"lombard" poems
As wavy as the deep blue waves.
As wavy as hair that just got a perm.
As wavy as busy old Lombard Street.
As wavy as the warped board in the garage.
As wavy as the petals on a tulip.
As wavy as the cream in your cocoa.
Are the clouds painting the sky.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 7:57 PM UTC
trudging from lombard
pawned ring
to pay back long debt
Esta es mi vida.
wonderful friend sent a letter:
dont send me poems
I dont love poetry
Caminando por la calles.
On the streets Lanterns
blinding eyes
while I need darkness
Yo tener enemigos en todos el mundo
letter from court
to pay penalty 1200 euro
for spraying graffities in Friedrichshain
Esta mi vida es afuera un campos de batalla.
i am hungry
I pick from some wheelchair near entrance of supermarket
one banan
towards me run and attacks me a huge drunkard
beat out from my hands banan
slaps in brow
and I fall on snowed pavement
feel no pains
he stays over me and yell: Sie klaute banane, Nutte!!
I low whisper: yourself schweine backe..
jump from spot and imaginary bite the **** of his imaginary gun
El mundo es maravilloso
I possess no more a laptop
i spilled wine on it
being taken aback of one scene of pure **********
of one lovely guest in my flat
how now to write manifesting defending verses?
Politico de mierda que gobierna el pais.
Internet shop
whole night over
beneath of buzzing of casino machines
I sit and write the letter to imaginary dad
to imaginary lovely mom
to sweet sister or brother
well, I have nobody of them
though would I be orphan
I guess my existence were not so dismal
Yo tengo el mi fierro por disparar.
I writing email to american situationist
his nickname is rasputin
I saying him, that I am situationist
and I am recently became persona non-grata
and I better die than
land in loony-bin
need your aid.
he answers with a link about a war in Irak
my solar plexus clenchs tight
Puta yo no necesita usted!
Esta mi maniera,
Caminando por la calles,
Listo para morir,
Esta mi vida es terminada.
*****
Friedrichshain- urban district in Berlin
Sie klaute banane, Nutte!- she stole a banan, Whore!(german)
schweine backe- pig's **** (german)
(thank you Alessandro P. for lesson in spanish)
Esta es mi vida. This is my life.
Caminando por la calles. Walk on the streets
Yo tener enemigos en todos el mundo.I have enemies allover the world
Esta mi vida es afuera un campos de batalla.This is my life outside for the battlefield
El mundo es maravilloso The world is beautiful
Politico de mierda que gobierna el pais. Politic in this land is merde
Yo tengo el mi fierro por disparar. I have my iron for shooting
Puta yo no necesita usted. Bitch, I dont need you
Esta mi maniera,
Caminando por la calles,
Listo para morir,
Esta mi vida es terminada:
this is my attitude
walking through the streets
to search for death
my life is finished
Jan 27, 2014
Jan 27, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC
Survival
Strung out and pressed
Horse **** force fed
Crowds putting jockeys
on pedestals
Slit wrist attention
for the edible icon
No better view
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 2:37 PM UTC
13th and pine
15th and pine
12th and federal
broad and morris
13th and spruce
juniper and lombard
juniper and locust
13th and walnut
18th and ellsworth
12th and kater
23rd and christian
15th and rodman
9th and filbert
17th and carpenter
10th and spruce
17th and cecil b. moore
23rd and annin
17th and ellsworth
somewhere desolate in Germantown
broad and catherine
12th and spruce
4th and catherine
10th and christian
16th and reed
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 1:12 AM UTC
We walk uphill
almost parallel
with the sky
but like all our other
adventures
we are out
to conquer different things
mine is to take this hill
one paced but ragged
breath upon breath
foot over foot
to plant my flag
yours is to shutter
to and fro
distilling object
place and time
and what is now
into an orderly
chronicle of us
Whit Howland © 2019
Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 5:19 AM UTC
Rejoice!
Joyce!
The girl killed in a tragic car accident
in 1973.
Picked up from the earth.
You were lifted tenderly
to a place
coveted by
forlorn corpses
that walk New York City
in their dry-cleaned business suits,
attending the ritualistic Sundays
in cross buildings.
