Part One
Nascent Craving

The insular heart unsealed; pearled eyes
Breach parapets of stone— periled shield,
The sweetest ****—
A threatening wonder and irrefragable synergy,
Nervous routes of cognition  
In this nascent, amorous craving.
Locked and abased,
Dissonance lends pathos — euphoric and onerous,
Disconsolate cries curb sublimation,
The regnant bleed diffusing — fervid lust
Fondled, tactile surfaces in throbbing anticipation.

Sullen, aft a veil of laughter,
Visceral aftermath, out of
The ardent ash,
Burns a thirst;
Insuperable numbness and ache.
Efflorescent intimacy,
Table for two
Enraptured in new alliance,
Élan vital (psyche);
Urgent dialect petitions
Equivocation, jocularity blending
Provocation with indecision,
Noted lilt of descending inhibition.

Adrift, the incessant Now;
As occasion inexorably diminished;
Resonant simpatico tending,
Numinous amity;
Heard conversant, cognitive idioms—
Lassitude, time-eaten pangs of the unhinged heart,
Wounds axiomatic,
In disquieting synergy,
Nibbling, the circumference—
Misery’s permeating truth;
None immune, all trundle incongruously past,
Facing intrepid savages.

Licitly felt, reverberations of Amor
Whence the heart behaves;
Measured cadence, pulse elevating—
Treasured lover, contemplative muse;
Undulating clasp, inflated bone of absence;
Incarnation — a woman,
Beyond prosaic;
Ineffable adoration pours in certitudes of verse,
Elenita, enclothed —virtue unvarnished;
Reservoir intrinsic, poised advocate of the innocent:
The crooked lines of insolence,
Brazen culture of neglected youth.
Perceptive blue stare, sensitized tears—
Plaintively, evincing her injustice ago.

Part Two
Tendered Senses

Siren silence, eruptive blush, ampler between phrases
In dulcet tones — stirring discourse;
Foments rebellion, the strife beneath— his ****,
Out of its vast reserve,
Penetrate the narrowed ambit, vaguely announced.
Groping hands, migrating the sensual member
Stern faces grimacing— mirror in abrasion,
Under the blind surf of consent;
Burrowing ambiguity, emerging torsion,
Plunge, enlisted and content in the sea;
Subsumed in the nonverbal cue,
Persuasion’s plea,
Quelled in the post cerebral assent.

Piercing eyes parallel crystalline waters of Lake Tahoe.

An untouched portion of his awareness remains aloof,
Palpable in the subsequential quiet,
Obsequious and febrile, they sinned on sofas;
Peregrine predilections quenched and viscid—
Serenely requited, the room breathes her presence,
Limp, figures *******, mantled in adolescent torpor.

Erudition in bloom, trust undoubted,
Illuminating, satiating; tempest calm—
Under canvas
Terrain soaked and sodden,
Postliminary — rains of invalidation.
Allowance and permission
Recalibrate, salivate, shortly only—
Initiate, obliged consecration, appraising
Curvatures of the spine,
Stuns him obeisant, her femenine pulchritude,
Propinquity inciting vigor,
Emergent allure, the updriven
Tower of wood sprung from the blanket.

Suffused in ether, purring streams of remembrance
Vaginal honeyed dew, sung into
Orchids, remnants of remember;
Drenched down the cynosure of devotion;
Succulent view, diaphanous pantied bottom;
Halcyon mist, saporous wine — compliance of the will,
Freed fires wander,
Pliable rind, twin plums dripping,
Abject confession, dispatching doubt
In tendered senses,
Pivotal tree, lavender Jacaranda holds the key,
Unfurled, cindered vulnerability.

Half-denuded skin invites confessional savor
Acutely bubbled rear, fleshly furnished denim;
Sultry visit, San Ramon Valley in the fall,
Strewed limbs splendid, flowing filmy;
Imagination yields—
Bursting silk congealed
Across deft thighs, ambrosial thong draping ankles,
Grazing ascension, the curvaceous trajectory
Nose inflamed with fragrance,
Inhaling, climb of acquiescence,
The ****** weal, amid the globed fruit,
Focal intention — ploughed lance thrusting,
Absconding, the ancillary perfume of essence.

Perceiving avid validation,
Swimmingly, amid the monstrous gaze.
  
Humid skies simper dank, set swell the incense of Eros,
Surge of poetry engorged
The flame levened shaft,
Nimble ******* flounce, spill the harboring mouth;
Moist hands merging, unfettered,
Weave in supplication,
Vicinity voicing, enmeshed diversion;
Supple and spherical behind
Posterior arch, milky-skin against the lip—
Ripeness jostling their complacency;
Lapped the mooring, ridden decisively;
Recapitulating— spumed forth, bellied over hips warmth.
Abandon the dirge of self-pity
Late under ego’s trance.
  
