Dear Lucille,
Come for me in the twilight of nocturnal hour
Close my eyes with soft kindness
The fading memories of you emerges from the night around me
Mist mingles its lamentation with the soft whispering of the sea
Deserted like a graveyard at the crack of dawn
In the hour of departure
Come for me
Oh my dear departed one! .......

Dear Lucille,
Cold frontier faces are now haunting the fragments of a lonesome heart
A king and queen now sit in an exiled throne
Old, alone in a forsaken kingdom
Friendless, forgotten and torned apart
In you the wars of old and the lust of the monarchs were originated
In you lost sailors struggle for a way out from the cave of shipwrecked
But Lucille, Oh! Lucille
You swallowed eternity whole!
Won't you come my way once more?
My self restraint is crumbling
My tainted trust , my betrayed love
You left me on the shore
Bound by grief , stunned by despair
Still you clung to desire
Like time you left me untouched
Yet swallowed eternity whole! ...........

Dear Lucille,
You satisfied me in the ambivalence of fury and dread
Came closer in the moist hours of dusk and dawn
Waited in silence as sorrow engulfed the horizon
Beyond love and carnal sins , you walked on ......

Dear Lucille,
Will you not come again?
Running along the rain soaked lane
Beautiful and pale
In the darkest of nights
Where so many a day
Made me blind , then grew gray
I count what I can't forget
And evetually fail
Oh my sweet Lucille!
Will you not come again?
For the one who gave up immortality to love you
Smiled and wept seasons through
Gave up his own flesh for the love he lost
Now raise his voice to you .......

Dear Lucille,
There was solemn solitude in our embrace
Intense passion in corner of our kisses
How deep did this desire of mine run!
You might never comprehend
Say, if I'm here no more
Will you come then?
Indeed I loved you; my dear friend!
I loved with my life and it came to an abrupt end
Indeed I loved you; I love you yet
But the swift judgement that departed us, now cannot be mend ........

if I suffer at this
typewriter
think how I'd feel
among the lettuce-
pickers of Salinas?
I think of the men
I've known in
factories
with no way to
get out-
choking while living
choking while laughing
at Bob Hope or Lucille
Ball while
2 or 3 children beat
tennis ***** against
the wall.
some suicides are never
recorded.

It always starts with a Woman;
a woman with skin like sweet milk chocolate.
A woman with a voice like warm honey on a cold dark night
And brown eyes in which a man might comfortably lose his soul.

The club was cold; not much of a club really;
A drafty old barn of a building somewhere in Arkansas
A big barrel half filled with Kerosene was lit to heat the hall.
The Young black folk of the town were gathered around

Young B.B. King was playing the blues, on a guitar with no name.
That was when the fight broke out on the dance floor.
two strong men doing battle over a woman who worked at the club.
It always starts with a woman.

Punches were exchanged; in the melee someone kicked over that barrel
And fire, like a river, roared across the floor.
Everybody started to run for the only open exit.
B.B. King ran too, until he recalled he had forgotten his guitar.

She was nothing special except for the man who played her
The man who coaxed sweet sad sounds from every catgut string.
King wasn’t a rich man and that guitar was his meal ticket
So he raced back through the flames.

Just as he retrieved his guitar, the building began
Its slow sad collapse into ash and embers
He barely escaped with his life and his guitar.

Standing outside in the cold night
Looking on the ruins of what had been a good paying gig.
That was when he met Lucille;
She was the barmaid with the sweet milk chocolate skin
And a voice like warm honey on a cold dark night;
Those two men had just fought and died over
a pleasure that neither would ever possess.

That was when B.B. King christened that old beat up guitar
“Lucille”:
To remind him of this night he almost died.
to remind him never to do something that stupid again.
Like I was saying, it always starts with a woman.

My ever fairest dear, Lucille
Where shall I find you, dear?
Where have you gone,
   my love?

To the vast seas, I have inquired
Yet have not I heard you--
The waves voice not
   your name.

To lullabies I have listened
Yet not one word describes
   just how lovely
     you are.

Many a dish I have tasted
Yet none compares to the
  taste of your sweet,
      sweet lips.

The temporal joy of the fair--
Far greater still the joy
  I feel when you
     are near.

The scent of popcorn I feast on--
More fragrant still the smell
   of your velvet
      red hair.

My dear Lucille, where have you gone?
Come home to me dear love,
   before my pulse
      is none.

And when it has stopped - my breathing
I will remember you
   To my faint heart's
      beating.