While it soaks in,
while death is now the life
you live
there’s a
ship coming crewed
by all your favorite people you never knew.
Every missed connection,
lost crush,
pets passed away
they echo in song
to the Nursery shores
your bare feet freshly plant
on.
Joyce Wells,
Farewell!
You’re on to another road, now.
This revenant path
with more sudden turns than Lombard street
on clammy mornings.
However the incessant
afterlife treats you
it was nice to know you, Joyce Wells.
We’ll all miss you dearly.
You’re currently in a Morgue
at some cinder block hospital.
You’re currently on a viking ship
set for a frosty-tipped valley across the sea with
Molly, a stray cat your family adopted when you were three,
and Micheal Donahue, your first love.
While the world keeps spinning,
while your casket is buried.
While in 1974 it rains,
there’s an ease in knowing
that Joyce Wells would be
delighted to hear
that she was
freed.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 9:15 PM UTC
'
So much I find,
crosses my mind
as my daydreams all unwind
A sunny sky,
an apple pie,
a green balloon just floating by
A purple haze,
a chocolate maze,
a poem with a perfect phrase
A dancing bear,
black underwear,
a pillow in an easy chair
A parking space,
a smiling face,
a lightening bug that I can chase
A waffle cone,
a wishing stone,
the music of a slide trombone
A silver spoon,
a glowing moon,
a special day the end of June
A birthday card,
a big backyard,
a film with Gable and Lombard
A weathered post,
a friendly ghost,
but what I really like the most
Is thinking of
the girl I love,
and not that other stuff above
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 3:30 PM UTC
*and when they write their novels, the last thing
they'll realise, is that... contradictions, are
twists in the plot... philosophy books are only
akin to novella by creating contradictions,
as a way of suggesting playdough, scrapheap
of phenomenology;
some say contradictions are desired faults
in an "arithmetic" / plot, and yes, that's... "arithmetic",
meaning a + b can't exactly be 1 + 2... but that's
∞ = a-z....
the two are incompatible correlatives...
crafted to ensure babushka lingua
sell her tomatoes...
and all subsequent blah blahs;
oh please! you'll go to thailand some time next year,
you want me to feel sorry for you?
pet a rat!*
and will i dicta villager simply,
qualm?!
you! ruddier!
charcoal fat!
you sludge-ipsen
you vermont Kaiser guised!
you! finicky, thing!
avocado fat ****
let us bravado a chin!
that double! half-wit quiff!
fringe alongside the combover!
all things elongated towards a giraffe....
you! squeaky Lombard of Milan!
you! paraphrase! you! Merovingian!
cackle squat! and summation parts teutonic;
defaced, with mention of tectonic;
and they did live, a happily ever after,
which is the sad part;
you! piglet charcoal with dumb & dumber!
i dare not carve my name in stone...
i carve my name in lamb limbs...
so i debase myself on
the throttle when there's encouragement
of the speeding aversion toward Macbeth;
i look upon the toil,
as i might take slightness of asserting
the earthenware,
to have milked the cow, or to have
leisured an urn from a basic of dover chalk -
there you are... a kingly kin awoken...
there the highlands... and there the deposited
into basin...
for all pyrotechnics
there's still the pedophobia -
means i have an aversion becoming
a father... i don't like children...
do i hate to? ~. really, do i have to?
as it strands... i have to.
it was Macbeth who looked down,
and said: as mere pebble be,
i see less time occupying the lot of the heavens
even if they conjunction Aries into
a warring tide...
there, among
the toothache and awoken chance to meet grit...
i find time worth embedding a scaling into...
a rigidity, that could never define Romeo,
and as said... lost the mc. as having lost
the juliet... and subsequently gained the Beth.
