"juggles" poems
Feathers glimmer and shine
As though covered in fish oil
I lubricate the brain
As I slip through the sky
With a frictionless flicker
My lightening wings
Brain waves rapidly fluctuate
Perfect balance held
Between left and right
Each wing a hemisphere
As they beat and beat
Accelerating into hyper speed
80 to a hundred or more
Beats per second
As though injected
With a sonic speed
Synapses bursting and exploding
Exponentially connecting
Blistering wing speed
I become electric
My circuits exploring
Rippling and flickering through paper
My brain comes alive
Flashing multicolored lights
Like the cities nights
But still spaces collect around me
As I am buffered from the world
Perfectly still though standing
On an invisible ledge
I hold my mind in place
While I hum in space
Head down I drop my beak
Into a funnel of concentration
As I tunnel into trumpets
Penetrating deep I flower
In new knowledge
Polar aspects of mind
Released through coherent communication
Set free with coordination
I seek to marry chalk and cheese
As I hold the balance
Between two worlds
Flashing synapses firing
And combusting
Against pointed concentration
My mind juggles two *****
Expanding into their fullness
Expressing vibrant color
My slippery slender beak
Slips and slides in
As I flutter through pages
I discover new unexpected surprises
Problems solved, Startling adventures
And puzzles completed
I find the sugary syrup
The delicate delicious sweet spot
With the thrill of falling domino's
Spilling and cascading
Many ripples fanning out
Through my mind
I find freedom
Each ripple massaging my mind
I am catapulted into outer space
I dance from fact to golden fact
As I am propelled forward on stardust
My momentum shoots me forward
I bounce and bounce
My mind becoming unbounded
I enjoy this great Hummingbird delight
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
Acerbic antagonist alliterates agonizing accusations,
blasting ******* backbiter butting beautiful bombastic brainy blond bomb.
Cumulative cranial casualties cease caveman's cognitive coherence.
Doom digger derides Daddy's dangling dire dreary ****
Eclectic esoteric eccentric egotistical estranger;
Forthcoming fathoms fetch faithless fleeting father.
God given goblins gather gossamer ganglions;
Hell's hairy harlot harpies hover heeding Hyperion.
Ignatius imbibes irrevocably insisting,
"Jesus juggles justice's joy jarring jams."
Kindness kindles Kilimanjaro;
Malicious mountains melt, Mmm, morning marjoram.
Nothing negates Neanderthal ninnying.
Overt obsessions obfuscate original object of
purest passions, paltry past pinings,
quickly quieted, quelled,
resisted, relinquished, readily, ruefully, roundly
saturated, suffocated; surreptitiously silenced,
terribly torturing the thrashed tamed tormentor:
Ugly, ungrateful, unapologetic,
Vanity,
woefully wallowing, wailing, "Where's
Xanadu's
zeitgeist!?"
Jan 15, 2012
Jan 15, 2012 at 12:09 AM UTC
'let's walk to the ocean'
said the passing clown to the mime
'it's quite a long way'
expressed the mime
'yes it is?'
the clown replied
mime frowned
and they began walking...
clown in his big floppy red shoes
mime improvising as he went
at the edge of town they ran into a juggler
on the corner trying to pick up a few coins in his cup
clown asked the juggler if he'd care to join them
in their walk to the ocean
juggler said 'why not, things are kind of
up in the air for me right now'
they headed west toward the coast
clown had 5 boxes of Mike and Ikes...every flavor
in his red scarf on a stick
mime had plenty of slim jims
this would keep them fed until they reached their destination
several hours into their odyssey
a storm approached
a lone well drawn pine provided refuge until the storm cleared
as well as a snack and chance to learn of each other's journey
to this point
clown had done many things throughout his life
in pursuit of love, home and family
but he had failed in his search for a life he always dreamed of
and now this face of heavy make-up and big red nose would
hide the fact that he lived a life of constant sadness
mime had been a singer and worked for years to perfect
his craft... dreamed of making it to the big stage
but he refused to sing what they wanted him to sing and even though he had amazing talent, he was refused time and time again
becoming a mime would mean he'd never be reminded of the beautiful voice he possessed
juggler was a star pitcher known for his amazing fastball when he graduated college and was only days from signing a contract with the Yankees when a car accident damaged his shoulder so severely he lost his fastball
he juggles to keep his arm in shape in case his fastball ever returns
juggler asked clown why they were headed to the beach
mime was interested as well and produced the perfect look of inquiry
clown stood up...tossed the red scarf on a stick full of Mike & Ike's over his shoulder, brushed himself off and replied...
