"locations" poems
Many people write a "bucket list" of things they want to do before they die. Now in my 80th year, I don't have the time or the energy to do things that others might aim for, but I have during my life visited many places, seen many things, and enjoyed many experiences that I would have been sorry to miss. There have also been some events that I would have preferred not to experience, but which have enriched my life in different ways, and which I remember with a kind of sad affection.
Some of these are very personal to me, and would not be interesting to most people, but read the note if you wonder why I chose them.
Here then is what I might call
My Reverse Bucket List
Towns and cities – architecture & atmosphere
Barcelona, Spain
Venice, Italy
Oxford, England
Jerusalem, Israel
Luxor, Egypt
Varanasi, India
Hiroshima, Japan
Pompeii, Italy
Other locations
Galápagos islands, Ecuador
Great Barrier Reef, Australia
North Woolwich, London
Churches
St Paul's Cathedral, London
Sagrada Familia, Barcelona
Coventry Cathedral
Córdoba Cathedral, Spain
Blue Mosque, Istanbul
Other structures
Taj Mahal, Agra
Auschwitz concentration camp, Poland
Royal Festival Hall, London
London underground system (because it was the first, and I rode it for a long time). Also the more splendid underground railways of Mexico City and Moscow.
Avebury Ring, Wiltshire, England (the largest prehistoric stone circle in the world, and much more primitive than Stonehenge)
Bayeux Tapestry
"Angel of the North" statue, Gateshead, England
"Christ the Redeemer" statue, Rio, Brazil
Events
Messiah at Royal Festival Hall, Feb 1959, with the girl later to be my wife
St John's night, Spain, early 1990s (?)
Death and funeral of Diana, Princess of Wales, Aug 1997
Oberammergau passion play, 2010
Destruction of World Trade Centre, Sept 2001
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 9:16 AM UTC
The failed seduction
by drunken discussion
and skunk fueled
consumption, leads to
a compunction dysfunction
suspended in animation
the digital tides
of expulsion
catapult me into a
an eschewing propulsion
and the limitations
of re-imagination.
As far as I was aware
I was imprisoned
in nothing more
than the realms of
Skype and FourSquare
but for the Feng Shui
of trapped energies
and google-mapped memories
adorning the locations
of complacent hallucinations
amid the dark fibre
communications
with a female
of Nordic persuasion.
The compliments and comments
and poems I sent
were lost to the myriad
of random intent
I was attempting to be clever
and metaphysical
she on the other hand
was PHD level
and psychoanalytical
ergo my metrical composition
was utterly lost
in a conversation
on metaphorical reproduction
and the magic and mysteries
of osmosis
and the application
of modification
by transduction.
The moral of this tale
- if indeed there is one -
is if you are going to Skype
with a mentally superior type
do not before hand
have a blistering
smouldering
grass pipe
with a flagon of ale
lest you be a
gibbering earthling
destined to fail.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 10:59 PM UTC
first I smell myself.
the deep bass tonality of my musk,
hot, creamy, sweetness unique, of coffee and creamy,
my owned sweat oiled secretions massaged into her skin
emplaced by vigorous parts rubbing and tongue caressing,
under the fading shadows of my glancing, desirous admirings
then I smell herself.
sinking sunset glimpses of last nights parfume parfait,
scattered in random strategic locations architecturally planned,
some flavors come over me like modest waves,
others spelunking found in crevices, cracks and caves,
where humans tread in guileless search of guiltless pleasure
then I smell our sharings.
lemon and thyme, paprika, sea salt and pepper,
a basted rub laid upon animal skin consuming, and consumed,
the vinaigrette balsamic and California yellow raisins, pine nuts,
decorating leaves of red soil spinach and spicy arugula,
word salads, so miraculously ingenious, you swear off eating flesh
then I smell our combinations.