Lucille's weeping silently.
Now that the fingers that felt her has passed.
The strings of music slowly came to a halt.

Cause he played the song upon her, it pays to be the boss.
No longer will her story be told by him about how her story came to be?

No longer will his magic fingers be placed upon her to push him, to sing.
Or simply make the strings ring that  it's BB King.

Lucille, probably never would be known.
If it wasn't for the players call this guitar his own.

Verse:

Eleanor Roosevelt, Rosa Parks, Ghandi, Lucille Ball
Quiet and soft-spoken
Take the spotlight
Every bone in their body tells them not to
They took it not because they wanted to
Not because they enjoyed directing others
Not out of the pleasure of being looked at
Because they had no choice
Because they were driven to do what they thought was right

Chorus:

Roosevelt and Ghandi
Rosa Parks and lovely Lucy
Inner peace is what we all need
You're not a failure if you can believe

Verse:

Steve Martin, Ella Fitzgerald, Nicole Kidman, Lucille Ball
Shy actress was an oxymoron
In the so-called Golden Age
Let's make today the real Golden Age
And stop being so mean to each other
Take a walk in another person's shoes
Play the role of the person terrified to speak
Turn a party around so you can see it the way we see it
As a battleground
As a place of judgement and fear

Verse:

Einstein, Lincoln, Edison, me, you!
Laughed at in their classes and by the masses
When they had the ideas to change the world
If you would ever let them read their books
How many people have given up their dreams?
Just because they were shy?
There has to be a better way to deal with this
And someday I know you will get there
Touch the sky, touch our hearts
And find the love you always wanted


Bridge:

Solitude
Solitude
Inner peace is what we all need
The ability to be you
The ability to be the original
Not the knock off

When all summed her home was
immaculate,  like pearl polished
porcelain and her maple floors
smelled of good soap and wax;
between Sunday lunch  and
dessert, she would stroll
to the bathroom
to throw-up.

There is a girl inside.
She is randy as a wolf.
She will not walk away and leave these bones
to an old woman.

She is a green tree in a forest of kindling.
She is a greeen girl in a used poet.

She has waited patient as a nun
for the second coming,
when she can break through gray hairs
into blossom

and her lovers will harvest
honey and thyme
and the woods will be wild
with the **** wonder of it.

Kenny had a God given talent and he was bound to succeed.
His death has pricked people like a thorn and they will bleed.
He was both a singer and an actor who had skill.
People loved to hear him sing The Gambler and Lucille.

The world is sad to lose Kenny.
He was a Leo just like me.
All of his fans are heart broken because of this ordeal.
People loved to hear him sing The Gambler and Lucille.

"I love you more than buttercups!" Said little Mary Liu
Said Tiny Tim to Mary Liu, "I love you more than glue!"
"I love you more than applesauce." Said Betty to Lucille.
Lucille replied, "I love you more than wet banana peel!"

"I like you more than broccoli." Said Kimmie to her mom.
Her mother smiled, "Kim I love you more than lemon balm."
"I love you more than ******." Debbie told her boyfriend Don.
Donny looked at her and said, "Me too! I wish that you were gone."

So in the end, it seems to seem that Valentines are not
Anything more than people who just like to spend a lot
Valentine's Day isn't quite as glorious as we
Swoon and croon and quite as big as we make it to be

**** MY FIST                                  COPYRIGHT 2011 DAVID EHRGOTT


Lucy Lucy  What have you done
******* a kid
well it ain't no fun
Bashing and gashing
covering him
My right forearm hurts like sin
Lucy Lucy Kiss me kiss
Match the left one by doing this

Just
**** My Fist
**** My Fist
Yeah
**** My Fist
**** My Fist

Lucy Lucy ******* me blue
Here is all that she did do
Slapped me around; Put me through walls
That mother-******* Lucille Ball

So
**** my Fist
Yeah
**** My Fist
just
**** My Fist
**** My Fist

**** My Fist
**** My Fist
**** my Fist
**** My Fist

Tuesday Weld was not a Ball
She frigged herself and that was all
But Lucy had a *** playpen
For children around the age of ten
so
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST

Surviving this is not a bliss
and my arm, it hurts like ****
I raise it up to tell the world
That Lucille Ball was my first girl that

****** MY FIST YEAH SHE
****** MY FIST
****** MY FIST YEAH SHE
****** MY FIST
SO
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST

**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST

JUST **** IT BABY YEAH **** IT
SAID **** IT BABY YEAH **** IT
JUST **** IT BABY YEAH **** IT
SAID **** IT BABY YEAH **** IT

Little boys of only ten
Should not be used like that again
But you know Hollywood and them
I'll save the world and tell them just to

**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST

Lucy did it why don't you just

**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST

Hollywood Hollywood just kiss this
I've really had enough of your **** so

**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST
**** MY FIST...

when i watch you
wrapped up like garbage
sitting, surrounded by the smell
of too old potato peels
or
when i watch you
in your old man’s shoes
with the little toe cut out
sitting, waiting for your mind
like next week’s grocery
i say
when i watch you
you wet brown bag of a woman
who used to be the best looking gal in georgia
used to be called the Georgia Rose
i stand up
through your destruction
i stand up

Dear Prudence, Julia, Michelle, Mr. Moonlight, Eleanor Rigby, Dizzy Miss Lizzy, Lady Madonna, Lovely Rita, Rocky Racoon, Lucille, **** Sadie, Clarabella, Her Majesty, Nowhere Man, Penny Lane, Carol, Long Tall Sally, Maggie Mae, Johnny B. Goode, Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds, Moonlight Boy, Martha My Dear,

You Like Me Too Much. It’s All Too Much. I’m So Tired. The Night Before Yesterday Memphis, Tennessee, I Saw Her Standing There. Polythene Pam.
Not A Second Time She Said She Said “Hey Bulldog. I Want To Hold Your Hand. Why Don’t We Do It In The Road. Here, There and Everywhere. Something.”
I Want To Tell You I Should Have Known Better.  “Wait. Slow Down. I Just Don’t Understand. Tell Me Why.”
“Because I’m Down. I’m Happy Just To Dance With You. Hold Me Tight”
“I’ll Be On My Way”
“Please Please Me”
“Get Back. Help!”


And I Love Her
All My Loving,
Mean Mr. Mustard
P.S I Love You

I remember when we first met, downtown crossroads.
          The streets were filled with people shuffling from one art gallery to the next. Jazz was played on the corner of the streets, causing the noise pollution to die down a bit. People listened and danced.
      You grabbed my hand and swung me towards you,  and I realized, just in the shortest time, we were swing dancing.
       We ******. We couldn't dance, but just the fact that you were touching me and I was touching you created  a gate that held back all my negative thoughts and feelings. You were the only thing that was there. It was just the music... And you...
        This "relationship" we had was slowly turning into a war. You cheated and I stayed.
Staying with you was a simple mistake that I had made only because I thought that I loved you, and you made me believe that you loved me back. Every single day since you forced your lips against that other girls, I have been nothing but jealous and hurt, but I didn't distribute my jealousy as much as I did my sadness and anger.
       You, put me through more than I asked, In fact I asked for nothing that involved pain and suffering. I only asked for love and caring.
We had many good memory's, and many photographs were taken. I will never forget the great times we had.
I will never forget you.


    By Audrey Lucille Pendergraft
10/22/20013

Wakey Wakey, rise and shine
greet the morning with a smile
wide awake and feeling fine
dancing with this boy of mine.

Twisting on the kitchen floor
the monkey, the jive and many more,
the mashed potato, the hustle too
he follows my lead with a giggle or two.

There's a hound dog, a jailhouse, some blue suede shoes
as we Rave On  with Buddy and Peggy Sue
Reet Petite makes an entrance and whips up the crowd
"Turn it up Daddy, I want this real loud!"

Then on to the Land of a Thousand Dances
even the dog's grinning wide as she prances
we take Three Steps to Heaven and meet Cathy's clown
then on to the next one, no time to sit down.

So I'll fry up the bacon as my little bug jitters
and poach us some eggs with some sweet 'tato fritters
as I sing of Lucille, Maggie may and Delilah,
then Shake Rattle and Roll to those Great ***** Of Fire.

She sat by the dock side
awaiting the turn of the night tide
but she wasn't waiting for me,
she was hoping for another,
a brother or a lover?
but she wasn't waiting for me.

don't weep above this hatred
this plague shall soon be through
while we climb the ladder into the heavens
breathe the sweet and childish laughter
whistling this new profound and beautiful truth

may the capsules of stardom be removed
lest the gold of you be unglued
then we'll play our shows on mountaintops
and draw them in the millions
beyond all the written pleasures that exist for just a few

when this crystal city's completed
sparkling sapphires in royal blue
emerald's with the faces of the Aegean
barely touch on the euphoria, on the eyes I've looked into

there is electricity in this symphony of humanness
pale or black and blue
then these melted flavors of our curses
may dissolve between us too

Until your mouth is dry of spit
and our lips are numb from use
let's dance inside the venom
dear lucille pulls us through

miss heroine and her guiding rays
beat the storm away

A journey that had never been
aurulent skin she didn't see herself in

tied to a chair, while she choked and I pulled her hair
I found a real good girl there

Her parentage was a thing of considerable comment
Though a good deal less circumspection,
Mama's identity relatively sure, as everyone knew her mama,
Her father one of a laundry list of unpromising gardeners,
Yet she was a child of grace--no, more than that
An outlier in every sense of the word,
The dazzling unintended consequence
Resulting from a series of unwise and unhappy choices.
She sauntered (though there are those romantically inclined sorts
Who would insist she outright floated,
Her feet rarely if ever touching ground)
By the courthouse in Okolona most afternoons,
And though her dress was from the house of Ralston and Purina
And her jewelry courtesy of Sailor Jack and Bingo,
She neither shrunk nor slunk self-consciously
Nor walked with eyes ablaze and fists clenched,
In a manner asking Mebbe you wanna make sumpin' of it?
Simply walked her own walk,
Such things as poverty and pedigree
Trvial matters beneath her concern,
Though she was always provided for, as a seemingly chosen child,
Judge Hibbard giving her a store-bought doll from Jackson
When she turned seven, others providing her pop and bubble gum,
And later Miss Lucille Brisker sewed her a bright-blue silk dress
Plus gave her forty-two dollars for a Greyhound ticket
To Los Angeles via New Orleans
(When she hopped the bus in front of the K &B,
She gave her a peck on the cheek, and said
Miss Lucille, you take care, but I doubt
I'm much likely to pass this way again.)
Her whys and wherefores after that were lost to time and tide:
Perhaps she made it in L-A, perhaps she thought else-wise
And hopped off the bus in Hattiesburg or Bogalusa
Though most were of the opinion that it mattered little if at all,
As she allowed them, leastways for a little while,
To be in her orbit while she shone in such a manner as pleased her.

I miss Buffalo Bill and Jersey Lil'
Jesse James among other names
Like Hopalong and Big John Wayne
Cooper,Cagney and,
What's that Indians name?
Oh yes
Cochise.
The man of war, the man of peace.

Jimmy Dean and Johnny Ray
Otis,Sammy and Doris day all yesterday
And yet
I bet there's no one quite like them
Not like Borgnine,Heston or Glen Ford.
Rememeber West and Ward
The caped crusaders
Or Roy Thinnes and the Martian Invaders?

I miss them all
The magic of the casting call and Lucille Ball.
Where did they go?
Moved on no doubt to another show and more greasepaint
Ain't life dull Without it full
Of these great stars.

How Much Gets Me On A Bus?  to the City?
          (I live 30 minutes away)

more than this ever will - POETRY
I’ve been writing ‘poems’ ever since I remember
ever since 11 –
reciting these phenomenal words of wisdom
to any and all who would listen
forcing family-members & friends

that’s the thing about poetry,
it makes you feel like it’s important,
makes you think the words you sling together
aren’t really yours
it comes to you, through you, needs to come out of you,
and when its over you’re just as amazed
as they should be.

but they’re not, I mean
they like poetry, admire it,
even enjoy it sometimes,
but they could honestly
give it up in a heartbeat,
live without it.
You know what I mean?

I’m like you
like all the people who come here
I'm part poetry as poetry is me
A Dodge Poetry Attendee many years –
my arm once around Gwendolyn Brooks,
cried in a church with Lucille Clifton
talked Newark to Baraka –
know the honorable Slammer, Patricia Smith!

I’ve sat many years with the Lords of Literature - my professors
who all seemed to know “whose got it”
the intellectuals of American prose who seem to be searching for a rookie,
the next best troubadour college-student that will grace their faculty-doors…

The poetry I read here is incredible
Some of the best stuff on the net,
poignant, painful , honest, raw, sensual, serious – provokingly real

words I read here startle me, stun me at times
so clear in meaning, well-crafted, chosen words
unusually strong

They’re the kind of words the got-it people have,
the poet people (probably all people have)
poetry is just another way of finding an infallible song –

(I still say we should go sing it on the bus!)