'why not?'
Aug 8, 2019
Aug 8, 2019 at 6:49 PM UTC
He dances
He juggles
He jokes
But inside
He's a very sad bloke
Dancing around
In his jingling hat
Until he falls down
How do you like that?
Juggling his hope
As he drops his shame
Watch as he struggles
Are you not entertained!?
He is the punchline
Of his every joke
Laugh with him
He is your very sad bloke
He dances
He juggles
He jokes
He is your very sad bloke
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC
the tongue is just a muscle
that helps our face to taste things
your tongue allows the hustle
that breaks the grace
of tasting
your tongue juggles the struggle
when you eat me like a pastry
my thighs are now your muzzle
and your knuckles **** my brains clean
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 6:48 PM UTC
So I was walking down the street the other day,
smoking my cigarette,
and enjoying it,
and singing fake songs to myself,
and I walk past a small car,
and it made me stop,
because its strange to see a small car on my street.
Especially a small car painted in bright clown colors,
and especially a small clown colored car filled with smoke,
and especially a small clown colored car filled with smoke and what looks to be clowns.
So I decided to investigate,
and I walked up,
and I tapped on the window,
and as soon as I did all I could hear was screaming and kicking.
I took a step back because
I mean
****
what if it exploded?
And as the small colorful clown car door opened,
smoke poured out,
billowing and puffing,
very strange smelling smoke of all different colors,
and i began to wonder if it wasn't me who was tripping ball's,
as 1..
no 2..
no 12
huge bug eyed clowns crawled out.
Gawking and hissing and juggling crack pipes.
The first one asked my name.
I lied of course.
You never trust a cracked out clown,
not even with your name.
The second one asked me my age.
I lied of course,
because it's a well known fact crack clowns are pedophiles
and he might have tried to have his way with me
if I told him the truth about my tender young age.
The third asked me for a cigarette.
I gave it to him of course,
out of sheer terror that if I didn't
he might use his circus tricks
to pull a colorful rag out of his ***
and choke me to death with it
and I didn't want that.
The rest of them just kind of stared at me
or screamed
or sniffed my clothing and inspected me.
After a few minutes of all of this
I decided I'd had enough.
Talking with clowns is bad karma anyways,
and I started to walk away
waving politely
but no they weren't done with me yet.
They hog tide me
and covered me in clown make up
and adopted me as there new pet monkey
/clown driver
/lion tamer.
But of course,
when the police found me naked in a trash can at three in the morning a few hours later
still unable to complete whole sentences
they wouldn't believe ( or couldn't understand) a word of it
but I'll tell you,
if you ever see a smoke filled colorful clown car
just walk away.
We know the truth
its ugly, and juggles crack pipes.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 1:38 AM UTC
Cupid is a hard worker.
He constantly juggles
the loved
the want-to-be-loved
the unloved
and the unlovable.
Cupid is a hard worker.
He constantly makes lots
of matches
of pairs
of duos
and of partners.
Cupid has his own heart.
Is he, himself, one of
the loved
the want-to-be-loved
the unloved
or the unlovable?
Cupid has his own heart.
Does he, too, have
a match
a pair
a duo
or a partner?
Cupid is a matchmaker.
He finds love for you and me,
and I can't help but wonder
if he's alone as alone can be.
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 1:31 AM UTC
The dissonance in the air
visiting flashes sonically weaving trembling tales
of flash floods and brushfires. intertwined between and beneath
leathery scales, dorsal fins and rat tails.
