"matador" poems
in the hospitals and jails
it's the worst
in madhouses
it's the worst
in penthouses
it's the worst
in skid row flophouses
it's the worst
at poetry readings
at rock concerts
at benefits for the disabled
it's the worst
at funerals
at weddings
it's the worst
at parades
at skating rinks
at ****** ******
it's the worst
at midnight
at 3 a.m.
at 5:45 p.m.
it's the worst
falling through the sky
firing squads
that's the best
thinking of India
looking at popcorn stands
watching the bull get the matador
that's the best
boxed lightbulbs
an old dog scratching
peanuts in a celluloid bag
that's the best
spraying roaches
a clean pair of stockings
natural guts defeating natural talent
that's the best
in front of firing squads
throwing crusts to seagulls
slicing tomatoes
that's the best
rugs with cigarette burns
cracks in sidewalks
waitresses still sane
that's the best
my hands dead
my heart dead
silence
adagio of rocks
the world ablaze
that's the best
for me.
13.8k
Ramblers in the wilderness
We cant find what we need
Get a little restless from the searching
Get a little worn down in the swing
Like a bull chasing the matador
is a man left to his own schemes
Everbody needs someone beside 'em
shining like a lighthouse from the sea
- NEEDTOBREATHE
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 2:27 PM UTC
May I present a challenge?
Imagine if you will
You have created a flying explosive device
And it needs a name that will thrill.
A name, a good name, which name?
Well, none of those below.
Some twisted suits have already used them.
**** EVEN Tacit Rainbow.
What really goes through their minds?
As they sit and discuss the name
Of their creation that's destined to ****
Butcher, destroy and maim.
Just try if you can
To read the whole of this edited list
Imagine how many have exploded of each
With out angrily clenching your fist
Little John
Honest John
Hellfire
Matador
HARM
Terrier
Nike-Ajax
Corporal
Sea Sparrow
Redstone
Bullpup
Mace
Nike-Hercules
Regulus II
Atlas
Thor
Lacrosse
Jupiter
Quail
Hawk
Tartar
Falcon
Polaris
Hound Dog
Pershing
Entac
Firebee
Shelduck
Jayhawk
Cardinal
Firefly
Petrel
Redhead/Roadrunner
Redeye
Mauler
Skybolt
Nike Zeus/Spartan
Condor
Phoenix
Typhon MR
Falconer
Overseer
Taurus
Kingfisher
Cardinal
Walleye
Hornet
Maverick
Big Q
Minuteman
Blue Eye
Viper
Firebolt
Bulldog
Harpoon
Focus
Perseus
Firefly
Stinger
Compass Dwell
B-Gull
Agile
Seekbat
Delta Dagger
Thunderbolt[7]
Patriot
Aquila
Teleplane
Streaker
Tomahawk
Firebrand
Roland
Peacekeeper
Penguin
Pave Tiger/Seek Spinner
Sidearm
Skipper
Wasp
Sea Lance
Ripper[7]
Trident II
Midgetman
Tacit Rainbow
Pave Cricket
Have Nap
Peregrine
Exdrone
Javelin
Pointer
Hunter
Coyote
Skeeter
Outlaw
Wow, you're still reading
And you've managed not to throw up.
Just wondering how many innocent victims
Of a tax funded device called Bullpup.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 7:00 PM UTC
Kahel na pala ang langit.
Ang init, ayon, namumutawi.
Sa tabi ko'y radyong tumutugtog,
Sumasabay sa huni ng bentilador
Habang ang ulo'y sumasakit
Mga kanta'y puro tunog sawi,
Sa litrato mo, ako pari'y nahuhulog
Sa bawat laklak, sa bote ng matador.
Mar 24, 2017
Mar 24, 2017 at 3:19 AM UTC
lovers are burning.] balsamic ****** gallops from shame
into the overwild wetness of labial volcanoes, caramelized in musk. by love's labor.
laid bare, their bodies origami inhibition...[ lovers are burning. ]
and surrender is victorious !
