"lester" poems
Ko Ko to Go Go
a prelude to a kiss
dance with Chubby Checker
lift a slo gin fizz
Head bobs to Be Bop
flip the B Side now
mellowtune in monotone
two ears for stereo wow!
Wonderment of Duke and Miles
swinging kool birthin boplicity
urban crush the hipsters rush
jazz joints cross the city
Firery sax emote a clash
strain ears of credulity
Lester leaps creative heat
nips harden on my *******
Max taps exotic wax
Django's quick pickin
finger snaps flip my lid
lips deliciously sippin
Eurozone a Zen zone
a blue infinitive smokin
big peeps dig don pink wigs
fat spliffs hot token
My new suede shoes
walks west end blues
Pop's cornet got me tippin
his open blast first to last
I like cornbread, barbecue
and fine home jazz cookin
jbm
Oakland
3/12/10
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 6:41 PM UTC
We flew to Las Vegas
and Atlantic City
a lot in our gambler years.
Walked down the Strip
or Borgata
bathed in city lights
pumped up on drinks.
Lester got snatched
for counting cards,
Derrick went away,
drunk driving,
we don’t care
we just keep drinking
and keep losing.
Practicing poker faces
at the table
makes it easier
to lie to our wives.
And we don’t talk about our kids
while at the tables
or in the bar.
College funds gambled away
or spent on prostitutes.
We know we’re
letting them down.
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC
if my pen were a surgeon's blade,
cutting edge,
razor-made
to excise secrets suppressed
in closets of guilt
or shame;
like the married bishop
with the mega-church and
tera-ego,
trading ****** fluids
with choir boys
in the 9th grade
on wednesdays,
after bible study...
like the senator
with two right feet
preaching chastity
while playing footsie
with perfect strangers
on public seat # 2...
like the donald's high-ranking apprentice
who pulled the plug on mc
as he slept
then wept like boehner
all the way
to morgan stanley and
dean witter,
allegedly...
like the mayor out west
with pinocchio's nose
and jefferson's zest
for extra-marital ***
lies
and belligerence...
like the late king
of pop
who so hated
his beautiful black skin,
he beached it white
then paid m. lester
of similar hue
a loot times two
to weave a blanket,
conceive a prince
and deliver a french city,
allegedly;
I would be a lyrical surgeon
with a passion
for incisive prose,
spilling truths hidden,
whole and half
with the cutting edge
of a poet's pen
~ P (#Pablo#ls)
(8/14/2013)
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 8:29 PM UTC
Nymphets like me grow up,
and guess what?
I am not any scared or scarred
In a parallel world,
Angela invited Lester to her wedding day
and it's realer than death
There's nothing to heal - no sight of old pain
Am I really strong?
I am not sorry - I am not hurt
Even if I did break a few hearts
This nymphet got a job and she dyed her hair
She got to her destination -
but she's not done yet!
And I might have to leave
all of those nymphet, stylish things
no more daddies on the scene
but my inner fire still burns deep
let me resignify what I mean
when I wear my heart shaped glasses
when I feel all pink
that's eternal, it has no age or anything
It's true, I am not ******** anymore.
Isn't that a whole lot more fun?
I am a full woman now
and I am not backing down
(I always was this, waiting to come out)
So I look in the mirror,
and my inner nymphet eyes back,
"you're doing fine, I am proud of who you are"
Nov 17, 2020
Nov 17, 2020 at 10:13 AM UTC
*DECEMBER DREAMS
December dreams spiral
thru the whiffs of smoke,
emanating from forest hidden Cherokee homes.
They pirouette the way notes
imagine Lester Young’s
tenor music to be;
the way Blue Jays flap
while protecting their territory.
~~~
The Eastern mountains,
snow covered and brown,
rise gently as I walk
yet provide glimmers of ancient valleys
carved out by receding ice.
There is the feel of human destiny
washing me as a breeze
sings thru wild peach trees;
And a breeze lifting sharp talon hawks
with its hunting melodies
carrying the owl's secrets
thru even more exotic landscapes.
~~~
Over looking the Talamaque River,
I rest on the brown
frozen earth becoming
lost in ancestor dreams.
I can see the blood flowing west.