Part Three
Present Tenses

Tempting trespass across sacred gardens,
Flowering, scandal set luminous: attachment—
Consensual, their corresponsive fear;
Protean manifestations— evocative, perpetual
Unutterable contention in a fictive resolve,
Deliberating the merits of their widely disparate tastes in coffee,
Amorously touring wine, let’s drowse through the gnarled vine.
Sundry deficiencies pale, once contrasted;
The beatific vision—
Material substance unaccompanied,
Imperceptible, tear-streamed cheeks in synch,
Ventral kiss, peak of carnal perfection,
Reminiscence— flesh violent with Love.

Fiction knew to meander the innominate rift,
A tincture of irony soften misdeeds
Immense as the sea.
Insolvent beast stippled with sapience—
Unmasked, the fabric of delusion;
Dependence smothering the disciplined heart
Resentment put up for release.

Waste of residual years
Fate’s apportion, scars bleakly observed;
Chastened by heartache, engulfing fervor
Too faint to recapture.
Vague glimpses dry—
Hypervigilant his defenses,
Veritable suspensions, embers lit linger;
Slender walls of solidity, the horizoned self,
Faith and reason in concert — stone levels of elucidation.

Fractured bones of distance, emanate a rigid salience,
Another ponderous night of absence—
Lingering, cauldron of dearth as indifference ushers,
The quotidian coil of contrition.
Tearful pallor, sequestered —ciphering time and solitude;
The unkissed mouth, his restive brow;
Suspend in the approximate span.
                      
After Lucid alliterations are spoken
Devoid of her face, his lover’s nudge—
The man nurtures his hurt.
Anxious as seldom unscarred,  
Venus’s susurrations,
In present tenses,
Kissed by her serenades of integration—
Notwithstanding metaphysic intrusion,
No chain stays unbroken,
Postponed drifts of deferment left unspoken,
Reverberations of amor.

© 2013 W. S. Warner

The casket was coming up, swaying and wobbling
Like a novice skater’s layover spin,
The workings proceeding apace,
The stillness of the August heat
Punctuated by disinterested growl of the backhoe,
The occasional out-of-place jocularity by the excavators
The creaky jingle of the chains holding the muddied box
As it proceeded skyward in its clumsy poor-man’s Resurrection.
The affair was being observed by an elderly couple,
Old enough to be of no particular age.  
Their car had Carolina plates,
But their inflections, their casually-tossed idioms
They noted that ruefully The grass needs mowed)
Marked them as natives.
They’d returned (Last time, most likely,
The wife uttered mournfully)
To take their son with them; he’d drowned when was five? six?
(The years will do that to a body, apparently)
In Kinzua Creek some half-century ago,
Back when little boys weren’t under a mandate
To be safe from themselves, as it were.  
He was our boy! We’ve never forgotten him!
The old man said, the words snapping off
In a manner that spoke of something else altogether,
How the whistle at the Montmorenci
Went off at three and eleven for second shift,
And your *** had better be there,
As those were good jobs that didn’t wait for bereavement leave,
Because there was always someone
Just itching to take your spot on the line,
And anyway life went on,
At least in the sense that television screens went all to snow
And tires went flat and fuses blew
And eventually a dead child
Is not always in the forefront of your thoughts,
Only tiptoeing in when the Press ran a picture
Of the Montmorenci Area Class of whenever,
Or there was an item about some other family
Who opened their front door
To a grim sheriff’s deputy with his hat in his hand.  
Eventually, after some time
And in defiance of both the odds and gravity,
The casket was settled into the back
Of the undertaker’s huge old black Caddy,
And the couple cane-toddled back to their car,
Following out the through the old spider-like gates
And onto the main road.
The brief procession fading from sight,
Until there was nothing left to see
Save the hillsides covered in old growth pine.

It will be fine with me
If I finally end up to be
An annoying buzzing bee
In the ear of a society
Sated on complacency
And gluttonous dependency
On the masters of larceny.

It is for the future to see
If the rhymes that come from me
Help heal the national infamy
That passes for propriety
When the heads of society
Treat celebrity notoriety
As conditions of acceptability
And even some kind of laudability.

With sad and appalling sincerity,
Maddening sycophantic celerity
And unfortunate lack of probity;
And what seems to be jocularity
All pretense of care or integrity
The villains in Washington DC
So constantly convince me
That we need my kind of poetry.