Eros is speechless. maidens howl into cumulus goose-down, chewing carnal haikus
with swayed backs.... hips wide and wanton. masculine wands plow oyster beds, unmade.
they joust pearls... and [ lovers are burning ]
.... a damp conflagration; tongue stoked and windswept, conspires.
monotony is slain !
puritan harps are plucked and thrummed ! lewd harmonies anoint the perfect pitch
and a chorus moans. the ghost of sylvia plath, straddles Apollo; and he earns his wreath
surging besotted. [ lovers are burning ] and laurels forgotten.
lotharios charge the seldom road; the starfish door to Saturn's parlor.
pumping unbridled, that glistening, cloven moon. her riding crop insists !
his urgency must do.
satyrs sup salaciously and summon staves to dip in brine. they grin and grind
their sutras, stripping karma gears with silk scarves. ankles to a post, well spread...
cushions crush. flowers press... stamen fed.
nymphs clutch their serpent stones
to drain what nectar slips the slit. they ***** and throat.
they peck and pinch their quivers; knock their arrows to the purpose, half spent.
[ lovers are burning ]
eyes ablaze. nostrils fetch randy fumes of consent. mouths seek.
a pouty swamp with Spanish moss.... finds a matador
and a bull, a china shop.
lovers are burning the rough sketch of a lost god
and their angels are voyeurs
with unclean thoughts
for gospels.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
I thought the guy dressed up like a kingfisher
Didn’t really look like a kingfisher
His beak too long
His legs not yellow enough
But still he did a pretty good job of diving into the water
And coming up with a guy dressed up like a fish
Even though his fins looked a little too stiff to me
(No wonder the kingfisher caught him)
And the bull facing that matador
(who even had a pigtail like the one Hemingway kept mentioning --
Oh, I mean the real man not the man dressed as a bull)
He just looked too scared for a bull
Well that’s what I thought
And I’ve been to a lot of bullfights
Real bulls got more bravery than that
Sure they’re confused
But I’ve never seen one turn tail and run
Oh yeah -- and he forgot to put a tail on his bull suit
All in all it was a wash wasn’t it
Wetter than the guy in the kingfisher suit.
Still it was nice for us to dress up in animal costumes
To give the animals at least one day to have a day off
Maybe next year we’ll figure it out better
Both in our costuming and their cries
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 3:49 PM UTC
You know that I'm a fuckin' baller, Kobé
Erryday I'm killin' ************* OJ
I'm always dealin' with some ******** matador
When all I want's another ***** Labrador
All the disrespect to Kobé
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC
I understand they find dinosaur bones there in your backyard. Big ones. I've never been to your house or even close to that neighborhood, but ever since you've written me, I am completely intrigued. What you said about me, I think about you in an execrable Hemingway way, maybe as in his "Death In The Afternoon." All the goring. Faintheartedness is nothing to be carried by bullfighters or by bone hunters, I suppose. If there were a way of going back to days of nobler more romanticized slaughtering in bullrings, without the controversy, I'd have to say it is more evident in our modern day Jurassic Park flicks where nerdish paleontologists are transformed into fiendishly handsome toreadors.
I know I'm not making much sense. Bullfights and dinosaur rustling, what's to compare? One being non-civilized though colorful and bathetic, the other fantastical but forgivable because the beasts bite back. Oh, if only I could explain these machismo machinations. What a ruse. How song and dance does intrigue. Please write me again from South Dakota. I'd like to book one of those dusty dinosaur tours before I go extinct. Bone hunts, bullfights, same difference.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 9:47 PM UTC
i went to sunny spain for a holidayi went to see a bullfight while along the waythere were lots of people standing in a crowdthen suddenly a roar went up and it was very loudfollowed by a matador it gave me such thrill as a bull run from a gate one he had to killthe matador he stood waving out his capeteasing at the bull as he began to gapethe bull he made a charge towards the matador.he pulled out his sword and the bull went to the floorthe poor bull was bleeding and his eyes began to closethen came his last breath snorting from his noseit was very sad as i watched him on the floornever will i see a bullfight never anymore
Feb 25, 2010
Feb 25, 2010 at 6:12 AM UTC
I think with my heart;
not my head
in my hand
or buried deep under the sand.
Because when everything comes from the core,
i don’t need to wonder any more.
Thinking is not a chore:
like folding laundry into a tidy drawer.