Intimate whispered coded messages
massaging ear drum lines menacingly, scratching the passages, cruising through each hall.
tapping at every door.
With a gravely groan, reciting a indecipherable buddhist koan.
Laugh as you may
The moon will leave
Without a notice
We'll be without
Another day.
The dissonance in the air
leaving car crashes and birthday bashes in shambled states of stasis
smiling bits of shrapnel suspended in howling fits of laughter
smoldering hordes of children melting under summer suns
all while a paramedic belts out birthday songs
and a clown juggles displaced screws and cogs.
Disasters and dances have more in common than
dispatchers and discjockeys.
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 11:45 AM UTC
I want to make a groovy movie
Like Sgt. Pepper did
When he was in his younger days
With his Lonely Hearts Club Band
I'll hire a psychedelic painted bus
To film my groovy movie in
Then I'll fill this wonder up
With all my family and my friends
Of course you know I will invite
The Walrus to ride along
And if I play my cards just right
He'll sing for us a song
We'll wear Shiny Silky Suits
And brightly colored Feathered Caps
Patent Leather High Top Boots
All while wearing Animal Masks
We'll play this out to the crowds
As our Paisley bus it passes by
Waving while saying Paul's not dead
As Lucy juggles diamonds in the sky
A day in the life you'll see I'll make that groovy movie
Just like Sgt. Pepper did
When he was in his prime
With his Lonely Hearts Club Band
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 7:21 PM UTC
The Cathedral-Basilica of Saint Louis, King of France,
now called St. Louis Cathedral in New Orleans was first built in 1718.
They hand out glow-in-the-dark rosaries for Mardi gras
so folks can find
their way to Jesus in the dark.
Come, pick your way through the park
cross Decatur to drink coffee at Cafe DuMonde,
have more beignets,
trail powdered sugar and beads
to stare the Old Man in his muddy eyes.
Hanging ferns and foibles
line balconies where voices speak
but you cannot understand on Toulouse Street:
you are but a traveler here even
when you've walked these cobbled stones
for twenty years.
Bend warp and weave your dinner;
string the lost
beads to sell to the unsuspecting
because anything goes
and the party will go on anyhow.
Beyond the sequined mask
naught but hollowed eyes you do
not want to see and that clown
you laughed at, but did not pay
juggles souls behind your back.
Jul 10, 2012
Jul 10, 2012 at 7:30 PM UTC
I just want to spill my guts to you
let loose every withheld thought
just take a scalpel and carve into my brain
carnage will be wrought and blood will rain
as i empty my mind to you
or maybe not
maybe i'm afraid of what will splash on the page
demons let loose from their fleshy cage.
passion straight out of hell
perhaps ill end up being an empty shell
hollow as the house I sit in
running away from potential
my mind juggles hypothetics
to life we become impartial
"a brains look like hedge maze", and other ironics
in a poem its almost oxymoronic
in life it's just moronic
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 4:31 PM UTC
the proof of the soul is evident with a continuation of the Einstein particle, from theory into practice - the proof is short-lived, the indestructible attache of man lingers on, his the soul, democratically a medium of revision and certainty - improved instruments of investigation, the purity of reasoning later meddling with the senses of other's being given certainty: σ (total) - ¼ = σ (¾, i.e. remnant and electron cloud symbiosis of partaking in Gemini simultaneous coordination) - the thunder and lightning, a 747 and the delay vacuum cleaner "echo" - on a less grander scale plumber's apprenticeships - perhaps less grand, but therefore all the more necessary, zenith of self-worth, rather than god-worth, audacity on the dance-floor and no prim-cut hopes kneeling in a church for added fancy to desire clemency.