the air conditioned atmosphere that blends us properly chilled,
the olive oils pressed from two colored differing skins,
the mortal and pestle finely grinding our own fresh crumbled dirt,
appearing in places where dirt is wet panko crumbs encrusting us,
our combined liquidity, shaken and stirred, drying in martini tandem
it is 8:17am and this recipe of reciprocity,
at its most pungent peaking,
for soon raining waterfalls of potable city water
and the sophistry of French soap,
the pseudoscience of modern chemical shampoo,
together erasing, scrubbing away this poems aromatherapy tapestry,
your perplexed complexing nostrils will mock you once more,
for ever disbelieving, thinking you could no longer write of
only love poetry that crested high above the trite
Friday, March 29 2019
Mar 29, 2019
Mar 29, 2019 at 8:40 AM UTC
The jaguar of your tongue
Slithers and stalks to desolate locations
Unburdened by the guilt of temptations
Burning deep in the gullet of desires
Forsaken by the drawings of cave paintings
Clawed ragged breath discipline
Polaroid flawlessness beneath the Blood Moon
One wild summer
Mar 10, 2012
Mar 10, 2012 at 12:31 AM UTC
MEMORIAL DAY May 26th, 2014
****************************************************
To all of you that have ever worn "The Uniform",
the uniform of safety and security, the uniform of pride
the uniform of freedom, the uniform of liberty
THE UNIFORM OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
**********
THANK YOU
Thank you to all, in every branch, in every time From:
The American Revolution (most of us have roots to our founders)
The Civil War (North or South)
World War I
World War II
Korea
Vietnam
Cambodia
Laos
Panama
Nicaragua
The Falkland Islands
Somalia
Yugoslavia
Bosnia
Kuwait
Iraq
Afghanistan
Pakistan
The Persian Gulf
**
areas and battlefields such as
(not all locations are listed with no dis-respect)
Lexington/Concord, Gettysburg, Pearl Harbor, Midway Island, Normandy, D-Day, Berlin, Tripoli, Iwo Jima, Okinawa, The 38th Parallel, The Bay of Tonkin, Me Lei, Hanoi, The Hanoi Hilton, Saigon, The ** Chi Minh Trail, Baghdad, Kabul, Ground Zero Manhattan, Pentagon 9/11, a field near Shanksville PA.
and many many more,
you are all heroes and role models, not for a nation, for the world, not for American Patriots, for all humanity, not only on this Memorial Day, for all days and all days to come.
You are appreciated! because freedom has high costs and you pay the price for all of us.
******************************
Godspeed, safety and peace where ever you are.
Sincerely,
Warner C. Baxter Jr.
American Patriot
Scottsdale, AZ. U.S.A.
God bless America
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
a quote of Bernard-Henri Lévy
~~~
the divers’ recovery, diverse,
shipwrecked salvage from different locations,
auctioned to the highest bidder,
tho the excised excerpts are exceptional,
none come to do the bidding,
for the provenance of words
belongs to all, and to none
~~
“so oft we trifle words,
expel them from the country of our body,
without passport and earnestness,
as if they were the cheapest of footnote filler,
day tourists, to be treated as leavings,
refuse for daily discardation,
barely noting their fast comings and faster disappearance,
but leaving not, a mark of distinction”
“the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages...and every molecule,
becomes a human tuning fork in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit”
“murmur me, with soft downy charms,
these words discovered
recoursed and intended well to
pointedly offset and contradict
their very own tumultuous discovery uncovering,
tear tongue me
with calming, lapping word wages,
hymns harmonious and fine homilies,
a call, a request,
a bequest
to sedate my shrill life
“some cells, microscopic, preserved digitally,
aged to imperfection, thrash my eyes,
making me speak in tongues I do not recognize,
but fluently possess, no wonder there,
the memory place fairly empty,
room aplenty for passerby's and the imagery
of the vaguest of dearly departed
skin is not the only mot shed,
sloughing of woeful words”
“speak them slow and distinct,
for they arrive slow to you,
a trickling of refugees for your sheltering,
harbor them as full companions,
protected by natural law,
provision them well,
prepared and ever ready for a quick departure,
moor these words at the embarcadero,
for the next restless leg of endlessness,
which they themselves will inform you
will last longer than eternity,
long after there are no humans to speak them”
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 4:55 AM UTC
‘Apocalypto’ is a film set in a Maya civilisation and consists of a story that takes place in one tribe and how a passing tribe affects them to a degree of destruction. The story unfolds in a linear way of storytelling which is basic but still effective. From director Mel Gibson, the director of ‘Braveheart’ and ‘Passion of the Christ’. An underrated director of sorts but a great one nonetheless. Overlooked due to his acting career, he has been holding back on us as a director.
The characters are set to be living a Mayan life and go about their days behaving as such but are rather generous and civilized for such an old race of people. They live peacefully and secluded until they interact with another tribe which brings about their downfall. And the way in which a Mayan civilization might go about solving problem as common as a natural disaster. Through sacrifices to the God's as a way to solve problems and mass results. Very accurate to the Mayan culture as well as the entire movie taking place without one word of English, all dialogue being said in the Mayan language. Another credit to the film.
The directing style for this film is beautiful and flawless to say the least. No shaky cam used or hand held cam either. All fluent movement of the camera to create a great story, one that flows naturally. The use of camera angles is creative and different, using tilted angles to convey a certain mood and straight framed shots to convey another mood.
The performances stand out as a huge positive, the actors who I have honestly never heard of give Oscar worthy performances. Mel Gibson uses unknown actors as not to compromise the film by the status of the actors. These actors and actresses give a hard performance based on body language and quiet moments, the enduring task of learning to be emotional through a foreign language. Which is why I would guess Mel Gibson used local actors who are more aware of the Mayan language than American actors.
The set design is truly Oscar worthy in this film. The Mayan temples and tribe lands are captured perfectly in the sets for this film. Well build and suited towards the amazon environment. As well as good filming locations, using the wonders of the amazon rainforest as an advantage.
In final thoughts, I believe that Mel Gibson is a stunning director with an eye for detail and a beautiful visual director. A director that can produce great work. ‘Apocalypto’ to me in the near future will become a period piece masterpiece. A tale of survival and dedication that will live on through the ages.
Rating: Film - 8.4
Personal - 8.9
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 12:02 PM UTC
MEMORIAL DAY
June 1, 2015
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
To all of you that have ever worn
"THE UNIFORM"
The Uniform of safety and security,
The Uniform of pride and liberty
THE UNIFORM OF FREEDOM
THE UNIFORM OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
THANK YOU
Thank you to all, in every branch, in every time From:
1776 - 2015
The American Revolution
The Civil War (North or South)
World War I
World War II
Korea
Vietnam
Cambodia
Laos
Panama
Nicaragua
The Falkland Islands
Somalia
Yugoslavia
Bosnia
Kuwait
Iraq
Afghanistan
Pakistan
The Persian Gulf
~~
War Zones and Battlefields, such as:
Lexington/Concord, Gettysburg, Pearl Harbor, Midway Island, Normandy, D-Day, Berlin, Tripoli, Iwo Jima, Okinawa, The 38th Parallel, The Bay of Tonkin, Me Lei, Hanoi, The Hanoi Hilton, Saigon, The ** Chi Minh Trail, Baghdad, Kabul, Ground Zero Manhattan, Pentagon 9/11, a field near Shanksville PA.
and many many more,
(not all locations are listed with no dis-respect)
You are all Heroes and Role Models,
not for a Nation, for A Peaceful Planet
not for Americans, for all Humanity,
not only today this Memorial Day,
for all days and all days to come.
You are appreciated! because freedom has high costs
and you pay the price for all of us.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Godspeed, safety and peace where ever you are.
Sincerely,
Warner C. Baxter Jr.
American Patriot
Scottsdale, AZ. U.S.A.
GOD BLESS AMERICA
Semper Vigilo
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 2:26 AM UTC
This time the revolution will not be televised
We will not give them a chance to corrupt it with their lies
It will spread instead by word of mouth
In the dark of night
At odd morning hours
In the brilliant blaze of the sun
At odd locations
The revolution will go undetected
Until the ranks become the masses
And the masses become the majority
No color
No creed
No race
Just anger
The shouts of independence
The shouts of freedom
The clenched teeth and clenched fists
Will scream that we’ve had enough
That our stand is here and now
The revolution of possible change
The revolution of tomorrow and the day after
The revolution of now
The revolt against government chains
The revolt against corporate buying and selling
The revolt against misinformation and misdirection
The opening of eyes and voice
The screaming of the silent majority
Protest
In the streets
On the internet
In their heads
Docile no more
Grab your pens
Let loose your tongues
We are going to war
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 8:21 PM UTC
THE GHOST TRAIN
On the train that rides alone
along this track of skin and bone,
find locations to us unknown -
the Ghost Train comes.
Sitting, staring, watching paths
of lives unfolding,
to me just laughs -
the Ghost Train comes.
Darker now the tunnels come,
feelings gone and nothing done.
I look for signs of where I've been;
but cannot see because eyes are dim -
the Ghost Train comes.
I'm on this train for life I think
but Ghost Trains aren't real just minds out of sync.
I look outside, the door is open,
my brain all rattled, slow and broken.
I step off now the train has gone.
I reflect inside of what I've done.
For nine years I rode that train,
I lost true love and half my brain.
And what I've learned is one **** thing -
don't live your life to love one thing.
For me, a little lives inside.
Still taking people for a ride
So when you decide to take a train,
take the track that is true and sane.
Please don't live a life in vain -
The Ghost Train.
This is the age of the train.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 5:41 PM UTC
a malignant cancer spreads
in prime agricultural land
the Santos Company
gas wells ever expand
the waterways and aquifers
sullied with material not healthy
the corporate entity
aspiring to be more wealthy
campaigners outside fences
at drilling locations
wanting to stop the company's
sick infiltration
the fight to preserve the family farm
has been unheeded
company profitability
must be well seeded
a state government not listening
to scientist's info
seemingly it is more interested
in the gas field's revenue flow
as time goes by the waterways
and land will become sicker
all in the name of the Santos brands
noxious sticker
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 8:15 AM UTC
All of sudden reality happens
Ruining my mind that's already jumbled
"where the hell did i just go?"
I ask to myself no one listens
Obsecurity is still in me
Recognizing situation where i have been
Looking up the sky it's already dark
Worrying something, i need to get up
Home, i need to find home
Stepping forward to pass the crowd
The longer i go, the quieter it's so
Taking my glasses off because its fogged
Focusing my lens but the blur shows
sigh
Now melancholy does it again
Lack of knowledge about locations
Lack of someone to be asked for
And there is no light to guide me on
Vision, direction, companion
I wish i could make them clearer
But in reality, they just disappear
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 9:26 AM UTC
Foster, what family? Lower class, dream of vacation
******** what trickles down, affecting a life situation
White to Blue Collar; a rebuild or invasion?
Millions inside the boxes of convention
Justified superficial, backhanded salutations
Refute Love, proposed as mankind’s invention
Pulled by a string of instant gratification
Finding freedom’s temporary
If ever, long term locations
Constricted, system of classifications
The socially admissible connections,
Not to mention gangs of corrections
Flowing through the previous, my own generation
For the infinite hours
One after the other
Trade integrity for the illusion of power
Not all those with a gun should be considered a coward
Face the souls sold on Wall Street,
Remember those from Twin Towers
Ground zero, abandoned. Now bare, desolate
The idea of terrorism denied, while some wrestle it
Rationales dislocate, post hairline fracture
Frontal lobe imposter, posing in rapture
As if talent, love, or hate could ever be captured
Held at gun point, then forgotten years after
My children will one day look to me for the answer
What’s society, this twisted maze we live in?
I will gaze in their eyes with the same exact question
And don’t ever allow me again not to mention
Real criminals can’t learn from minute or life-long detentions
Some incapable of that level of retention
As our battered soldiers forever sleep at attention
Politically correct, tongues in consistent hesitation
Kiss police *** only to go to the station
Before the thought of who signed the citation
Treated as if it were a felony violation
Our basic rights according to our nation
Arizona & Co for minority elimination
Die fighting the statute of poverty’s limitations
vi.i.xi
Aug 3, 2012
Aug 3, 2012 at 6:22 AM UTC
Ya Know Peoples’ Behaviour’s...