Go outside after breakfast
Come back for lunch at noon.
Come inside at suppertime
And even then, it was too soon.
Never permitted to be late
We ate dinner at six each day
Eat every bite on our plate.
About the menu we had no say.

We had baking soda submarines
Popular Mechanics magazines
And that was technology back then.
Decoder rings and roller skate keys
Shooting marbles on our knees
And playing crooks and G-men.

Those days we had three channels
On all black and white televisions.
Just the same thirteen inch boxes;
Nothing like 3D or Panavision.
Loved Uncle Miltie and Lucille Ball
And considered Korla Pandit a waste,
But we must be forgiven because
Back then, no one had much taste.

We could spell Kula, Fran and Ollie,
Said words like “gosh”, and “by golly”
And were anxious to see flying cars.
Many movies were in Technicolor
But you always had to take your brother
And he didn’t recognize the stars.

After school we played sandlot ball
Saturday were TV cartoon shows;
Dancing trees with belly buttons
And a local clown with a red nose.
We joined Cubs and Boy Scouts
Had lemonade stands by the street,
Matchbooks in bicycle stokes
And used bottle cap taps for our feet.

It seemed like days were longer then
And summer was slow to come again.
Those were the days when we had fun.
We built our forts and hooked up swings
Kids did all crazy kinds of things
Before these modern times had begun.

The Miss, Misters and Mrs.,
And the St. Joseph's Sisters,
Made me a Bluejay,
Jay- jaying and soaring
Over Wrens and Robins
Below in five rows.
Teeth marks on Ticondarogas,
Initialed pink rubbers,
Toothpicks and fingers
Solved all those problems.

Sister Lucille showed me Sarnia
On the Neilson Wall Map,
With the Malted Milk,
Crispy Crunch bars staring back.
They looked too delicious,
Her reprimand was contritious,
I'm doing time during recess,
Ninety minutes til lunch.

We stood in a crooked line,
Like a snake, to get marked,
With her drawer a crack open
We'd get a peek at her strap.
Black or red, correctively cold;
Sister Roseangela, we'd heard,
Cried, Quid Pro Quo.

We had football baseball,
And hockey dreams,
Volleyball, basketball,
And funeral teams;
Field Days, Holy Days,
Days needed at home;
Teachers were coaches,
With little time to complain;
But the kids back then
Just weren't the same.
There were skirmishes, fouls,
Strike outs and time outs;
We were sliced white bread,
No rye or whole grain.

We'd march double file
Once a week to the Church,
To genuflect and reflect
At the Stations and Cross.
To confess, get redress,
Display penitent remorse,
Though keeping a secret
From the Confessional box,
A comfort and curse.

Their objective succeeded,
The lessons went deep;
Using the three Rs,
The ABCs, 1, 2, 3s,
To impart and ingraine
How to carry one's cross.

I remember by name
The Miss,  Misters and Mrs.
And St. Joseph's Sisters
Who gave their all,
Each day, and always.
They've gone or retired,
But recalled in tranquility
For the life-lessons I admire.

I gave you my heart

you gave me a fabrication of yours

I gave you my body

you strummed it like B.B. does Lucille

I gave you my trust

and you made a fool of me

I gave you me

you gave me games, manipulation and control



Seeing all this at my front door

i chose to close it

after i let you in

when everyone else chose

to walk around a black hole

I chose to jump in.



Once all my fruit spoiled

I recognized the parasite

in my midst was you

like an Indian giver

I took my gifts back

and i beseeched you to leave

with a facade of hate



Impersonating the reaper

you created a nightmare

your greediness was your downfall

you tried to take it all back and

were trying to take my soul

forcing me into battle with you



Now, though I will triumph in the battle

I struggle to piece together

my heart, my body and me

like before without battle scars

to prove you ever

existed to me

How odd you look, Madame Olga
with that ridiculous turban
wrapped around your graying head
and that careless slash of red lipstick
that does nothing for you
(unless you're channeling Lucille Ball)

The truth is you're stuck here,
    Madame Olga,
in your tiny, seedy parlor
with its stained floral wallpaper and
dim lighting from a feeble lamp

Do you find your "client" vulnerable        
    today, Madame Olga,
a lonely widow waiting nervously
    for you to speak,
waiting for you to tell her about a
tall, dark, handsome stranger
coming into her life,
a man residing in an unnamed
wonderland, a savior eager to
share his vast fortune with her?

