"locomotion" poems
I want to be your guitar
Run your fingers over my fret board
Pluck my strings and give me my melodious avatar
Sing to me and play that major chord
I’m feeling your song through and through
You don’t need a plectrum, you’re a born original
Work your rhythm baby, let’s get on the groove
Your fingers are enough to create our music wholly attritional
I will reward you myself for how you release my tension
I will resonate our love song through longevity
You’re a prodigal performer, I can feel you in tune with locomotion
We will move from verse to chorus under no shadow of ambiguity
I want to be your guitar
Let my moans reverberate off your walls
A finer touch for our creativity – a sitar
Let’s Indioul our way through these musical waterfalls
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 10:07 AM UTC
to hold a photograph in my hand
and believe what is presented,
take is at it already is – why not?
if I close my mind’s shuttering eye,
will you be as candid as before?
unrestricted, unsorted from the hullaballoo,
you, freer than what is imagined, closing
in like a bullet from yesterday shot out
of the sky’s contrived clearing –
to hold a photograph in my hand
and tug closer by the mouth of the fringe
as if to pour water on a broken glass,
slithering now, a shadow of moon
at the very dull end of my cup;
you are closer than any rehearsed moment
ready to catch the inner canthus of the eye:
this relentless picture-passing, tense and
fervent, avid like bankiva to air,
water to chrysanthemum: behind thick shrub
of crepuscular, an arboreal locomotion
shatters loose, your frantic figure.
to hold a photograph in my hand
and size it down to the dimensions
of this home – there is potential in this
comparison: flaring out like smoke from
where it infinitely burns, I seek an ache
and hence place a finger to shush,
to hold this photograph in my hand
and confabulate a soft blow to the gut
and feel it realer than any dagger or berretta
held at one’s life-edge: this delusory intimation,
a slipshod work of feeling. to feel it rejoin
me somewhere I ought to be back again.
Jan 27, 2016
Jan 27, 2016 at 2:48 AM UTC
Helicopter in the air
Searching for those on the run
Holding the greenness of shattered glass
A tight embrace of the natural beauty
A rock tied to mine locks
Padlocked as I creep the stairway of life
Evolution of flames and fallacies
A sly that promises no tears
Compelled to paste the puzzle together
A locomotion of pieces to a system
Never to be afraid of who we are
United uniqueness to be the ones of a kind
Are we the loyal dogs who bark by the rivers?
Waiting for the tides to wash us away
Singing as the sun reflects beautiful ways
The tales of a long ago uncovers my soul
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC
Reading the other day,
an article about some,
Renowned fellow's notion,
On the study of "Human,
Productive Locomotion".
A reputed Authorty,
of "Time Management",
His main proclivity being,
The belief in his increasing,
Other peoples productivity.
Modulating their all too,
common Human tendency,
For naturally wasting time,
and non productive energy.
Him asserting himself to be,
a self styled know it all,
Bonafied Expert in Efficiency.
Now I can see,
How it might be,
That this type of study,
Offers some relevancy,
For the Barons of Industry,
What with them regulating,
The flow, While streamlining,
and furthering the advance,
of all things, relating to commerce.
A purely Scientific belief,
For the primary benefit,
Of the Time Clocks sake,
And all those Bosse's
Emotional financial betterment.
But what on earth,
did that have to do,
with an old retired,
fool like me?
What matter that,
I merely sit and think,
for hours at a time.
Read the paper,
or a book,
Computer chat,
or cook?
Putter in my garden,
Or gratefully just stare,
at big billowing clouds,
or rainbows in the air.
Or perhaps I choose,
to hug my wife,
Or chase my Grand
Kids up a tree,
Maybe grab a nap,
Or even take a ***
Pet my dog,
Or have a Beer.
Watch the Tube,
a little bit,
Or congregate to meditate,
with a convivial group of friends.
Maybe take a walk,
Down by the river.
Get out my old,
Bow and Quiver.
Wash my car,
Cut some grass,
Go to my writing class.
Slip on down,
to the " Red Dog Saloon"
Where I'll promenade,
A little Texas Two Step.
Come home in time,
To unwind and,
watch some David Letterman.
What's efficient,
and what is not?
Clearly, that interpretation,
Is completely up to me.
No Efficiency Expert needed.
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 4:33 PM UTC
I am not what you expected
A paradox in locomotion
A pendulum marking out its own time
An uninspired
Overachiever
Who refuses to write in words that sound similiar
And I too will leave you wanting
Sep 16, 2011
Sep 16, 2011 at 8:26 PM UTC
The most elegantly turned out beast
that in two legs roams in my part of urban forest,
with such impeccable taste and a heart
brimming with prurient thoughts, transmitted
with the beat of brows, two bows,cannot be any other;
I am in a poetic elation, at this moment of
thunder strike in my center of amour, as I watch your
rambunctious locomotion, intently from behind.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 4:52 AM UTC
I have the shape of the institution.