Getting... Stranger And STRANGER... !!!
NO... Away In A Manger... !!!
But PLENTY of DANGER... !!!
In... Peoples Behaviour... !!!
Because Corona’s Brought Flavours...
When It Comes To THAT PAPER... !!!
That Are A... GAME CHANGER... !!!
So Some Peoples Behaviour’s...
Beginning To Tailor...
Itself Towards... Vader’s... !!!
Because of DICTATORS...
Who Have Now Endangered... !!!
MORE THAN... Livelihoods...
Now Lives Have Been Took...
That’s EVEN SHOOK CROOKS... !!!
So Behaviours Now Look...
Like They’re Ready To Cook...
MUCH MORE Than PROTESTS...
When Leaders Send Feds’...
To Now Fire BULLETS... !!!
At WOMEN On Front Lines...
Who Now STAND AGAINST...
Racism And Violence...
That Lead To Black Deaths... !!!
By... Taking of Breaths...
By Some YES Policemen... !!!
They’re Behaviours ATTEST...
To Delivering STRESS...
To Lots of Blacks HEADS... !!!
So OF COURSE Some Are VEX... !!!!!
About Treatment We Get... !!!
But... Protest Behaviour...
Has Got... INSTIGATORS...
Who May Be IMITATORS... ?!?
And... CONTAMINATORS...
Used To Be MUTILATORS... !!!
of Behaviours Now Caused...
By BLATANTLY FLAGRANT...
ABUSE of THEIR Laws... !?!
Hold Up... Let Me PAUSE......................
Did I Just Call Them... " LAWS "... ?
What Do They Stand For... ?!?
Cos They’re CLEARLY NOT Made...
To Now PROTECT The Hoards … ?
I Mean... MASSES of People...
Who Seem READY For WAR... !?!
In... Different Locations...
It Seems That Behaviours...
Are Now Fighting For...
MORE Than Freedom of Thought... !!!
IT’s... FREEDOM To TALK...
That’s Now Being Cut SHORT... !?!
When Clearly Behaviours...
Should OPEN UP MORE Than EVER BEFORE... !!!
But THESE MANIPULATORS...
Have Their Perpetrators...
of Behaviours That Walk...
With Talk That Is FALSE... !!!
From These CORONA Wars...
To These CLOSED Corridors...
Where Decisions Are BOUGHT !
I Dunno Anymore... ?!?
If We’ll Ever ENFORCE...
Behaviours Like Jailers...
For Traitors Who Break Laws... !!!
ESPECIALLY When...
They Are Leaders And Lords !!!
Instead of Behaviours...
That... DESTROY The Poor... !!!
We NEED CASTIGATORS...
And... Coordinators...
Whose Behaviours Are PURE... !!!
Instead of These FAKERS...
And... New Age ENSLAVERS... !!!
Who Drive These Creations...
of Thoughts That I TAILOR...
To Speak On These Subjects...
Like Peoples’...
.... “BEHAVIOUR”....
Nov 27, 2020
Nov 27, 2020 at 2:18 AM UTC
I walk along Pacific Avenue
Santa Cruz, CA
I walk down past the nice parts
to the bus station
near seedy bars
and a sandwich board reads
Cafe Pergolesi one block
with an arrow pointing
It's not too early to scout locations
It's the location of my opening scene
I approach, and I see, it is still alive
in this summer evening
people outside and in
a trod upon, worn and comfortable air
various levels to the porch
even ash trays on the tables
like Vegas, everyone is welcome
Inside, this is no Starbucks
You don't see a line clearly where you must order
and pay
like a theme park
or a hospital
or a slaughter house
where you are funneled
It's not too clean
But it's filled with comfort
Huge couches beckon
A Victorian house
One people lived in
with spaciousness and windows
Real air permeates the place
An ATM is casually smashed between a couple of tables
but no one cares
you can't mass produce this wonderful mess
A friend's band CD blares through the speakers
badly recorded
a barrista in carefully torn fishnets sneaks a break
on the back porch with her cell phone
I buy water and a cookie and settle into a huge worn chair
Every room has a different theme
But I want comfort
I pull out my notebook and write
I have a shopping list of scenes
And I add another one for this place
Would they let me shoot here?
I don't know
But I think I could live here
It's so non judgemental
People buy things
But there isn't that corporate pressure
There are no special names for dumb things
just small, large, cookie, beer
This is cafe bliss
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 4:09 PM UTC
1515
The Things that never can come back, are several—
Childhood—some forms of Hope—the Dead—
Though Joys—like Men—may sometimes make a Journey—
And still abide—
We do not mourn for Traveler, or Sailor,
Their Routes are fair—
But think enlarged of all that they will tell us
Returning here—
“Here!” There are typic “Heres”—
Foretold Locations—
The Spirit does not stand—
Himself—at whatsoever Fathom
His Native Land—
2.1k
Art is food for the heart and like food it is often hard to find.
It might come from a source that is renewable,
yet how many have forgotten that the brain is even usable.
The inspiration we seek comes from inside our own mind
where the fairies wait, having fed on our own experiences, wishing to unwind.
But as full as they may be, one can clearly see
that they cannot make art till they jump on our heart in hope of making it start.
They first have to tickle it with their little feet
before it can even begin to produce an audible beat.
Maybe giving an idea for a visual treat or a literary feat.
These fairies each come from different locations
as imagination is not limited by any dimensions.
In the world of creation, pain has long been a mighty fairy-nation,
the muse of separation, the dictator of desperation,
the soul's frozen animation, a generous, fugly frog of inspiration.
So next time you feel blue, channel that blue stream into a pen
and you may start to feel better again. Blow a kiss to that frog,
clearing the misty lake from fog. There is no call for divination,
simply let the frog jump in celebration all over your pond(ering)'s stagnation
and it will stir the waters in its elation.
Embracing pain not only does wonders for creation,
it also helps dull that cruel yet just sensation.
Dec 7, 2011
Dec 7, 2011 at 4:05 PM UTC
Her hands always quick to throw.
Spit the first words.
Throw the first punch.
Relationships aren't perfect.
Mine was far from.
Words biting deep into my soul.
Tearing me apart bit by bit.
I was a doll in her games.
Her hands constantly put up one me.
Non consensual things.
Yes **** still applies in relationships.
All the people would come to her house.
Watch the door while we roll this.
Watch the door while we crush these.
I was nothing but a pawn in her games.
Sneaking ***** into my drinks.
Calling me nothing at nights when I couldn't sleep.
Holding me close only to destroy me later.
A.C. Long gone.
Down a road very bad.
A road of **** and ******
Going to collage to be a psychologist until she fell into the arms of the monster.
The monster she hold so dear.
The monster who changed her.
The monster clenching her soul.
This monster can be injected,
This monster can be smoked...
this monster is impossible once it gets a hold.
She became the monster.
The one I was afraid of.
Started off small then bigger.
Drugs won't affect you unless you do them,
A common mistake people say.
No, never once did they affect me.
Or at least I can say.
But that was a lie.
Depression, eating disorders, self harm, emotional abuse, physical abuse, trauma, hallusionations, trust issues, fear.
All lay deep within the hands of the monster.
The monster chokes the good memory out of me.
The monster put me on a leash.
Home by midnight.
Locations on my phone.
Who is he.
Why are you not home?
A controlling girlfriend.
Talk to no one.
Only her.
Her whom was held dear by the monster.
The monster took the form of a black blur.
The one that sneaks up when you least expect it.
Yet she was excellent at hiding it.
I'm fine.
Nothing is wrong.
What's wrong with you.
Why do you question me.
Keep your mouth shut or things will get bad.
Tape over my mouth because god you don't want to see her mad.
Clothing may have hid my bruises.