But that’s what draws our glass floor,
and causes us to continully snore.
But what we chose to ignore,
should be infact, exactly what we adore.
Then maybe we’d ask for an encore
instead of a 24/7 drug store.
________________________
To you, i may be a boar,
but we must bust down the door.
Stop fighting the war!
Live for evermore(
if we wish to soar).
_____________________
But today our biggest sore
may be the us marine corp.
i hurt for their souls, scattered galore.
it is i who they fend for,
it is why their blood continues to pour.
But that doesn’t effect you,
because it happens on another shore.
Your questions? i have answer for,
but please don’t ask me the baseball score.
Those fact are not in my houses’ decor,
all forms of politics, i choose to ignore.
__________________________________
You can call me a dinosaur,
regardless, I am not a cannibalistic carnivore.
_______________________________
I know you may ridicule,
but i prefer to be the recluse,
only coming out, when looking for a spruce.
So, when i do explore,
you will not find me with the busy bodies,
you will find me with the mircoscopic spores.
After all, it's we they provide for.
After this adventure, i know they swore,
they could create me a commodore.
On our yaht, somewhere offshore.
There would be no more war.
just hugs, tugs, and kisses galore.
Before, I was a skeptic, ********
i now believe holeheartedly in folklore.
My faith in prewar,
is now eternally restored.
Because mother against man always out scores,
that is why i look no more.
Nature is my only mentor.
___________________________
now, i see myself as a matador.
i can be anything,
that is the underscore.
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 10:37 AM UTC
Two peas in a pod
Two peas in a pod, we are like a family.
Two peas in a pod, the better half of me.
Two peas in a pod, she gets the best of me,
Like nobody else ever did, has, could, or would, do you see?
We are like two separate halves and three dimensional.
Like two fast cars, we need our petrol.
Like two shooting stars, she is my place to go.
Like water getting cold, she is my lovely snow.
Like a bull and matador, we are a rodeo show
And there are no clown cars in sight, only hope and sorrow.
Opposites attract, but we are identical.
We share the same sign, it’s astrological.
It’s written in our stars, our love is monumental
And who am I to complain; I’m unconditional.
A rose and a Rosé, liquid state of mind.
A red and a white, sleepy and party time.
***** and coke, it’s nearly closing time, sigh,
So I will have to be her aspirin, come morning light.
The bandage to her sore, I need to be her cure.
The key to her door, I want to be inside the head of mi amor.
The curtain has finally been called.
Here comes the final line, it is the only way to say,
I never said we were one and the same.
(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 12:40 PM UTC
I'm extremely disorganized
I don't know what belongs where
Take my eyes for example
I can't find a place to rest them
I tried setting them on you
But everyone agreed that **** wasn't working
They explained that an organized man
Adheres to categories
And you and I
Are not of a kind
I attempted to argue that you organized me
My heart
My mind
You folded me neatly
When you beat me
You always made sure to set me aside when you were done with me
You'd place me in a bin
Or release me to the wind
Yet there was a burdensome fault in my littered logic
They explained that an organized man
Is clean
I must use eyes that are sanitized
To see how we're not categorized
And avoid your matador eyes
Because things will get messy
When the bull in your fists
Sees the roses in my heart
My humanity starts to part
And my wishes I begin to opine
For the nature of a bovine
So I wouldn't misplace my eyes
And be what I'm classified
But that nature eludes me
As do most things
On account of me being disorganized and all
But I'm a quick learner order burner page turner
I may not know what belongs where
But I know I belong neither here nor there
Making my eyes not belong anywhere
This is what develops my entropy stare
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 11:20 PM UTC
Rancor,
Swashbuckling with a sawtooth grin and sacrilegious shouts, selcouth with an unsound mind, the commonness of uniqueness, the commonness of opinionated onions cutting their teeth on life and crying, again, and ready to saw off the limbs of the opposition out of revenge!
Rancor, relax, you're not a Twitter matador, I wish you were because I’d love to watch the show.
We cuddle with exotic nylon fibers and squeal about our weight and status and how someone insulted us and how terrible it is to be alive while sipping on easily accessibly high fructose corn syrup! Life has never been this sweet, but I guess we’re getting sick of honey.
I complain about the complaints, I am the anti-complaining complaint club president.
I am a writer, an iPhone thumb tapper.
Hear me
These mental gymnastics will somersault and summerset you right, child,
Don’t listen to Rancor,
That man’ll grab your gaze and stir your attention into a cocktail while winking at you from behind the bar
he’ll leave your brain a little woozy from a life that used to be sweet until you left it out in the sun a few years too long,
I wonder if some of the dead watch us from the corners of our bedroom or the trees along the freeway, waiting for greatness to unfurl.
I’ll bet they do and I’ll bet you’re a glitch, I’ll bet a little piece of another galaxy hit you in the head and made your finger twitch.
How many hot car hours have been spent in a parking lot,
the skin dries, the phone dies,
the spirit once lifted towards the outlines of the mountain peak now seeks memes, transcendent in their own right.
May 12, 2022
May 12, 2022 at 1:54 AM UTC
BULL FIGHTING
(WITH A CLASSICAL TOUCH)
* By Raj Nandy*
(I)
The Minoan Civilization of ancient Greece,
Was well centered in the Aegean island of Crete;
And around 1600 BC this civilization had peaked!
Seeing their frescoes, and paintings on potteries
and vase,
Scholars concluded that ‘bull-jumping’ was
perfected as a gallant art!
Those jumpers grabbed the bull’s horns, -
And receiving momentum from its violent
head-jerk,
Vaulted over its back in a somersault,
To land on both feet to break their fall!
I was spell bound by Minoans courage and agility,
Their acrobatic feats performed with such
dexterity!
Those bulls were not killed and no blood was shed,
Some acrobats might have been injured instead!
What a shame for our bull fighters of date!
(II)
Today bull fighting has become a popular sport,
Where the bull gets slaughtered amidst loud applaud!
I recall those Roman amphitheaters that remained
jam-packed,
When the Gladiators performed their fatal acts!
But even those Gladiators had a chance to survive,
Our cornered bull has no place to hide!
Friends, to see blood is an age old thrill,
But none would like to see their own blood spilled!
(III)
Our Matador today is like a popular Rock Star,
While the bull becomes a martyr in the pit by far!
The bull’s mighty horns are sharp and strong,
Can lift up a man like a rag doll!
But when the Picador lances the bull’s ****
The bull never gets a fair deal and jumps!
Next the Matador waves his ‘muleta’- a red cape,
The bull makes a final charge but cannot escape!
I wonder if the bull sees red!?
The Matador then amidst much pomp and applaud,
Spikes the neck severing the bull’s spinal cord!
He is greeted by flowers and cheers of ‘Ole’! ‘Ole’!
Let us learn from those Ancient Minoans, -
That's all I have got to say!
- by Raj Nandy
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 9:28 AM UTC
there was a little bull a lovely little thing
he had a thought of one day fighting in a ring
he travelled of to spain to watch the bullfight show
then he got prepared so he could have a go
through the gates he charged towards the matador
who stood there waiting in the middle of the floor
the bull began to charge and chase the cloth of red
tossing it away with horns upon his head
the crowds they loved the bull and they began roar
threw hats up in air the and shouted out for more
the little bull was happy he put on quite a show
he had made the people happy and gave there hearts a glow.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 11:44 AM UTC
Folder: Heart aesthetics
truth.
my tainted version or yours?
I cant find the reasons that I need to convince you
you cant find the words to make me understand.
I dont want to wallow in your misery, I am happy in my own
feed me more ******** and inspire me to write insipid vicious lines about you
i'll make them dance in pretty lines and force you to confess!
I will ****** you with lies and pull out my version of truth,
and you will hide from me all that you feel,
because you believe my lies are my truth revealed.
what a lovely tango!
our dance of fire and ice;
first passion and ***
cold disintrest next.
dance with me my beautiful liar
dance with the words of my song in your head
push through my curtains and find whats there
your truth or mine it seems we never care
it never mattered as much as our lovers dance
a careless tango brought to life with fierce exchanges
a slap in the face
a caress of redemption
our lies our seductions
our words are our weapons
our music is our emotion
our dance is our truth
our love, our curse.
this is our pain my fierce love,
let's dance our tango
and create our timeless verse
previous version below:
truth. my tainted version or yours?