You ask her to come back tomorrow
after she cleans out her savings account
and pawns her QVC jewelry collection

It will be then when you plan to take
her money and regale her with
prayers, chants, incantations,
when you attempt to dazzle and
divert her and make her money
vanish like the proverbial rabbit
in an old-time magic show

But I have to question your fading
    psychic power, Madame Olga

You seem NOT to know intuitively
that your creation of her mythical lover
and his nonexistent wonderland is
headed for extinction once the hidden
wire she's wearing performs
its own
inimitable
trick

Abracadabra indeed!

he wakes up to the sight of her donning back her clothing
"what a happy moment"
he thinks, then, taking a good look A̲t her, notes in
his mind: "hell, this lass is smoking"
[smoking hot]
like a barrel of a gat unloaded
she, having noticed that her inamorato's woken
up, gives him a salutation: "sweet morning!"
he replies: "so sweet I A̲I̲n't even sU̲re if
it's real; am I having an amazing dream O̲r it's
paradise?" his reply makes the chica giggle
then she replies: "hope it's not wA̲Y̲ disappointing
to hear, but nay, it's still the sinful
world of the living"; she then sA̲Y̲s she was going
to wA̲ke him up were he
in dreamland by the time she would
have been set to tA̲ke off; "I'm sorry"
she continues, - "but I need to
get to my place; I..."; "hold O̲[ɑ]n, if you"
he interrupts her, - "have 5 plus mins to
have a convo, I'd like to say some-thing to
you"; she replies: "I ain't in a rush, mate
so, yeah, I'll give you
an ear", like a side space on a gazette's front page
as he gets himself decent, he strikes
up speaking his mind:
"in this existence of mine, it's the first time
I'm feeling alive, & I'd be dE̲moralized
knowing our encounter's ju[ɪ]st a one-time
thing; you're pretty as a pI̲n-up & nice in disposition, & I'd
like to know you more
there's already something in which we're alike
music types we both prefer
are similar, right?"; she nods her bean in reply
he continues: "I could teach you to write
multisyllable rhymes, which is, besides
music liste[—]ning, what I get myself occupied
with I̲n my off time; I could gift you a bike
I mean, a pushbike, so, you & mE̲, we could ride
together, just like Slim & 5'9"
["write together"; Eminem & Royce da 5'9"]
[who have a bunch of rap collabs with each other]
and if you like some activity I'm
a stranger to
I'd bE̲ by your side
do I have chances to
meet you agA̲I̲n some next time?"
————————————————————————————————
she replies: "wow! handsome, truth
be told, the speech administered by
you has done some damage to
my inner equilibrium; I
will give my answer to
your query, but, like
you, now I feel like venting my mind"
"of course, I̲t's only right
if you too say what you think", - he replies
she asks him I̲f she is right
thinking that, till last nI̲ght spent with her
he's never had something li̲ke this before
clearly implying that that tI̲me's been his first
it feels wrong to him to lie to this girl, but replying to her
query directly ain't more comfo[—]rtable for
him; he gets out, like a crI̲me figure served
his time, with a reply that his per—sonality type's introvert
somewhat surprised bY̲ what she's heard
she notes: "in that nI̲ght club you sure
didn't seem like O̲ne, you seemed
quite co[ɑ]nfident"; "sorry if whA̲[ʌ]t I'm in—
—tending to say is a ******, sim.
to a bad trip, but my condU̲ct was in—
—fluenced by a supplement"
he replies, adding: "but you can be cA̲[ɑ]lm; I mean
in terms of indulging in
substance consumption, I'm no fiend
unlike a leader of a tough regime
that was just a O̲ne-time thing"; she respo[ɑ]nds to him:
"well, that's what matters the mO̲st, 'cause, as
you may recall our joint small disclosure last
night, we're for sticking to the sober track"
————————————————————————————————
she continues her go by add—
—ing: "now, I want you... to know: I've had
a magnificent night; I thI̲nk that's a kind
of thing we both needed"; the guy
nods, thinking: "I̲t's something I cA̲[ɛ]nnot deny"
she continues by noting to hI̲m that, despite
that scene in the night
club that he made
like that game where the MC̲ undermines
a corrupted *****'s reign
just 'cause... hE̲ didn't like
["Just Cause" videogame series]
the stuff the DJ
was playing, hE̲ doesn't strike
her as a ***** of a guy; she adds that she twigs what it's like
to be by oneself & that being a psy—
—chotherapist, as she unfolds herself
to him, her job's providing harmed souls with help
he thinks: "this can't be real", like cold in hell
then he says: "you're... a therapist?"; "right"
she quickly replies, adding: "you seem really surprised"
he says: "wE̲ll, doc, if I
were to guess wha[ʌ]t a girl with such a curb
appE̲A̲l does in life, I'd think it's some-thing that prescribes
being pleasing to eyes"
then he adds: "speaking of whI̲ch, these remind
me of a smile: you've got this green in your eyes"
["grin"]
as she gives him a slight
smile, she thinks in her mind:
"is he really so sweet, or hE̲ simply tries
to increase his odds wI̲th me?"; "alright"
the gal breaks the silence
being 'bout to say something else, but the guy
manages to outpace her timing
saying: "since you're a psy—
—chotherapist, guess it won't hurt if I say that I̲ am
somewhat sick & even evil inside
but to you, I'm a null danger, darling
so stay composed, like a
tune"; she giggles, then says: "you're droll, now ta
your question posed prior: yes, I'm bone down ta
meet with you again"; she gives her phone number
to him, then it hits her: "I still don't know how ta
call him"; she asks: "by the way
you've go[ɑ]t a name?"; he replies: "mine is Blake
and yours?"; she replies: "Lucille"
with a joke on his mind, he says:
"well, that pretty much explains why you babe
are so mind-blowing"; stumped, she says:
"sorry, but I don't think I grasp
what you mean by that"; he says: "the Negan's bat"
after which she gives a gentle laugh
[the scene where Negan gets the Glen's brains [mind] blown out with his bat called "Lucille"]
then says: "I'd jest why
I feel like HA̲rley Quin, but I think
that, by this time
you've already cO̲[ɑ]ttoned on wha[ʌ]t I mean"
he says: "an adorable therapist
who's met a sort of odd E̲gg who seems
to be a joker"; afrE̲sh, she gives
him a slight smile; "well, dolcezza, it's
["dolcezza" (Italian) - "honey"/"sweetheart"]
been nice to have a chat
with you", - she starts her response, whereafter adds:
"A̲lthough, A̲s I have
said prior, I need to go"; "wA̲I̲t just a bit"
he says, - "I'll call a taxi cab"
"by the wA̲Y̲, it's on me"
he adds while he grabs some cash
then hands it to her like: "as a sign of favor, no re—
—jections accepted"; she replies: "um, thA̲[ɛ]nks, it's so sweet
of you, much appreciated; feel free
to hit me up later so we
could pick time & location to meet
the next time"; both exchA̲nge "byes" with each
other, then, taking into consideration that he's
awful at osculating, she gives
him one aimed for his cheek; a blush-making thing hits
his mind, saying he'll need
her to provide him some training in this
kind of stuff; as she walks away, he can't help but gaze at this chick