The emotional pain still apparent.
All because my girlfriend held a contract with the monster.
The monster held her at night.
And that is what the hands do.
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 5:35 PM UTC
We sat together,
upon a hill with dew on grass,
against a tree
with glowing city lights ahead of us
We waited patiently for night fall
to stand witness to the beautiful starry night
The wait lasted a while but it paid back.
It paid back through the beauty,
the awesome power,
and the sight of the stars.
These stars were unfathomable
even while we stood witness to them.
The city lights took notice
of the star filled night sky
and dimmed their lights ever so low
Making visible the huge spirals of the Milky Way
emanating a white glow
but so peaceful, oh so peaceful
it calmed the entire human soul
The night was still so young
so much had yet to happen.
She sensed the serene silence
understanding our time was complete.
The world would wander
and locations would change
but our experiences would remain.
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
Every summer evening
I spend at home I know it
is 9 o'clock by the familiar
song from the
beat up ice cream truck
that creeps through Canton.
The truck is plain and grey-
no pictures of smiling faces
or advertisements for snow cones,
just those high pitched notes repeating
over and over and over.
It never stops.
No children sprint, ecstatic from
sweaty row homes.
No cones are coveted
by sticky fingers.
Who is this man who
drives up and down our streets
luring us in with a familiar jingle
I can't quite place as I pace
around my living room?
Perhaps he peddles magic potions
or prescription drugs to
expectant inner city addicts,
stopping only for those with
that telling shaky stammer.
Or maybe he transports
illegal immigrants
huddled behind his tinted windows
to obscure locations.
The only thing that is certain
is that it is 9 o'clock every time
I hear those notes.
Does he laugh at us as
we glance out our windows,
considering a late night treat but
always disappointed as he drives away?
Jul 13, 2010
Jul 13, 2010 at 9:44 AM UTC
Two blue birds
singing a different song throughout the night,
Two trains
mapping the locations and destinations of the other with whistling chants,
Two cunning spirits
colliding messages over and over,
Him and I are two hearts,
paralyzed in fear of losing
When, all the time, each of us just want to know love and trust
And most fervently: deeply know the other.
Apr 18, 2021
Apr 18, 2021 at 1:00 AM UTC
My body ached
I felt bruised
Stretched to the limits
I felt physically abused.
My insides were moved
To different locations
It felt unreal
It was a surreal sensation.
My back hurt
My bones shifted
I felt sick
The pain persisted.
I felt like being ripped
From the inside out
They watched and waited
As I continued to shout.
Oh! The pain!
Oh! The discomfort!
I lay there out of breath
As I pushed with all my effort.
One last great push
It will soon end
I screamed
I shouted
Then stillness
Silence fell
My head plopped back
I felt like I was under a spell.
The silence was broken
By a piercing wail
It sounded like an angel
And you were unveiled.
Nothing ached anymore
There you are
My little angel
My little shining star.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 2:44 AM UTC
The bullet was made by an expert
discovered when removed.
At the autopsy of a young guy
one of several just arrived.
Not a gang war it was known
but a ****** working alone.
The public scared out of their wits
the police under pressure.
Three dead this boy the latest victim
attacks in varied locations.
Was it by somebody from the military
an expert with a unique ability.
No clues was not good to hear
the public afraid to be here.
Tall buildings made them easy targets
when would the next strike be.
Though summer the temperature cold
through information they trolled.
As another victim was gunned down
more evidence was found.
Two teenagers saw a man with a case
get into a city works van.
Contacting with what they had seen
a new image came on the screen!
Every law officer was instantly alerted
a face found to fit description.
An ex soldier with traumatic stress
caution the critical word.
Quickly a sighting was received
the entire force relieved.
A gun battle ensued policemen hurt
not killed in the line of duty.
A swat team eventually shot him dead
in a disused ammunition factory.
News soon spread of the snipers demise
the gloom factor began to rise.
You can never argue with a bullet!
The Foureyed Poet.
Jun 15, 2011
Jun 15, 2011 at 1:20 PM UTC