Each email address is a human.
They are known by their words and actions.
The whole wide world is just a fraction
of all I do not know. Expansion
and contraction, breathe in, out, meditation
on existence, non-existence, creation
and duration. I have no explanation
for fusion, fission, taxonomic relations
or artificial classification.
More I do not know: locomotion
by combustion, electron separation
and transportation via superconduction
which supports the idea of the unified nation.
What girls are like behind their eyes. ************
a useful restraint on overpopulation.
The story of a life, my life, any life, cohesion
must be rationed, conjured, a fiction
about a vexed, tenacious town, its rail station
truck stop, high school, night spots, recreations
the temporary citizens enact visions
dream-like orations, ballets, conflagrations
to in the end receive in annals honorable mention
from family, friends, neighbors, colleagues, institutions.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
She wears my military
Issue jacket into the cold.
We stalk the empty platform.
Our breath trails behind us,
Like the smoke of a locomotive.
She wants to travel in shadows
Beneath a veil of frost.
I want to give her the diamond
My former fiancé left me.
But I would feel like a conductor
Returning a ticket stub, proclaiming
I am a passenger without my own momentum.
We trudge through the snow
And board the late train to Harrisburg.
I incinerate the love left in my heart.
One day I will wake up and
She will tell me it’s spring.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 5:17 PM UTC
Some breaking
point back,
I spy ya sauntering
as your locomotion
lost, standing upright
been arduous, your
forehead on your
palmar side, like your
eyes can't see
I am pulsing that
you are feeling
not the same,
it might be
a fever,
Wish you quick
recovery
Sep 14, 2020
Sep 14, 2020 at 1:21 PM UTC
Another drunk poem between headphones, static & blank screens
surround me
Awoke in the morning with a gamblers smile, like seagulls flocking,
resting, gliding
Broken, crushed, words like quiet jokes until that last whisper under
***** sheets in a cheap motel
Yet we sip our poison and smoke our cancer, brothers and friends crammed
into closeness
Smiles spent on the eyes of those to lovely to smile back, yet their
hearts were warmed
By gapped tooth grins and young men with dirt under
bitten fingernails
Last night the headlights behind me made silver halos
in the mist
As I walked down gravel roads with mud stuck everywhere, my
constant companion
Some days I forget I’m human, that I exist, sitting in the passenger seat,
watching the world run by
Two kids with backpacks and a stray cat, asked them where they were heading,
“Hitchhiking to nowhere..”
Nowhere sounds about right right now, looking at the
state of things
A place of fragrant trees and uncut grasses, stones unturned and
clear running streams
The broken limestone memories of my childhood call
to me
Not much left of that anymore, just fragments like a
smashed tooth
Can’t even think some days, easier not to I think, easier to let
it all pass by
I saw a darkness today, and I closed my eyes to try for
light
Standing under rusty bridges, flicking dead embers
away
Between blue lines on the page I spill thoughts like
spoilt milk
Scribbles and scratches, wasted and unwanted, lost between
memories
Memories I claim, not sure if they’re even mine
anymore
Twenty two years old with a death wish by thirty
Dots and lines, a splash of smiles and laughter, stains
in the carpet
And we sit here like corpses, the two of us, cigarette butts between
twitching fingers
Stilled by the last exhale, the moment between
inaction and locomotion
Our still waters stirred, clear blue skies filled with rain clouds, still
blue above them
Your room, surrounded by rooms full of people, washing dishes or
watching their dreams die on T.V. screens
None of that matters to me, just your breath and hearing your voice for a second
before sleep takes over
I left a note in that book you told me you’d read, guess you
never got around to it
Dec 16, 2012
Dec 16, 2012 at 12:42 PM UTC
The eagle soured high over the mountain
seeking out it's prey to attack.
Deadly but graceful in its locomotion
with a backdrop of trees and snow.
Below the target was soon alerted
in the open cover deserted!
Like radar the eagle honed in precisely
swooping eyes fixed ready to ******
A magnificent flying predator in the skies
his priority food was on the way.
Wings spread wide vicious talons drawn
as the sun rose to a new dawn.
The Foureyed Poet.
May 22, 2011
May 22, 2011 at 10:49 AM UTC
I heard the sounds of locomotion
and a whistle's plaintive cry
of weakness, but the wheels were turning.
Steel on steel the sole reply.