i do believe the Hindu polytheistic theory of reincarnation exists -
but in no way related to the resurrection of σ -
a totality of a person - whatever given characteristics in total,
i mean replicating mannerisms
as a form of adaptability will only make
a clone a clone on paper (in theory),
but the original experienced whatever
environment was to be experienced -
to have a true clone would also mean
replicating the environment,
and that's impossible - in science as in
nature we're susceptible to ungovernable
forces - a tornado uproots a mid-western
house and juggles it about like a boxer -
a tsunami and the sun with its 5,000 starving
Sudanese children - whatever -
but reincarnation does exist in a different
psychological medium, in the id - the shortened
version / unit of ideas - it it it or that that that -
ideas are resurrected or reincarnated (passed on)
all the time - i can understand a Hindu
in only this reality - not in the reality of an
entirety of the individual and the environment
for the individual's individuation -
an idea can be resurrected - there's always
continuity in philosophy, whereas history sees
disconnected events due to it's prime tool as a hope
for averting them (hindsight), philosophy in historical
terms is always a seance of connectivity - lubrication,
evolution, adding to, saving up, discharge, mid-life crisis.
i can't understand the Hindu concept of reincarnation
when it comes to people - each adapted and each
an ongoing process - ideas can be reincarnated -
by egos? not really.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 8:19 PM UTC
#&@&!?
B l o w i n g W ind and planets from your mouth
Your head fills up like a thunderhead
With candy cane lightning
Burnt down birthday candle
Stick o dynamite
Feelin alright
Fire makes the light
In the middle of my fingers
Fireworks linger
Until angels come and wave them away
Off into space
The hope of the human race
Floating on radio signals
Short crested waves
Crests that peak in white foam
Plucked by strings
Finger bones
The fool withone hand
Juggles like a pro
Joining the circus when he was twelve
And one fateful day
On the fifteenth of may
A lion had his fingers for dinner
Would you sup with me?
The prince disguised as the pauper
You would I bet
Share my last cigarette
As we balance on a chain linked fence
Trapped in a cage
With only one book
You wouldn't believe
Which one I took
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 2:11 AM UTC
il joue sur son luth
des lunes ambrées
tournent en rond
une par une
la jongleuse
les lance
une voie lactée
opalescente
le clair de lune
haletante
la jongleuse se noie
~~~
he's playing the lute.
she takes
the amber moons
turning round
and round,
she juggles.
one by one,
they turn into
a milky way,
opalescent,
the moonlight
- a lake,
for the juggler
to drown.
Dec 31, 2015
Dec 31, 2015 at 4:58 AM UTC
Juggles and struggles,
My head is a mess
No snuggles or cuddles
It’s over I guess.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 3:50 AM UTC
she jostles under the vine serpents,
knees scraping trees,
green light bending onto her skin.
she’s a dirt daughter
shoeless, careless
the breeze reinvents her smile.
she arrives
her toes press hard against the sidewalk,
and she takes a clinical step forward
her pale moon face
begged by the wilderness to return.
on the other side of the street he bursts from
the subway, his feet neatly clicking up
the stairs.
his briefcase swings
tightly on his hand
his dazed green eyes scurry across
tuesday’s bachelorettes
and they fall in love at least a dozen times.
he arrives
when they stumble into the same civilization
their eyes collide.
they could be blinded.
or they could catch it.
it would run under their skin
like voiceless hummingbirds
awakening their architecture
and electrocuting their blood.
yet love doesn’t just happen to
to the yin and the yang,
or the bird and the bee.
people aren’t perfect puzzle pieces.
love happens best to the disbelievers,
to the fighters, and the skeptics.
it happens to those who know that in order
to make a spark,
you need some friction.
it’s a howl of wind:
constant and spontaneous.
it can vanish and evolve:
always new.
it can braid lives together
like a man with green eyes
and a woman with a pale moon face.
maybe its all been done before.
but there’s something about the way
he juggles a sentence on his lips
and how her face rearranges into a smile
that seems new.
the story doesn’t always sound like this
but humans are like destinations
intersected and scattered
life comes and goes
and sometimes
Love arrives.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
A juggler who juggles no *****
A defeated entity of time,
A humorous attempt of nature to give,
As it was desperate to not have it's summer hue stolen,
A child of autumn, perceived as the colour brown,
A deserted colour,yet profound,
He swings obsessively,
Deluded in a harsh desire to love,
He imitates the spring,
But his flowers wilt without a cause,
Compelled by a maddening desir,
He corrupts the produce of summer,
He feels avenged,
He was a lost cause.
Sep 21, 2024
Sep 21, 2024 at 2:10 PM UTC
To market, to market to buy a fat pig,
and at the barber, I'll buy him a wig.
He has to be handsome, he has to be clean.
To market, to market to buy a fat horse,
with teeth in his mouth and legs of course.
I'll put him up front, in the garden that is,
when you come visit, you hardly can miss.
To market, to market to buy a fat cook,
with love in his heart and a crazy look.
He juggles with food, while drinking tea,
making dinner for horse, piggy and me.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 6:34 PM UTC
Children of today,
will never know what it is like to use a pay phone,
as one tries to find a quarter.
Kids today,
shall never know what it is like to embrace the mystery
of who is at the other end of a call.
Children of today,
will never know what it is like to get ones anger out
with a slam of the phone instead of pushing a button.
Kids today,
will never know what its like to not text
and have to call someone when they get home.
Children of today,
will never know what it is like to drive with paper directions
as one juggles to read their own writing.
Kids of today,
will never yes never know what it is like to savor a real hug or kiss
from a friend instead of a emoji.
Children of today,
will never know what it’s like to look eye to eye
and talk to family members at restaurant
instead of looking at phone to keep busy.
Sadly, thats progress, until we wake up and smell the coffee.
StarBG © 2017
Jun 12, 2017
Jun 12, 2017 at 5:06 PM UTC
He's got those lingering lips
Tripping over my prercipis
Tell you hes jack o forest
Tell you he's running for it
She's got wild eyes
She swallowed bee hive
Much stinging inside
Believes she can't die
Juggles knives with steel finger tips
Says your gonna pay for this
I've died nine times
I've lived many lives
May 29, 2016
May 29, 2016 at 2:46 PM UTC
Rest now, while the drunk world
juggles hammers. Together,
we will await the softer hues.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 8:06 PM UTC
The woman knows what she wants
The woman knows how to get it
Is this a story as old as time
Played out with repeated predictability
And a resolution inevitable and clear?
Beauty and cunning wield a deft hammer
Subtle as the breeze from a butterfly wing
Why do I dance to her magnetic tune?
I pull away, at least I try
Her ambivalence ensnares me once again.
Don’t think I’m here blind and foolish--
I’m awake and analyzing her every move
But reason is worthless and weak
Logic is lifeless and limp
Against the curve of her back.
I crave substance; she ponders…
Gives me vapors and fog.
I want loyalty and trust
She smiles, that’s her truth.
How does one say no to a woman?
Her experience belies her age
But youth is her strength one minute
And her weakness the next.
She juggles her assets in hypnotic circles
I’m left wondering what’s behind that silky curtain.
She’s a crafty contradiction
And I’m learning at her knee
Oh what a knee it is
I’m taking lessons from a master
And I have to go, school’s about to begin.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 12:47 AM UTC
You are on my mind every moment of every day,
in the dead of night when Incubus rests on my chest,
in the waking hours when Pothos juggles my heart.
Who are you who haunts my soul shaking my very core
Sep 27, 2014
Sep 27, 2014 at 4:00 PM UTC
Dangling in a thread between darkness and light...
(The heart watches over it's fading memories... )
Drifting clouds play hide and seek in the garden of the crimson sky...
And the shadows wear garments to dance to the melody of the night...
(My mind still juggles the questions to answers and answers to questions it once could not fathom...)
Blackbirds circle the air promising to come back the other day...
The crickets prepare for night gala and the fireflies blow their torches to make less some darkness...
(The spirit inside of me bores over boulevard of the past and future that are a hue of ***** grey)
The setting sun begs me to stop itself from moving away...
And yet...
(My silent unsettling soul ends up settling itself to the impositions of twilight!)
Sep 3, 2020
Sep 3, 2020 at 11:07 AM UTC