I cant find the reasons that I need to convince you
you cant find the words to make me understand
I dont want to wallow in your misery I am happy in my own
feed me more ******** and inspire me to write insipid vicious lines about you
i'll make them dance in pretty lines and force you to confess
I will ****** you with lies and pull out my version of truth
and you will hide from me all that you feel,
because you believe my lies are my truth.
what a lovely tango our fire and ice
passion and ***
cold disintrest next
dance with me my beautiful liar
dance with the words of my song in your head
push through my curtains and find whats there
your truth or mine it never mattered
as much as our lovers dance
a careless tango brought to life with fierce exchanges
a slap in the face
a caress of redemption
this is our seduction
our lies
this is our truth
our dance
these are our weapons
our words.
let's dance our tango
and create our timeless verse.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 9:03 PM UTC
the invisible hand is in my pocket
pilfering everything
and there's nothing i can do
to stop it from robbing me blind
it does not guide it only destroys
personal expression under the
whims of an outmoded model of economics
capitalism
a philosophy that subscribes
to the metaphysical conclusion
that a spiritual malady
plagues every human heart
a harsh chorus that rings like a melody
of triumph in the multi-million dollar
mansions of the 1%
convinced we're born selfish
it seeks to reward us for our own malpractice
an edict predicated on social darwinism
that forestalls the possibility of future charity
as it drowns in the throes
of misanthropy and butchers any hope
of philanthropic community or basic humanity
to vanquish our more maleficent impulses
relegated to paying taxes
to ensure the illusion of security
while our money finances endless
war and police brutality rather than
healthcare or education
they know if they keep us sick and dumb
they can get away with ******
if the population shirks in horror
from the looming specter of terrorism
they can justify ubiquitous surveillance
that robs us of our right to
self-determination but
people should not be afraid of their governments
governments should be afraid of their people
they say we can't be trusted
that this is for our own good
but i'll call their bluff that
bull on Wall St. is full of ****
and like a matador i'll entice it to
lower its horns and charge
when itsjust a hairsbreadth away
i'll turn to one side and let it skewer
the slave-driver raising his whip behind me
that same skulking shadow that turns
veterans into homeless wanderers begging
for loose change in Central Park
a pale horse haunting the aspirations
of college students it
leaves the poor and
oppressed shivering after dark and
overburdens broken backs
god doesn't hold up the world
like Atlas we shoulder the globe
now watch us shift the weight
brought down by the people you tried to suppress
this is not some petty expression of vengeance
but the rallying cry of a dream deferred
exploding out to meet your injustice
mark my words
we're taking over the world
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 10:22 AM UTC
The Queen of Absentia rises from royal
stool to watch the moon set sheathed
in broiling cloud as she skips whirling
adders that hiss in fat jagged coils, their
hollow blades jutting death in sprinkler
sprays of misting veils and her
head is hypethral; a Gaudi shipping
container soldered in reptile curves,
licked by arrowheads of falcate flame
as she rounds its laughing corners;
an adderaled lab rat, eyes black funnels
drinking electrodes pulsing crimson and
the stars are crackling in the pan as she
sees planets torn shrieking down Hell’s hungry
plughole as fallen Gods divide by zero
and the clock’s skittering claws scratch
prophecies of consequence of poorly
sewn seams, but she smiles like a risen
crocodile and says,
‘you’re just jealous cos the
voices only talk to me.’
And again she dives as unwanted
advice gibbers up out snapping drains,
and power points shoot sharp blue spears
lighting substrates of ancient horror, inchoate
but fattening before her eyes as she
sits, wrapped in ghosts, guarding her
ochre tea in its chalice of steaming bone,
trying to sell herself a ticket to
tomorrow’s sunrise, staring at thunderheads
bunching up satin over sodden ninjas sprouting
cardboard hair, slicing down legions of
roaring pearl as death hunts hollow-eyed below.
Her Majesty holds court, amid the percussion of
steel and plate, a matador to shadows
that clasp their hands and dance around, as
clouds hammer rain to the ground.
