Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Trevor Gates Dec 2013
On the surface of those cheap sheets of skin
Our hungry heads next to the radio
Emerson, Lake & Palmer sing of that Lucky Man
While children of the candy corn eat the postman

Space Opera pirates courted by Tiny Dancers of Mars
Spiders, in fact, band mates to a lad named Ziggy
Like us made of Stardust, eternal and galactic—
Though not supported by a studio laugh track

So many images can flash by changing channels
On the Technicolor TV late at night, feral and ******
Passing ships, Hamlet, pigs in clothes, angels killed,
Mouths ******, mothers crowning and holes drilled

Babes crying in the street, while the heavens fall
An unreal reality that flabbergasts wet dreams
Shifting gears for the animals to rule the room
Orwellian motifs ensuring self-righteous doom

Nothing written is appreciated till the lesson is met
Charted, ridiculed, challenged, accepted, analyzed
By those who skimmed through blurred scribbles of lines,
Puking phrases of former failures for the modern times.

Vicious cycles of kids raising parents
Using TV and Internet as the windows to life
Fundamentally naïve, systematically retrieved;
Academically relieved, posthumously achieved.

All meaning was lost in making albums not worth buying
All reason was abandoned when making movies not worth seeing
All adventure was ceased in vain of endless rules and authority
All we have are gadgets, bills and jokes on conformity

My broken clock is still ticking like a mechanical heart
All veins and arteries lead outwards from the center hands
The red lights of traffic leading in and out of the metropolis
Of that homeless blues singer named “something Tatopoulos”

A Japanese couple making a tourist trip to Memphis, Tennessee
Along midnight trains where ghost of Elvis haunts Italian women
Most of the time my references don’t make sense to most
But it keeps things interesting as I’m your eccentric host

Absolute processions of White Queen marches
****-face jackals sporting Mott the Hoople Tees
******* & *******, filling audience chairs
Prophets & moppets, raising fists in the air

Ooze-dripping ******* flower creatures
Topping off mammary gland excretions
Unknown pleasures released by Factory records
Amidst the hysteria caused by deaf leopards  

Pink and orange clouds, reflected in golden hazel eyes
Her smile I can’t forget, just everything about her
You never forget your first love, with eyes like maple
Even in the middle of seeing these strange fables

In this waltz we dance to the beat of three
One, two….

Why couldn’t that love last forever?
Three
Evans Sep 2017
Gulls, gannets brooding
vying for plankton
Acrobatic flights, flappings
Swarm the blue
Chirping, tweeting another
To lave the silvery sea.

Impishly unclad moppets
Running and frolicking,
Some helping their
Fishermen father untwine nets
The evening venture their chaste aim.

Over the horizon
Is the Yellow Face
Lustring like a
Gigantique Bohemian Chandelier
Lapping on the repose waters.


Someday when am ripe and mellow
With means to own a crew
I will sail up that mulky horizon
And touch that glowing cosmic disc.

But mater says
"The horizon doesn't end"
"It goes in league miles"
"Even when a yore mile is sailed"
"It's unattainable, puerile and trifling" She'd opine.

Only these chiding words of hers
I never take for a dime,
I will engage in my venture
I will stand to be corrected.

This is my only demure dream
I will endeavour and suckle her
I wouldn't want an elegiac ending
In this beach I've known for eon.
A piece for anybody who holds dream of sailing the world over.

— The End —