I feel the tears soaking the ground
where Dogwood now grows.
And Grandfather speaks to me
with a warm sun in the ‘long ago tongue’:
“Redzone, it is good to
have these memories.
To remember the trees
the bear and the chic-a-dee.
One day, May will arrive with the morning crows
and Turtle will once again discuss
constellations with the Moon.
Our people, will no longer be forgetful
of who we are and how far we have to go."
~~~
December dreams spiral
thru whiffs of smoke
and Lester Young plays
with the flapping Blue Jays.
~~Aztec Warrior/redzone 12.15.01~~
(written after finishing a collection of poems
by Ron Welburn called “Coming Through Smoke
and the Dreaming”)*
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 12:34 AM UTC
Six String Theory
tachyons protons neutrons galore
theoretical bombardment of mystical thought
jazzy country twisted rock knocking at my door
bending string blister melody sought
uptempo slowed down bugs bunny hop
octavial flated fifths and tones augmented
temperatures rising and I can't stop
missing musical chair sadly lamented
quick step spanish flamenco dancing feet
growling woofers and screaming tweeters
employing Lester's capo and magic wand
burned rubber top down blowing two seaters
it matters not how you stroke it
turn the preamp clockwise to 8 point 5 deary
power chords belly flopping your wammy bar
close your eyes and dream a six string theory
Gomer LePoet....
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
To you dear Gary Lester
On the road we see the trees,
Friends are free.
Just remember how many times a day,
You feel happy, I can say.
I treasure all the moments that we spent together,
Like a gift today and ever.
Friends love you in victory and defeat,
All fears you can beat.
God will help you out,
Friends will talk about,
Because you always smile for free,
The arm sun you will see.
Big heart hug.
Victor Marques
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 5:46 AM UTC
Six String Theory
tachyons protons neutrons galore
theoretical bombardment of mystical thought
jazzy country twisted rock knocking at my door
bending string blister melody sought
uptempo slowed down bugs bunny hop
octavial flated fifths and tones augmented
temperatures rising and I can't stop
missing musical chair sadly lamented
quick step spanish flamenco dancing feet
growling woofers and screaming tweeters
employing Lester's capo and magic wand
burned rubber top down blowing two seaters
it matters not how you stroke it
turn the preamp clockwise to 8 point 5 deary
power chords belly flopping your wammy bar
close your eyes and dream a six string theory
Gomer LePoet....
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 2:22 PM UTC
Reflection 1:12
another day has passed
an old friend dropped by to say hi
another friend passed away
I laughed and danced
like a silly girl
trying to keep my body
and mind in tune with the world
sweated like the fool I can be
at this mornings boot camp workout
then pretended to be a homeless drunk
begging for money in the subway
in an afternoon recital
played music with Lester this evening
and stuffed my face with
dutch chocolate ice cream
to negate the sweating boot camp
hope tomorrow
will be
just as reflective
minus the passing
of another friend
Gomer LePoet...
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC
High school was the peak of your ecstasy high.
High school was coming down, and needing the coke to feel fine.
High school was floating in space--
'Cause ****** was massaging your brain.
Like a masseuse,
But like any good masseuse
they kneaded out your knots, and your neck became inflamed.
High school was all that.
The greats and the awfuls of every electric event.
You never felt the equilibrium
We were always at full max or the lowest minimum.
Temporary bipolar,
That's what we called it.
Temporary bipolar.
High school; we ******* felt it all.
The times Mary Jane showed us the moon
The times we were all sad and danced in my room.
Nobody knew it but Air baby and Alien and Fire baby too,
We were all in a war;
Well, not me.
I simply watched and kept my foot in the door.
So that to never let it close forever
So that to keep everybody together.
like when we hugged and became one
That was when everything was good,
When we no longer felt like the past was erased and our present had won.
When hugs didn't intermingle with the word resentment.
When kisses didn't intermingle with the thoughts of coerced ***
When WE hugged we were in an empty white room.
Together yet so alone.
In high school there were secrets,
And when we were all there together hugging and dancing in my room,
We were one;
And nobody even had to know
that fire, air, and water were about to explode and come undone.
High school was Lester leaving town,
And injecting anxt into the walls of my house.