Jul 23, 2012
Jul 23, 2012 at 6:44 PM UTC
~
*Poor deluded brute
he waves his sword
in orchestration
to a ruthless symphony
played for miserable centuries:
the running of the bulls
"sketches of pain"
some monsters come
decked out in hat and cape
inside the arena of his pride
where he hears the chant
within the arts of
cowardice and cruelty
where he envisions
the feathered crown
Gala! Gala!
"how to see the toreador"
lost as San Fermín
pricked by hairpin
pierced by ragged horn
suerte de la muerte (luck of death)
foreshadowing Hemingway
turns into the troubled sun
and underneath his muleta
a deep red
blood alchemy
his fame spilling out
in drips and drabs
as the crowd sings
'Pobre de Mí (Poor Me)'
to the mystic stab of church bells*
~
Jan 12, 2022
Jan 12, 2022 at 11:46 AM UTC
the sun burns red in the west
The lovers meet in secret
Following their hearts
in the cropping darkness
It is big and brave
For the passionate lover
He would hand it to her love tonight
Hoping that she would cherish it
Even when he will be away
She gives him hers
Tells him "be strong and intact
Return safe my love
I will be waiting for you"
The heart,
That little body part
habouring all issues
Makes all decisions
The heart,
it strengthens the soldier
in the battle front
Singing to him songs of courage
Reminding him of his sweet love at home
Love from the heart is true and passionate
Its different from lust
and is bound to last
The battle is love
Even though the war is different
He kills for love
she is the only thing in mind
She gets broken a few times
taunted by sociopaths
Telling her 'they will never come back"
She has waited for times and times
But the heart stands all the tests
Most of the times
The heart that
lordship of mind and body
Guides everyody
Decisions of the heart
You can trust
He thinks with the mind for tact
but nomatter what
He follows his heart;
even though he is bruised and hurt
The mind fills him with doubt
but the heart tells him to fight
Reminds him of heroes
and sweet **********
Turns him to a matador
the eyes give him sight
but the heart fills him with insight
Hugging him tight
it neutralises his fright
He marches right
Into enemy territory
She is barely making through
They think she should remarry
News of fallen soldiers devastates her heart
Man's strength is from within the heart
Courage is not from spears
Not arrows and swords...
That small body part!
Emperors and conquerors
Lovers and soldiers listen
Fathers and Mothers
They listen to the heart
He creates devastation
Wrecking the enemy camp
As his battalion joins in
His heart moulding him
Into a hero
That small body part
Endures all in patience
As she waits
Saying its never late
...a time of jubilation
Victory cries are heard
Those back are few
But they removed the enemy
By conviction of their hearts
He is a legend
The man after everyone's hearts
She is joyous
As she runs into his embrace
The heart
That small body part
Endured it all
A soldier's heart...
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 7:48 AM UTC
When the skilled matador kills the magnificent bull,
he kills the fear within himself, for the time being,
as a desperate escape, from fear;
but the illusion doesn't last, to his eyes the bull dies,
it's resurrection goes unnoticed, in his fear of death.
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 11:16 AM UTC
The clock slows to a stop and stares
At my pencil, my paper, my thoughts
Waiting for something profound
But my abilities are lost
This haze is a metaphor
These words are a matador
And I am a bull trying to charge
But running only into the red
The crowd waits for my failure
But I am determined to put on a show
I will not be hoisted upon a mantel
For the viewers high and low
I will write these words
I will treat them as if the red
Were a target for my victory
And get inside their heads
I am a Taurus of the moment
There’s nothing stronger for you to see
I will move past my demise
And these thoughts will be set free
So I move into a stance
And I **** my head to the side
Get ready to charge into the red
Or so everyone thinks this time
My target is but one
It stands there with a smirk
I’ll charge it at the last second
And the crowds will see my worth
The clock slowly starts to count
And my thoughts are free again
And the matador is lying there
With no one to attend
So I put my pencil down
My victory is sweet
I close my pages and then my eyes
This bull is anything but weak
Brockman ©
Jan 27, 2011
Jan 27, 2011 at 9:43 AM UTC
I think with my heart;
not my head
in my hand
or buried deep under the sand.
Because when everything comes from the core,
i don’t need to wonder any more.
Thinking is not a chore:
like folding laundry into a tidy drawer.
But that’s what draws our glass floor,
and causes us to continully snore.
But what we chose to ignore,
should be infact, exactly what we adore.
Then maybe we’d ask for an encore
instead of a 24/7 drug store.
_______
To you, i may be a boar,
but we must bust down the door.
Stop fighting the war!
Live for evermore(
if we wish to soar).
_____
But today our biggest sore
may be the us marine corp.
i hurt for their souls, scattered galore.
it is i who they fend for,
it is why their blood continues to pour.
But that doesn’t effect you,
because it happens on another shore.
Your questions? i have answer for,
but please don’t ask me the baseball score.
Those fact are not in my houses’ decor,
all forms of politics, i choose to ignore.
__________
You can call me a dinosaur,
regardless, I am not a cannibalistic carnivore.
_________
I know you may ridicule,
but i prefer to be the recluse,
only coming out, when looking for a spruce.
So, when i do explore,
you will not find me with the busy bodies,
you will find me with the mircoscopic spores.
After all, it's we they provide for.
After this adventure, i know they swore,
they could create me a commodore.
On our yaht, somewhere offshore.
There would be no more war.
just hugs, tugs, and kisses galore.
Before, I was a skeptic, ********
i now believe holeheartedly in folklore.
My faith in prewar,
is now eternally restored.
Because mother against man always out scores,
that is why i look no more.
Nature is my only mentor.
________
now, i see myself as a matador.
i can be anything,
that is the underscore.
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 8:40 PM UTC
there was a little bull a lovely little thing
he had a thought of one day fighting in a ring
he travelled of to spain to watch the bullfight show
then he got prepared so he could have a go.
through the gates he charged towards the matador
who was stood there waiting. in the middle of the floor
the bull began to charge and chase the cloth of red
tossing it away with horns upon his head
the crowds they loved the bull and they began roar
threw hats up in air the and shouted out for more.
the little bull was happy he put on quite a show
he made the people happy and gave there hearts a glow.
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 12:35 PM UTC
Eleanor stepped from the rear platform of the caboose as they were sidelined to let a freight
Pass she mused how she loved freight trains how romantic they were the gust of night air from the
Passing train that and the sound the train made was intoxicating she too was a piece of heaven she only
Had a blanket wrapped around her body just above her breast her blonde hair was wet it had deep
Comb lines she presented the highest qualities of womanhood freshness innocence a wild freedom a
Tenderness her face expressed a look of longing a yearning the call that commanded wonder she picked
Up the natural richness from the golden sunset as they traveled west the silver stream that was wide in
The river they ran alongside for many miles this night it had been her bathing pool bemusement and
Wistfulness came from her eyes and played on her face there to was a sadness a mystery that spoke of
Pain she was travelling with a music troupe on the cheap she stated to stroll in the dark up the length of
The train first she encountered the only Spanish man in the group he was setting with his back against
The train on the rail at first quiet and thoughtful was his tune you visualized walking down the dark quiet
Street of a Spanish village then he increased with a fastness you could hear Olay the scene quickly
Changed to the famed bull fight in the great arena he played slow and softly making you feel the
Tenseness as the great Matador faced the great beast the first pass was letter perfect the grace the cape
Moved in a half circle then he spoke Toro the bull charged but in the blink of an eye the Matador saw
The bull turn his head with those massive horns it caught him in the side and then the terror of a human
Doll being tossed and stomped the cadence of the guitar told it all the day would go to the bull glory and
Honor would go to the dead Matador she continued to walk as the guitar sound faded only to be picked
Up by the sound of a rich trumpet it pierced the sweet night the distant pine seemed to sway in
Appreciation the lone Coyote not to be out done howled his plaintive cry to the magnetic moon the
Expanse of the dark southwest night was the fulfilling and telling of the tale many ghost rose that night
Native American people always on the move in their nomadic way the wild mustang were real they
Stood grazing in the lush grass just across the river Eleanor with her rich creamy skin seemed as a dream
Passing between them made perfection call out from a night train
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 3:41 PM UTC