A member of the dating scene,
Only online, giggles it seems,
Today a man did 'wink' at me,
Can you imagine, hilarity,
He lives 3000 miles away, by the sea,
****** fungus covers he,
He has more than slight obesity,
Should I wink at the walrus? Tee hee,
I'llpack up my gear and get out of here,
You'll manage without me, non-dear,
I'm off to a walrus by the sea,
You'll learn to cook your lunch and tea,
Byeee! Yeah, well in reality,
I've got cellulite and jocularity!

after working in hell and
anticipating for nothing to happen
at the local thrift store with my
family for an evening of shopping
for wedding apparel and
accessories for our joyous
and momentous occasion.
excursions through the land
of your neighbors throwaways.
my son finds Mexican pants,
my soon to be finds an ice cream
cone dotted shirt,
my daughter finds Halloween trinkets
and I searched for cheap books,
electronics, furniture, and jean jackets.
all of which have nothing to do with
what we originally ventured out for.
my soon to be finds a top hat for me
to wear to the wedding and I try it on
and check myself out in the mirror
with satisfaction but out of the blue,
a garrulous wrinkled old man,
raises his thunderous voice,
startling my entire world and
completely catching me off guard.
telling me I looked good in the hat
but suggesting that I wear a brown
top hat instead, that he found in the neighboring aisle. brown not being
my color, I politely decline his
suggestion and he walks off down
another aisle looking for his wife
with a cart full of antiquated artifacts screaming,
DEBRA! DEBRA!
our natural instincts are to join him
so then, we started screaming,
DEBRA! DEBRA!
we laugh a little bit during a few
moments of silence and we hear it again...
DEBRA! DEBRA!
the jocularity of our idiosyncrasies
were to continue screaming and laughing.
more and more voices joined in and
started yelling back...
DEBRA! DEBRA!
before we knew it
the whole store in every department
was calling out the name...
DEBRA! DEBRA!
the air was drunk with
laughter and magic.
I hope he found his wife.
as long as that old man is alive,
something is happening.
I will never forget him
even if he has already
forgotten about me.

Traversing the hills,
caressing the trees,
gently swirling the scene.

Life's medium moves, ebbs
and flows surrounding all
with subtle sensation.

Moving all with jocularity.
Ripples across an endless water.
Lifting wings, sailing seeds.

Consistent, generationally
reminding life of its existence.

Th’ blackassboo smile comes easily off this way-out hardened jazznik, and with it a color palette collage of a cool cat stretching out when percolating his musician’s lips.

There’s nimbleness with a dash of a braggarts swagger…
Something that artists of the beat generation popularized.
Craving for some wall breaking, door busting,
And genre shaping daddy-o jazz poems of jocularity,
Titillation with wistful windblown musical notes for an ear massage.

Sounds come in colors between the chants of encore in the flickering space between these fantastical moments with me, Exhilaration urges adventure from the magic that follows.

Bop-soul imagery and a romantic assemblage of what is hip...
An impassioned audacity distinguishes itself in the rousing unapologetic antiestablishment zeal of me; reciting off -
Some cool verse.

Finger snapping with both crackle n pop madness for the new hot. (I need to) go, Go, GO, and explore this incarnation and birth of boplcity -The jazz man's skills aren’t influenced by vagaries of faith…

Dear JAZZ ANGELS on uploaded clouds of notes floating and changing shape. PERFECT. Unbelievable

Resonate the heavily infused bop MUSIC n POETRY molecule with a Lend Me Your Ear skin in the game, Arise relaxed tempos and lighter tones, a total higher consciousness where countless hours of the best jazz music 'round derives a perceived feeling from this **** mindfuck content. A blessing fer sure.

I’m not religious but this is god speaking through music.
There’s a thumbs up, with multiple stars flying out the tips.
Smiling, playing, simply slammin'
an intensity of full attention…

And with it comes a common pulse with a common purpose
what we have is a peeling off of flawlessness, carefree yet with a deep reverence for the musicality’s soul.

I communicate with the laid-back higher forces in this universe; I like the snap on it.

Dazzling intelligence and a force that transcends –
To deliver such a great sound full of love, emotion, and beyond.
Sounds crest into jammin’ hard driving improv,
which shapes th’ musical poetic on intertwined waves of the highest fidelity...

O bloated jazz blues and decibels dance t'ballyhoo'd be-bop flung,
While lighting up a music note, on th’ purest candle, & 'morrow's serendipity will help us see that heavenly ladders rung.

This quenches the thirsty, cleaning my atmosphere;
(A) Beautiful losers timelessness, coupled with an “I hear ya” manifesto sound trip o' crazy kewl elegance!

Music is the best!


by "ooznozz"

Ben is a baker with a twinkle in his eye
He can sure make a cake
Seth is a regular customer with a sweet tooth for his fudge
He loves the jocularity and wit of sweet Ben
With his chef’s hat he is jauntily attired
As he seems to live life as a whim
Seth has a daughter, sweet Agnes
Pretty as sugar is sweet
So he has the notion to create a magical potion
He needed them to meet
Seth sent her in on a many a foray
To retrieve pastries he so likes
Ben eventually took notice and he began to like
This darling girl in ringlets and pearls
She was such a sight
One thing led to another
It’s fifty years on with many grandsons
And their youngest, a granddaughter
She comes around with regularity
Helps with the baking and always says “please”

there is no beauty
in their flight

a frantic choreography
as if taking to the air

for the very first time
twitching from one tree

to the next
but their color

such a giving green
and that breath of red

patched just beneath
each wing

says much
of their humor

their jocularity

will you have a look at us?
how the hell did we even get here?
and, really, who knew this would such fun?