141 to 160 of 3251 Poets
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Mariposa

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Lidia Torres

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Cecilia Vicuña

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Jack Agüeros

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Jessica Hagedorn

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Tan Lin

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Sally Wen Mao

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Patrick Rosal

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Jeffrey Yang

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Rachel Contreni Flynn

The Yellow Bowl
Dana Bisignani

Bankruptcy Hearing
Gary Metras

Lint
Jeff Worley

On Finding a Turtle Shell in Daniel Boone National Forest
Lucille Lang Day

Tooth Painter
Nancyrose Houston

The Letter From Home
Lyn Lifshin

The Other Fathers
Joette Giorgis

(Untitled)
Tim Nolan

At the Choral Concert
Picasso
Kathy Mangan

The Whistle
Michelle Bennett

Western
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Made you Breakfast Eggs, yolks pooling
Slipped into that Lucille ball coat.
I wear it well
Like Pretty Woman level.

But in the midst of
these folded clothes
Tangled toddler hair and budget restraints

late at night,
I watch over your troubled dreams, kissing demons away.
Yours always, but forever furled in my
Ultimate Soul

Lies a Wild gypsy Queen

The King of kings
******* licks
With Lucille,
Has ascended.

Heavy
blues in the room.
Through the haze, ash and sound,
he caresses Lucille and then
plays on.

We met three times
Over fifteen years.
The disagreement paled
In light of his diagnosis.

He unexpectedly appeared
At my door, then stood in my kitchen.
He had a few serious questions
About brotherly affections,
And after spitting into my sink
(the poor man)
He wondered if I thought less of him
For not sending cards at Christmas and birthdays.
Is that what he came to say?

Next was at our last family wedding.
He was still steady on his feet.
We were five Irish lads.
The sisters said he was the handsome one.
He was.
There are six of us posing in this final shot.
He's wearing a Lucille Ball tie,
Losened around his neck,
Yet covering the gill-like scar
Running from lobe to lobe.
His hands are buried deep
In his pants' pockets.
His smile says Good-bye.

I saw him for the last time
A few weeks later,
Standing, bent and coughing
At the intersedtion of the roadway and Nature Trail.
His rib cage raging from contortions.
He waved off an offered ride.
And then he was gone.
It took us years to get here.

The hell to come… Lucille Harrow drowned herself and they forgot… She would’ve been the mother he needs… Evening tides lick at docked boats, silhouettes in the night working softly, wet wood, time is lost and they’re paid in *****… I cover my face, the sound of strangers filtering by hushed and hurried… “The streets stay empty most of the day”… A woman out at sea, heavy with care, she’ll sink to the bottom of the ocean… “My air is my own I don’t want you ******* breathing it”… I’m alone. Aspirations and motivation sinking to the bottom of a bottle. The moon is too tired to rise and so am I… They pinned you down with rope and words and you bore those marks forever… The boat rocking a lullaby, thoughts aimed at the interstellar, the darkness thick so I inhale… Still masts litter the shoreline, still bodies fill the mind… The boss pays in ***** and the deck hands drink in solitude, in defiance homeopathic… A woman with a heart too full… “She would have been the mother he needs”…

He is in his rooms in the Kenmore Hotel,
Once-gracious lady favored by the ancient city’s elite,
Now tired old harlot patching and spackling with powders and rouges
In a vain attempt to camouflage the slide toward oblivion,
Only fit for unwitting out-of-towners
And those with short-term business transactions to ply
(He stays there out of nostalgia, perhaps,
Or possibly because they’d let him through the door without question
Back when that was far from a given,
Or maybe because it was the trumpet players’ place,
The story being that Bunny Berigan had once left a horn
As payment for an outlandish and fabulously overdue bar tab.)
He is holding court with a local features writer,
Another interview in another town,
(Ostensibly a one-on-one sit-down,
But his suite more like Sears the weekend before Christmas:
Band members doing walk-through warm-ups,
Friends old and new darting in and out,
Lucille frantically mother-henning the whole process)
Juggling many hats as he speaks,
Part-time salesman for semi-herbal quasi-diet aids,
Mirthful mangler of malapropos,
All rolling forth with with an air of street-level entrepreneurship,
But there is a more stolid, settled quality about him now,
The assumption of the mantle of icon
(Bestowed upon him by a continent
Far from his birth, but still)
And the time comes for him to begin the warm-up,
Starting with a high note here, a low note there,
Until he finds one note, that note,
A thing not constrained by lead sheets, acoustics,
Indeed any human construct at all.
On the street outside, two young men,
All stingy brimmed hats, narrow ties,
And not-quite top-line silk mohair suits
(Flipped in and out of the pawn shop
Any number of times, but still)
Shoes shined to a military gleam,
Walking with a gait which implies
That they are hustlers, yes,
But men of substance, nonetheless.
One of them hears the note,
And wonders aloud,
Man, who’s got a horn like that
Around this neighborhood?
(Neither of them deign to look up toward the hotel,
As, for them, threat and opportunity
Is something that exists strictly at street-level)
But his partner grunts dismissively,
Never even breaking stride,
Man, just some old **** fool
Playin’ some old tom’s records.

You could tell a story with just five notes
a novel in a bent string
it wasn't the way Lucille spoke
but rather how you made her sing.

Heaven just got a little more bluesier
I bet it sounds great up there,
the sky is crying like Elmore said
sitting, talking, playing the blues without a care

He sang the blues because it's what he knew
not just because he was feeling blue
but telling stories that come from the soul
does more for most
like telling a life's story, with just three notes
So rest easy uncle, I hope to see you one day again.
say hello to Jimi, Stevie Ray and Sid Barrett,
Because they're up there with you my friend

Rest In Peace to the king of the blues, B.B. King

Good Golly Miss Molly
rock  and roll has died
with your passing yesterday
rock and rollers cried.
Long Tall Sally says goodbye
the heart of soul has gone
we will miss the shouts
that sparked your earthy song.
Lucille and Rip It Up
have faded in the light
buried with your mournful voice
that echoes  in the night.
Little Richard gone from sight
with others of his kind
but the music, it lives on
in the framework of the mind.