High school was forgotten elevator rides next to police officers,
And middle aged women having drinks and making an offer.
Im gonna make him an offer he can't refuse,
sock on the door and it's off to bed.
High school was being afraid to break a boy's heart, and dreaming of another home.
High school was leaving early from a party to let him cry on your shoulder.
High school was food left on the plate and narcissistic mirrors.
High school was cigarettes burning holes in relationships and the number four controlling people's lives.
High school was us being so real it almost felt fake,
High school was seeing how many pills you could take.
Up up into the clouds was where we always were,
Because in high school,
That was better than being anywhere.
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 6:45 AM UTC
I walked through Harlem just the other day. The Harlem I knew as a child has totally gone away. I use to play hooky from school and I ran those streets at night But now you can't even find a decent street fight. We use have soul food joints all over the place. But now Harlem New York has a different face. Don't get me wrong. I think change is ok. But now there's other people livin' where I use to lay. 125th street just don't look the same. Now all the stores have a different name. There use to be A.J. Lester's and the Record shack. Now all the stores have names that are whack. Now I see an Old Navy store and a Chucky cheese. Can someone tell me where Harlem went please. What happened to the movie theater between 7th and 8th? Now it sits there just an empty old place. But the Apollo theater still looks good. It's always been the crown jewel of our neighborhood. But I remember when Harlem World was open night and day. Now even that spot is a **** Conway. Don't get me wrong. It does look nice and pretty. But Harlem use to be its very own city. You knew you were in Harlem when you walked down the street. Because Harlem use to have its own heart beat. But now we can't even afford the rents that they charge. Because everyone knows our pockets ain't that large. I'm afraid I'll go to sleep one night. And when I wake up Harlem will be all white. c. R. Mendoza
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 12:14 PM UTC
Waterloo bridge
Vehicles come and go
Myra Lester
Wanders to and fro
The past be not here
The mind goes nowhere
Deafening horn
Warns inches to go
Grating howl
Crys with a blow
Sky tears through the air
Weeps the world or hell
Waterloo bridge
River flows east below
Roy Cronin
Stands feels for her soul
Water chants to tell
Much to hear or bear
by Shun
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 3:45 AM UTC
'Tis I, Lester the Jester
The jay with no say,
Only a bib for my fib.
The non-mask will ask,
"Does he rhyme for my dime,
Or for the old sake of time?"
I shall reply,
"That is an old fool's try"
I am a fool with a new set of rule
If I sound nice,
You ought to forget about lice.
A smile on the face,
The polished penny is replaced.
If I look astounding,
You will forget the pounding
You are compelled
To give good and well
For today non-masks will say,
"His fable has no ground!"
"His rabble has no bound!"
If my feet remain mobile,
My words remain infertile.
The few that realize it shall proclaim,
"Send him to the pit!"
All I will have left to spit,
"I am merely a jester,
The real culprit is Jones of Mister."
The author with shaky shy tones,
I say, 'tis ole Lester Jones
For mine is Bishop Bones.
Jones screaming the reaper's way
On this day I skip with Jove away.
'Tis I, Jaster the Master,
The jay with no say!
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 9:42 PM UTC
Where are all the old
poets?
White beards with pockets
as empty
As the eyes of the ol bums
on 5th ave.
Daughters whose fingers grew heavy
with gold.
Whose skin went cold like
morning
Coffee in the breeze.
They still scribble verses
a-plenty.
On bathroom stalls, arms and
napkins.
They stay drunk on wine from
the corner store.
And make sweet love in apartment
darkness.
Only when the rain comes do they
wander.
Their notes & teeth have
yellowed.
And the bright boys now have
strange names.
Henry & Lester & Edgar & Frederick
& Vincent St. Clair.
Whose food stamps were used on
junk food banquets.
Their cats don't even call them
"friend."
Dangerous Betty whispers into her
notebook.
She has been in the kitchen
all day.
which is also her bedroom, also her workspace,
also her home.
And the door cries out a good "knock, knock,
knock."
She answers the call but finds no one
humble.
Seven old dogs tear through
the garbage.
Old lists, letters, Valentine's Day
love poems.
One reads, "Your ***** as
a Blossom."
One is blank except for "Dearest
Matthew," Dated 1983.
Six dogs scratch & snap while one chokes
on an insincere apology.
At 7:59 AM the street is
Morning bloom.
Men in suits call each other
"sir."
A mother pumps gas for $10 an
hour.
At 8:01 AM the show is
over.
Somewhere in the air are children's
voices.
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 7:51 PM UTC
Seventeen fifty two point four
'more than radio'
spin the dial
Sax' and Lester with
a young man's smile
I listen in to
'all that Jaz'
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 3:30 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Some question the pathology
Of embracing Scientology
But they make no apology
For their man made theology
Do you know the chronology
Have you read the anthology
That reveals the cosmology
Or studied their psychology
When you lose sight of everything
That you hold near and dear
And your mind’s a blank slate
And there’s nothing that you fear
And all of life’s mysteries
Are no longer there
Then you’ve reached the mental state
That they call going clear
In order for you to find
How all the planets do align
You must lose your reactive mind
By going clear you’ll be inclined
To put uncertainty behind
The way that it has been defined
Though people will still malign
The Scientology paradigm
When you lose sight of everything
That you hold near and dear
And your mind’s a blank slate
And there’s nothing that you fear
And all of life’s mysteries
Are no longer there
Then you’ve reached the mental state
That they call going clear
People tend to fear the unknown
Like things inside the Twilight Zone
Though exponentially it’s grown
Glass house people still throw stones
The ideas that they mirror
Couldn’t be more clearer
Than the things that they hold dearer
Like currency to the bearer
Or members going clearer
Than Thetans causing terror
Though truth is clear from error
When you lose sight of everything
That you hold near and dear
And your mind’s a blank slate
And there’s nothing that you fear
And all of life’s mysteries
Are no longer there
Then you’ve reached the mental state
That they call going clear
Some question the pathology
Of embracing Scientology
But they make no apology
For their man made theology
Do you know the chronology
Have you read the anthology
That reveals the cosmology
Or studied their psychology
(c) Copyright, Cedric McC lester. All rights reserved.
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC
*WHISPERS
I wanted to tell you,
to allow my words to roll,
then sway, like the way
Autumn air mingles
within the halls where
Lester Bowie played
“I Only Have Eyes For You”.
These laughing chords of
light-hearted brass fantasy
seduced you to
my intimacy;
surrounded you with
warm arms and
to dance you to a calypso embrace.
Or, so I hoped.
I wanted to tell you,
to sing my words,
fill pages
with the sound of poems
read just before the sun
disappears the night,
and we are sweet with
the scent and sweat
of liquid rhythmic sighing.
Or so I hoped.
Instead,
all I could do was blush,
then whisper your name
as my trembling fingers
traced your slightly
parted lips.
~~Aztec Warrior 2003~~*
https://youtu.be/jRgERvzZf74
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 1:29 AM UTC
Having an M.I.
Ambulance to JFK
Cardiac cath stat!
Andre Bocelli
Our seats remained empty for
Open heart surgery
Next to CCU
Waiting in the fam'ly lounge
Wanting just good news
Here at JFK
Dr. Lancelot Lester
Mended his poor heart
He won't even know
What day it is tomorrow
Morphine works so well
You won't even know
That I'm staying close by you
While wiping your brow
Post-op time so tough
You must never say out loud
Oh, no, PVC's!
Let his sternum heal
Start on a special diet
When can we have ***
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
Wailin on the Blues
Well my guitar is wailin, solid bluesy growl,
I look up at the moon, and all I can do is howl,
bend those notes bittersweet, if blues is what you like,
my soul is deep in pain tonite, stand up closer to the mike,
pour my heart to anyone, who is listening and understands,
wish I had my friends here with me, hammerin their baby grands,
cause when you're feeling all alone, music can help you grieve,
got nothing in my pockets, got nothing up my sleeve,
but I do have this friend of mine, he's always here with me,
he helps when the times are bad, takes real good care of me,
I call my friend Lester, yes he's built by Mr. Paul,
six hot electric burning wires, just waiting for the call,
BB and all his friends, would be very very proud,
and when I hit that echo box, I'll drive right through the crowd,
don't know if things will turn out good, not sure what that means,
I could be left just standing here, me and my machines,
I'm wishing that the Oak City lady, sleeps real well tonight,
don't know if I'll still be here, when comes the first daylight,
Got a huge amount of wailing, pulling me down to the ground,
crank me up just one more notch, could be lifeless when I'm found
Gomer LePoet...
Mar 11, 2010
Mar 11, 2010 at 5:16 PM UTC
Six String Theory
tachyons protons neutrons galore
theoretical bombardment of mystical thought
jazzy country twisted rock knocking at my door
bending string blister melody sought
uptempo slowed down bugs bunny hop
octavial flated fifths and tones augmented
temperatures rising and I can't stop
missing musical chair sadly lamented
quick step spanish flamenco dancing feet
growling woofers and screaming tweeters
employing Lester's capo and magic wand
burned rubber top down blowing two seaters
it matters not how you stroke it
turn the preamp clockwise to 8 point 5 deary
power chords belly flopping your wammy bar
close your eyes and dream a six string theory
Gomer LePoet....
Apr 17, 2020
Apr 17, 2020 at 2:01 PM UTC
Wailin on the Blues
Well my guitar is wailin, solid bluesy growl,
I look up at the moon, and all I can do is howl,
bend those notes bittersweet, if blues is what you like,
my soul is deep in pain tonite, stand up closer to the mike
pour my heart to anyone, who is listening and understands,
wish I had my friends here with me, hammerin their baby grands,
cause when you're feeling all alone, music can help you grieve,
got nothing in my pockets, got nothing up my sleeve
but I do have this friend of mine, he's always here with me,
he helps when the times are bad, takes real good care of me,
I call my friend Lester, yes he's built by Mr. Paul,
six hot electric burning wires, just waiting for the call
BB and all his friends, would be very very proud,
and when I hit that echo box, I'll drive right through the crowd,
don't know if things will turn out good, not sure what that means,
I could be left just standing here, me and my machines
I'm wishing that the Oak City lady, sleeps real well tonight,
don't know if I'll still be here, when comes the first daylight,
Got a huge amount of wailing, pulling me down to the ground,
crank me up just one more notch, could be lifeless when I'm found
Gomer LePoet...
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 7:25 AM UTC
28 dollars
got him one to life
the revolution was at hand
he was going to be free
george lived
like an outlaw
in the land
where he was born
Be prepared to be shot down
George Lester Jackson
lived like an outlaw
George was going to be free
Jul 21, 2022
Jul 21, 2022 at 8:56 PM UTC
the first time she smiled (at me)
i fell in love..wild..!?
i moved in (with her)
the cool dark ´50´s furniture..
we had six or seven cats (same litter)..
toby,irwin,walter,buster,sue,cindy,lester..
we hid from the gardener..!
watched operation triumpho (on tv)
dusty autumn gave way to winter.
and listened to maurice (on the radio)...
on sunday the choir practised below..
what did the future do..
well it played too some how..
everything being old and new..
the ambulance lounged outside..
along the coast was the cabo des gato..
we went there and rather foolishly
camped in a dry river bed..(flash flood)..
but here to tell the tale..the fire and
peaceful starry nights..(and love)...
and today seventeen years and no
on but still here this very moment..(rose bud)..
still here but another part of town
all water that..all rock..air would..
Aug 8, 2017
Aug 8, 2017 at 5:02 AM UTC
Believe me, believe me
that makes me smart
no admission of guilt
just one of those things
wrong, wrong look
it's all words
all sound bites
an unbelievable company
Now as far as the lawsuit, yes
we settled with zero
when I was very young, yes
we were sued
I notice you bring that up a lot
tough communities
that's called business
we use certain laws that are there
maybe he didn't do a good job
my obligation is to
myself
wrong, wrong
it would be squandered, believe me
we're dying
I hope it does collapse
that's called business
tremendous, Chelsea is tremendous
and under-budget
I was able to hold back
Maybe I'll tell you at the next debate
a wonderful young lady
Lester did a good job
nobody asks Sean Hannity
Now as far as the lawsuit, yes
you've been there a long time
that makes me smart.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 4:49 PM UTC