The sounds of force accelerating
rhythmically as drums would play
recalled a light and tender time,
though made of steel the permanent way,
when near a depot long abandoned,
waiting for a passing train,
a child would sit alone for hours
just to hear the steel refrain.
I heard the sounds of locomotion
carrying a longing man
with freight and cargo to a place that
rails of steel alone could span.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 1:26 PM UTC
Cursed to suffer the pains of the past.
All I want is to make this last.
If only she knew the sincerity of my emotion.
She sets my heart in locomotion.
Distance between us tears us apart.
But she is the one who holds my heart.
Dream chasers set on a different course.
Love is not something that you can force.
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 6:46 PM UTC
he crept in stealthily
like the first chill wind on a hot
summers morning
beads of sweat knead deep into
my furrows, if that was love
it was the last thing i'd expect
holding my heart in his hands
the coil of fingers trace colour into
every breath, inh-ale, exh-ale, inh-ale;
if rainbows had a name before
we existed, it would have been his
ale, pale blue ale
there is a culture in Tokyo
where men collectively dress and
suit.it.up.
beneath the glamour lies a vast
arctic tundra
ale smiles, my heart blushes
light envelopes as i open my eyes on
the plane bound for goodbye
my heart, a locomotion
derailed with its wreckage left behind
the comforting sounds of solitude
stung my ears with such fortitude
ja mata ne
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 5:41 AM UTC
Everybody's learning how to wash their hands now,
C'mon baby do the Covid Motion
It's about as easy as a certain dance now
C'mon baby, do the Covid Motion
My little baby sister can do it with ease
It's easier than learning your A B C's
So c'mon, c'mon, do the Covid Motion with me
(chorus)
You scrub your finger tips, c'mon baby
Now front, now back
Well now I think you got the knack...whoa whoa
Remember when you do it, leave some space now
C'mon baby do the Covid Motion
And you must make certain you don't touch your face now
C'mon baby do the Covid Motion
Wash for twenty seconds babe, that's all you'll need
Some soap, and water and I know you'll succeed
So come on, come on, do the Covid Motion with me
(Interlude)
Yeah yeah yeah, do the Covid Motion
C'mon baby do the Covid Motion
When you wash your hands, it's the Covid Motion
Standing still and dancing like the locomotion
It's the way to do it, just listen to me
Do the Covid Motion now 1-2-3
So c'mon , c'mon and do the Covid Motion with me
chorus
C'mon baby do the Covid Motion
C'mon baby do the Covid Motion
C'mon baby do the Covid Motion
C'mon baby do the Locomotion
fade out
May 7, 2020
May 7, 2020 at 11:29 PM UTC
Set this in motion
In this mind matter ocean
Your words are brain lotion
To lubricate my emotion
With this potion
With a notion
Of devotion
A heart in locomotion
Physical commotion
So glad to have choosen
So glad to have woven
Woven and weave
Like ivy leave
Entwine a maple tree
Under which you rest with me
Like pedals and stem
Fabrics set in hem
Gold in mold with gem
You wrap my brain stem
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 5:00 AM UTC
But tonight I decide to take the back way
with my single bag of groceries buckled in
for dear life with a white receipt fluttering
from between the battlement of butter and bread.
Tonight, the evening will swallow the sun like a pill
without water, as the late night trains sleepwalk through
the city humming, pondering the unanswered question—
ummmmmmmm, umm, umm, umm, ummmmmmmm—
and the mixture of cloud, locomotion, and sky
will remind me of the cannons and the rifles
and the smoke that bounced back and forth, and I couldn’t
have been more sure that someone was going to die out there
on San Jacinto Day
And eventually I will turn within this forest of street—
Hickory, Elm, Oak, Maple, Spruce, Pecan, Cedar—
to see the red capitals of my reflection, crucified
upon a metal grid for every fatigued citizen to see:
MORRISON'S
CORN KITS
with a light on top that pulses and breathes.
And all I can do is picture myself inside, working along
the assembly lines ******** slip-resistant shoes
onto the ankles of Mexican pubescents,
or painting old men’s faces with sweat,
or filling the bags under teachers’ eyes,
or doodling veins on the legs of ladies who
stand standing to stand, and stand all day, they stand.
And I’ll remember how my crying sister screamed
at every loud thing she heard, and how my
mom was like a parrot on her shoulder saying
‘It’s not real, honey. Honey, it’s not real.’
And I’ll watch how the smoke that endlessly vomits
from the stacks wearing the sky like a wig
distorts the fanned out walls like fun-house mirrors,
and dissipates into the night like a long, drawn out, exhale.