Dec 9, 2016
Dec 9, 2016 at 8:45 PM UTC
nagłon a ja lupa i ja
wgard... i mokra, ja,
Moskiev... koszule mokre....
na gawron... ja płacz...
i w noc, i w czar ten tło ka ka
a raczej w tło lupy iskr...
tak... bliżej.. dalej... bliżej! dalej!
ale ja Moskiev, i oto oi na wojne,
to warte: ęć - ha ha warte ojca,
i tego, i wolne, it warte watrę...
cię, you... or what was said
to be evil... a night spent in Warsaw,
or a night i never wished i had spent...
wedle barw...
na tło... o tu huja se ma!
ty mi nie centurion
deutsche!
hałk i lombard ego!
prawie żyd, prawie taki owy pan...
niech mnie gnat i gwałt taki
obezwładni: czyli ten,
który, kto nigdy tam
nie raczył znaczyć wprot: list.
oj ubogi, oj ubogi, ty.
ss-man, nein!
death to **** life! ****
not in america... bored from life...
smooch the two of
equal strand!
ya, deutsche!
as ire stupid, came to lay claim...
dumb irish are ready to join
islam, and make a bomb...
as the dumb irish are ready to do.
boo and readier with boom!
boom!
lost the concern for a shamrock
dance.
how i wish to forget having the capacity
to speak english...
ugh...
how i wish to forget it...
it's so crisp, so pristine...
so worth being unfathomable.
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 11:14 PM UTC
Rap was my first love
Rap will always hold my fire
Hip Hop will always have my heart
Hip Hop will always be the one I come home too
We started together
Even when she is on some ********
Mumbling around town with technicolor hair
Crunch berry grills
looking like a cartoon villain
I get it
Rock was cool
sometimes we all need to scream
need to be sad and different
sometimes we don’t need words
just a guitar
just a bass
just a drum
It’s a funny thing to say:
The Blues made me laugh
laugh hard too
That’s why she said she left me
she said she was done.
I got so lost in Jazz
When I thought I left I realized
I’m still here
When I thought I had seen all that there is to see
When I thought I rounded the final corner
It turned out to be a street named Lombard
The light shone on me in notes of blue
With the blessing of The Sun and Ra
I realized
off beat is the beat
Jazz
She’s like Hip Hop
I may go away
but I’ll never leave.
© Christopher F. Brown 2018
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 10:18 PM UTC
There she goes
Auburn hair darkened by rain
A stranger to the streets
A kindred soul to the city
No destination
No end is near
Sky filled with gloom
Yet no bitterness in sight
There she goes
Lost amidst her wandering
She discovered home
May 7, 2015
May 7, 2015 at 12:58 AM UTC
all in the glory
a skin piece
melting down the sewer eyes
****
Columbus ave.
sickly "light"? grizzly stairs up the bridge
******* on the low stoopway
forget that corner and a glinting nametag, a dancer
stay here and run! don't do it again YES
who bends over in the streets
BAM!
"I wasn't watching I'm sorry"
"Oh, no need honey"
undress me
organic hair pitted down matted in a Tesla
Nikol, Nico
the watchburn and lion's breath purple dangling "in the car again?"
****
not again"
trunkbed aroma hitting
Des Moines!
or was it blue again?
who's sound is closer to the truth and who's taking the first shower?
get naked
I reach down for the stone
I feel the soft at its edges
cigarette soaring!
Waterloo
which of you suckers ruled England last year?
the weekend slowly sleeps
in the bay's gentle red cradle
Mother
fitting quietly
an alleyway above our heads
who?
Edward
a hand raises from the striped automobile
"Hey! **** out of the road!"
Chopin, the glissando with no lost word
the shattered beer bottle of 20 years, antiquity
glow into the sink
washing onward Barton and Lombard
Barton and Lombard
both streets unacting like the other
shards of melting black pavement lying so tight and close, the lovers of suburbia
...
Jul 8, 2016
Jul 8, 2016 at 6:14 PM UTC
They asked me what
my heaven would look like.
At first I hesitated in
a fear of being blasphemous.
Then I said that heaven
would be a thousand
Sunday mornings with
fresh sheets and a pretty girl.
It would be that summer hit
on an endless loop
from the year we thought
would never cease to end.
Perhaps it would be
back on Lombard Street
back before my heart got heavy
and souls got dark.
Heaven will bring back
the innocents that was
lost, the same we thought
could never be returned.
Best of all heaven will be
you in a sundress;
young and smiling,
and completely free.
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC