middle school lets out at
the periapsis of Earth’s orbit, that’s the face of joy.
The purpose of school is to introduce us to the world’s innumerable
wonders. The periodic table, World Wars I and II, Huckleberry Finn
and Jim.
Once a gaggle of teenage girls bet whether I wore boxers or jockeys. I felt
ambushed and unlucky. Also a bit afraid.
There’s little love lost between the students and the teachers. Expect to
forget and be forgotten. Information.
I remember Mr. Killian my chemistry teacher. So boring about something
I now find so interesting and important. He wasn’t boring; I was
boring.
I remember Mr. Christensen my history teacher. He was fat and funny but
taught as little as possible. I was known to laugh so hard I cried.
I remember Mr. T my calculus teacher. He dressed everyday exactly like
Gene Kranz in mission control. I was confused past help so he didn’t
help.
I remember Tone Kwas my music teacher. He said I was the worst
trumpet player he’d ever tried to teach and switched me to
sousaphone. He was right but so what! Playing badly is the best
riposte.
Mar 2, 2022
Mar 2, 2022 at 6:40 AM UTC
the moment that i laid eyes on you
time simply ceased to be
the globe stopped its spinning
and the lights started dimming
and the heathens began their fevered singing
and i forgot just who i was
the instant that your eyes fell upon my frame
i got thrown back into reality again
and i crash landed feet-first into a chair
it was fair
we both had to stifle our giggling
you spoke smoothly
almost orchestrally
some sort of poetic sing-song
heavily laced with the accent of the place that i hope to someday find you
"chicago, chicago, that toddling town..."
i hope i find you soon
wearing that same sleepy looking smile
and your news-boy cap
and that shoulder strap sack that i'd like to think you kept stuffed to the brim with college-rulled ball-point ballet
but that was years ago
now there's more than just arrhythmias and murmurs and excited flesh between our heavy chests
now there's lines drawn between our toes
lines scratched into the sands of time with the force of lightning's strike
worry lines
telephone lines
state lines
lines that furrow across the face of the map
things tend to fade out like that
the way the last track on your favorite record fades slowly to the sound of a skipping needle
i'm still unsure if i imagined you into existence
or if you only existed in my imagination
either way
i wish you'd have stayed a while longer
Jul 31, 2013
Jul 31, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
One full year with what feels like a lifetime full of twists and turns, tears and burns.
One full year and you’ve made your arms and chest home to me.
One full year of sacrificial love — undeserved.
My huckleberry friend, with whom would I rather share my sun-drenched and, at times, reckless youth? Always in all ways, with you.
My beautiful solace, who’s courageous enough to break through my darkest clouds? It’s you — through and through.
Who has been to me a bridge over troubled waters? None but you, no, none but you.
And whose love accepts, gives, and forgives time and time again? No man, but you. My love, only you.
One full year of knowing and adoring you evermore each day.
Aug 17, 2021
Aug 17, 2021 at 9:49 AM UTC
she’s out there on the ice again.
holy night &
positioning the gas-tanks just right.
joseph is her father, and his father,
even if not by blood,
raised flame.
foot to throat, brother remains
in the city working.
he is building a rocketship
in the basement of his apartment
complex.
back to town and dying houses.
foreclosures and fences.
lake of fire.
lights: she lingers in lights.
something so true and alive about the revelatory
of color,
of the world when lit and hit by sun
or our artifice.
her lovers: one dead by heavy
lumber, the other rewinding videotapes
in chasms of the library.
she thinks on his lips.
her dog tracks wet prints
across the carpet and floors.
wish list:
mittens
huckleberry jam
iphone solar charger
explosives
Feb 16, 2016
Feb 16, 2016 at 1:35 AM UTC
*Chitter , chatter chirrup
Three birds of a feather
A friendly chummy posy -
in perfect morning tide pleasure
Trilling , thrilling , touring Thrush's in the noon palmettos
Chiming sweet refrains in the -
broomcorn meadow
Musky , dusky weary
Gold songsters in a bush
A huckleberry trio in the-
nighttime hush*
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 10:25 PM UTC
acid pools in stomachs mingling
with melatonin and valerian.
struggling to displace oneself in the scheme of things.
there is no question that Mitchum was the man,
or that Farewell, My Lovely is still too expensive for me to buy,
but I do question the length of time we spent
pondering the truth with empty schedules and JWH-018.
we etched an identity from a corner-store drug era
filled with colorful characters and interesting flavors;
burning spare change and time probing the annals
of creativity for something to pop up and speak to us.
I know I shouldn't have stopped texting,
but you should have let the schoolyard bully stay home.
artsy flicks just don't have the same charm anymore,
and the struggle to stay seated is hard to purge,
pleading, wailing in a crowded cinema,
when we both know you could've prevented yourself
from never getting a chance to see this.
you hover still over the lights lining the aisles.
the phases of the moon have stayed loyal,
chili and tabasco are still great on a cold January afternoon,
and there is still some charm to cranking the stereo
on the stretch of highway out by Rock Springs.
Big Boss Man still asks "do you believe in God?"
before he asks an unsuspecting face for a dollar.
they still put on concerts in the summer over by The Winery,
but I haven't ever heard of any of the bands.
someone else manages The Smoker's Den now;
some kid I've never met, so I probably won't go back in.
he doesn't appreciate the comedy found in the face of Perot,
or the elusive, dark sweetness of the huckleberry.
in passing we exchanged a miraculous favor,
and in passing we managed to become different people,
in passing I walk on top of uncertain footprints,
and in passing you dream of film noir.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 12:29 AM UTC
*The Wurlins sweeten muscadines on the vine , gather morning dew
in Petunia buckets , hollow out acorns to carry their Clover honey lunches
They ride June bugs by the light of the Moon
Entice Tree frogs to strike up a tune
Make Huckleberry wine and Sassafras brandy
Pecan coffee and Honeysuckle candy*....
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 1:44 PM UTC
I am poetry do me as your first thought.
I am poetry do me with all ya got.
I am poetry do me in the morning after coffee w/cream.
I am poetry do me as if romance is not a dream.
I am poetry do me as if you have never done me before.
I am poetry do me in a Starbucks store.
I am poetry do me in your latte' thoughts and more.
I am poetry do me calmly in rush hour traffic.
I am poetry do me at home when things get erratic.
I am poetry do me manifesting universal love out loud.
I am poetry do me in the woods and be proud.
I am poetry do me on Sunset Strip on a trip New York to L.A.
I am poetry do me in the Hollywood Hills at sundown.
I am poetry do me on the shores of Maui music around peace.
I am poetry do me out at sea drifting in on currents of a warm ocean breeze.
I am poetry do me catlike and tease.
I am poetry do me at 4 am. when sacred silence sounds again.
I am poetry do me in your heart until that spark never ends.
I am poetry do me on the third day rising in huckleberry heaven.
I am poetry do me with your soul on fire full of passion desire.
I am poetry do me love.
.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 4:35 AM UTC
You held me close
and the tears began to flow
I'd like to thank you Huckleberry,
for never letting go.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 2:23 AM UTC
You can be my pinewood forest
and I'll wander through your mists
ducking through
your hollowed out trees anytime
I'm your huckleberry
bushes growing
under your treetops
and you can eat my berries anytime
Recall that
huckleberries only grow wild
and so do I.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 1:17 PM UTC
The chilling snow storm winds howl,
a cry heard around the town.
The neighborhood dogs run afoul,
not even the frostbit air can hold them down.
The streets are deserted, desolate,
street light flicker on and off.
We try to make the best of it,
a storm which we've all had enough of.
The floor creaks,
beneath my feet,
as I make my way into the den.
The walls creak,
and sound weak,
just like everything built by men.
I pick up my book,
"The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn",
the perfect read,
for when snowed in.
The time on the clock ticks,
and ticks,
and ticks,
and even clicks.
Time wasting away,
on a snowy winter day.
The cabin I'm in,
is full of sin,
lust, ******
and even some mahogany.
I live in a house of hate,
a cesspool of lies.
All of which,
I will not deny.
And I will admit,
I really do miss,
your beautiful smile,
oh, it drove me wild.
But I failed you,
and you have the right to leave.
Chew me up and spit me out,
like your average piece of ****
So I will sit here,
in this raging winter storm,
and feed the fire more,
feed the fire more.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 9:20 PM UTC
i'm your huckleberry
yes, I'm coughing blood
the glass is broken
death is smiling while kissing my tongue
i'm your huckleberry
the white devil on the black horse
play a game with me
and you can fall as well
barely a problem
worth a listen to tell
we can laugh together
in a bar in hell
i'm your huckleberry
this time drinks are on me
i'm not angry at you
in eternity we'll have time to see
we were always friends
who only had fun being enemies
this time you can trust me
I'm your huckleberry
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 4:09 AM UTC
Sadness is a sickness
Turning lips
chapped
And blue.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 1:33 AM UTC
By: David W. Clare
Country Hicks are my kinda folk
Getting drunk, we likes to joke
Moonshine an' whiskey, outlawed still?
Jack and Jill, kissed up the hill...
Shotgun weddin', down by the lake
Women folk rustling, baba queing up some steak
Pork spare ribs and a catfish bake...
Huckleberry cousins can't read nor write!
Uncle Gus, gettin' drunk, he likes to fight all night!
Here come more kin, from way down south
Riding a horse, wild dogs a barking, foamin' at the mouth...
Shotgun Weddin' wavin' bye bye, all stood 'round, broke down and cry...
(C) in perpetuity all reserved by the author
(P) FilmNoirWorks
--
Oct 30, 2016
Oct 30, 2016 at 10:53 PM UTC
*please read http://hellopoetry.com/poem/629931/in-the-beginning/
before you indulge in this :-) *
DAD'S DREAMS
The Sandman and I have an agreement:
I will use his grains sparingly,
In return,
He dispenses my prescription in
Nearly lethal doses.
Deep,
Extravagant,
Peaceful
Sleep
Where only contented dreams live
In abbreviated hours
Too succinct
To allow anything unpleasant.
Wrinkled
Sheet-faced
Creases
Trail skippingly through
****** worlds
Utopian neighbors
Calorically absent banquets
Sharing property lines with
Idyllic, passionate women
Who peer over their
See-through fences
Teasing unbridled desire
Of covering me in a favorite topping.
(Dutifully, I double check
Nocturnal filters
To be sure I have prevented
Broadcasting of past names
To my present wife
Half-dozing on the pillow
Taken from my side of the bed.)
A mist sets then rises, a new act begins,
Transporting near the river
On the banks of my hometown.
I am Tom Sawyer,
Lounging proudly with
My Huckleberry friends,
Fishing line on my toe,
Bobber and stink bait
Mimicking ***** waves
On the Muddy Miss.
The string draws taut bending my stubby digit.
It’s a big one hanging on
Pulling so hard
I'm driven from slumber.
There at my feet I can see I have
Reeled in the finest catch of my life.
A blue eyed,
Small mouth offspring
With panting gills
Mumbling something about falling....
Then I remember,
The only thing
Better than my dreams
Is waking to a son
Who believes I am bigger
Than all of his.
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 1:06 AM UTC