Aug 6, 2011
Aug 6, 2011 at 8:12 PM UTC
Got the locomotion of a Komodo swollen tenfold
Harpoon tongue working like a snake's does
Point of attack: Your food for thought stash
Connecting the dots like Rorschach
Lord of the dunce cap; I'm in it for the long laugh
Poetry like scratch off's minus the cash trough
Too bad, better luck next stop
Spare a dime for the would-be spies
breaking bones from behind closed off blinds
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 10:45 PM UTC
Zibbyzabby
Pontchartrain
Westminster Abby
Carpool lane
Sixty four g
No-fly zone
Zingaboppy
Rent-to-own.
Lay down a beat
Make some noise
Out of my seat
Girls and boys
Empty calories
Some free radicals
Kiss your babies
Separate but equal
Bippilyboppidout
Sannabannazoomie
Half a bannable
Yastagoochie.
Fastagammarama
Wammadammaboosa.
Crestarestalini
Totally organic loofa.
Locomotion ocean
Witchyglitchystuff
Beedee essem
Treatemkindarough.
Hepanepa plop
Simulated leather
Random drug tests
Keep it all together.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 1:52 PM UTC
No sun-no moon
No morn-no noon
No dawn-no dusk-no proper time of day
No sky-no earthly view
No distance looking blue
No road-no street-no 't' other side this way
No end to any road
No indications where the crescents go
No top to any steeple
No recognition of familiar people
No courtesies for showing them
No knowing them
No travelling at all-no locomotion
No inkling of the way-no notion-
"No go by land or ocean-
No mail- no post
No news from any foreign coast-
No park, no ring, no afternoon gentility
No company - no nobility -
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds
Only November!!!
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 11:23 AM UTC
a one dimensional
*** ***** brain
in a three dimensional hologram of consciousness
i am a dumb wind
a slouching mongrel soul
carved in corpusles
its twenty six dimensions stupid!
mind like a radish in a **** slum
inhabiting a no return winter
of hollow helled mountains
soon to be dead
like disappearing smoke
i hear my voice
trying to count its molecules
with a slathering tongue
needle numb
and a brocaded Vox throat of tears
while eyes plead floating
like cataract clouds
no
Shadrach Meshach and Abednego
shinning baptism ufo's
god ***** shimmering in space
no
no reality quotient here
in a fitted sim built blood machine
of flimsy bone locomotion's
looking for time slips
tormented
by lifes prodding night stick
in a distortion field
i turn the wheel of shapeless shadows
in Satan's mill
waiting dormant
****** and muzzled
in a 666 cosmic zip code
im just another
****** **** ***** Jew
************ ******
apple bend over
living to pay the ******* rent
in a house fallen before its built
panting staccato deja vu's
in a no return winter
of pandemonium
in this knot of blotting screams
i try desperately to levitate
from this spittoon of ascending ***** matter
here gold turns to chalk
and i'm always doing gods work
with the devils pride
like a bug in the grass
Jul 3, 2019
Jul 3, 2019 at 12:59 PM UTC
At first sight
it might seem tempting.
But we've been fooled for so long
that neither more we care.
My lucid thoughts
I carry inside the pocket
of an old coat,
because I don't wanna seem a philosopher.
We know how wrong is
the way by which we follow.
But the necessity of locomotion is
what provokes that.
We know how useless is
to look for another exit,
another answer or solution,
even knowing that existing is the solution.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 9:11 AM UTC
Unstable rabble
ill in mind, body and soul
unfulfilled and desperately unhappy
fearful always, insecure, lacking and inadequate
skeletons in cupboards, shaming secrets hidden aplenty
false, fake, white-washed and all semblance soulless nonentities
vacuous sad pathetic weak and academically challenged majority
ignorant belligerent bellicose cowards, drunkards n mob shysters
rise, rise. rise
jump, jump. jump
do the twist n put the boot in
stand up and bellow
you can't loose your chains
your self loathing is too great
your shame and pains hurt all the time
you are reminded of your insignificance always
your helplessness and your weaknesses shames you
you always have to fake it, scrape, beg, borrow and steal
the aggrieved spectators as talents, wealth and the ritzy drive past
rise, rise, rise
jump, jump, jump
do the locomotion and spread the ****
scream and shout
hurl slander and lies
fight like cowards and bully
get badass and wicked and mean
get ****** angry and get ****** even
leave your bacon butties and fry the greedy pigs
forget your chips and come chip the brains of the tyrants hogs
put down those pints and lets keep this momentum of hate alive so
rise, rise, rise
jump, jump, jump
do the stoning and lets move like Jagger
Jun 23, 2019
Jun 23, 2019 at 3:47 AM UTC