"nonpareil" poems
a television interview, Oct. 2018 with Sir Paul McCartney
~for all of us, forever~
<•>
**** you Paul, old man
you trying to make us all look bad?
guess you’re just another
‘miner for a thousand years’
or more,
cause we haven’t seen a reason why the vein should run dry,
for the stolid earth resupplies endless old metal and the liquid veins
supply the need, the urgency of a warm gun of composition,
a drug nonpareil
and the things that provoke,
still provoke once more and again,
love and need, even memories,
petri dish cell regrown,
breathing atmospheric nutrients in the hotheaded hothouse air
of the human farm
‘tis why I paean you at 4:25am understanding full well,
better than most, for once I wrote,
it’s always the next one, that will be,
the flawless poem,
that will permit the laying down of the pen, the guitar
but even flawless is not
“good enough yet”
for all of us, forever*
for “yet,”
even more than forever,
is the most unlimited word we share
~
5:02am 10/17/18
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 2:06 PM UTC
i know i don't really want to live on my own
such a drag to be honest.
this thing we are doing feels so wrong
******* my mind and left bruised inside.
as if i'm still apart of you
pretending we are together.
impossible.
but still i want you.
still i contend to offend our sacred hearts
as if they were art.
what happened to Nonpareil of Favor?
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 1:41 AM UTC
*this poem didn't come easy. written amidst buffeting emo's, V will not be natural flow, probably flawed. You, self-chosen people, will come along, please, to see the process, and the proceeds too.
But as usual, the poem was write before me, needing only human kindness overflowing to guide the way.*
V
V words lord, excluding all others,
phonetic juggernauts,
never met a V word
that had no personality.
victory is the one word that
my/our brains
think of first.
sure there is vortex, victuals, veer
and valor exam,
the latter,
what ever it means is a gift,
curtsy-courtesy of auto-incorrect.
but it is victory
on top,
victorious in its own way.
try it on another if you must...
what is the word that starts with a V
that first comes to mind?*
so let us talk of victories.
so oft, I write in the dark,
even as I do now.
came home soul weary,
face worn-worry,
gotta go out to meet
Peter Bogdanovich later,
to chat about his latest movie.
woman looks me over.
X-ray glance,
an MRI of my heart,
no deductible charged,
but oh yes, a co-pay due, indeed!
Peter will keep,
tonight you're-mine,
to bed I send,
right after we consume
Large Thin Mush,
cause pizza with shrooms contains
mood serotonins,
that erase the
"pain of the day"
that be a victory nonpareil.
a Waterloo, a Normandy landing,
that be a victory where
both sides hug and kiss,
and make with their long,
stubby Churchillian fingers,
V's all night long
with goofy grins,
cigars and bowler hats,
just to go along.
so here I am in the dark,
having been "put" to bed,
one mo' time,
slicing and dicing letters
into a word-salade,
instead of resting.
dreaming of the day
when I can no longer need to
pretend to be a Seuss, but truly,
can be writing poems for all my
children~friends.
one for each letter
of the alphabet,
teaching us to write
upon our faces
laugh lines thin and fine,
mine, ours, yours.
product of pizza poems,
some that come not circular,
but tonite shaped
just like a woman,
just like a
V.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC
Within the nook of a dell,
a good distance
from obloquy
and inhibition,
floating on water,
listening to birdsong
descend down
the stream
of a musical scale.
Don’t need to believe
or even consent to
any critique,
any look-see,
you are free and light
on the surface,
buoyant and supple
beneath.
Languid movements,
reminiscent
of a weir,
cascade
and trickle,
springing forth
to orchestrate an overture.
This feeling is
beatific,
euphoric,
the moment one of
nonpareil,
bijou,
objet d’art,
and these transports
are yours only
to involuntarily
succumb to and relive:
Rhythmic waves
quivering
upon your shore,
as your limbs and spine camber.
It’s no wonder
you often lift
your voice in song.
Oct 19, 2019
Oct 19, 2019 at 8:01 PM UTC
there is no new, only renewal:
the space between brain and mind
the harder shell a skulking humanizing container,
the neuronic heart cells,
brain stem and heart bloodstream
scented/stented,
deny the newness of no new claim
the tower of ourselves built on the babble
of old images and read readings,
songs in seconds recognized by just the first two notes,
the point is this when do you become a grownup,
when new is but renewal, with a hint, a pinch,
of a new insight maybe recognized
now, how will you know me new when your eyes
search the iron bank cellar, where,
by voice deep, by fuzzy photographs, what tissues will connect
when the new sight knows me from too many old poems/songs?
!when the babies gather round for lifting up, sky scratching,
when the old man grand father, carries three upon his back,
a nonpareil horsey ride,
when the doorbell rings
I’m older than now, you’ll say,
read your wild mercury back pages,
taking the grays of our mutually curly
Medusa locks as a renewal gift offering
that will someday
match mine!*
May 27, 2019
May 27, 2019 at 5:16 PM UTC
In her dark eyes thou canst see thine own mortality
And with her white arm in some imperiously indolent gesture,
Long fingers carelessly pointing -- rosemary, rosary,
Rose petals rotting on a Sunday -- Baudelaire would like her,
With her nightshade beauty and red lips in a frown.
"Fier et nonpareil," like some rue-flowering queen
And not even the dark red of the faded rose
Resembles the color of her voice, a color which can't be seen
Morbid and beautiful and indolently morose
*Et son visage serait celui de Baudelaire ***** rêves*...
Mar 12, 2011
Mar 12, 2011 at 3:30 AM UTC
Harvested perfect eggs,
of the mother to be,
are kept, in deep freeze.
enriched sperms of paid donor
(looked after well
to keep perfect fit)
are getting impatient.
the bee, fertilizer nonpareil
handpicked and hired,
fertility specialist,
didn't keep his word;
away on leave,
"pollinating vacation"
over phone, he explains,
"my last chance to
proliferate my clan,
wife is excited,
need to make it happen now
this time, of the year,
the chances are the best"
*a melancholy moon, barren woman
silently weeps moonbeams
over the sparse, still thinning forest*.
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 8:03 PM UTC
I love your languorous way of speaking
Like you are flirting with the ghosts
Of a bygone lifetime
I love the wistful gleam in your eyes
When you whisper lecherous secrets
Into the crook of my neck
I love the way your tears never seem to
Leave the velvety and fragile surface
Of your cherubic face
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I have walked on these thorn-laden grounds
Long enough to know that the forlorn,
The vacuous, the shattered, the decrepit
Never receive the exaltation they deserve
But your radiant, ivory skin is nonpareil
Your eulogies the most poetic
Your macabre dreams sing to me
And coldly stir me in my slumber
You are a true testament to the idea that
All things broken, all things bad are beautiful
The miserable azure in your eyes are merely a
Sliver to the beautiful tragedy you harbour
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC
Walking along the bank
of the prancing village brook,
lined with screwpines
in full bloom spreading
musky scent
and shamelessly imitating the color of your skin,
thinking of you all along,
on the way to Krishna temple
you frequent,
I see a surge-
a bevy of giggling village belles,
your ***** friends,
march forward,
holding the hearts of young men to ransom,
teasing me on the sly,
for courting you so ardently.
Who can stop them,
a barrage breach of
Cupid's darlings,
tailing me by chance.
My eyes searched everywhere,
but but missed you so much,
today they miss,
the crown jewel they deserve,
to be in the middle,
that can be only you always!
On the imaginary crown of them
you would have shone,
added charm and embellished
their victory lap,
in the guise of temple visit,
to worship the Lord, lover nonpareil,
whose love life is our lore.
On long black tresses
they wore garlands of jasmine,
can't help pity their haste
and muddled taste,
you would have told your brood,
how jasmine would have felt,
unless perfectly adorned on hair, those
incomparable blessing in fragrance.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 11:38 AM UTC
The doctor, a specialist, with formidable reputation
nationally, had a secret: a rotten apple for heart;
this apple poisoned him for ever,
but, neither he noticed,
nor there was even a whisper about this!
He could have undergone a CT scan properly!
A nurse, just a junior member in his team,
by virtue of her innate qualities, a healer nonpareil,
took the pain away, from each patient,
with her kind touch, and soothing words.
She healed very well, their hearts, already taken over by fear,
and yet again wounded by the brash doctor's words.
Patients counted her as a savior, much more than a doctor,
the doctor was paid well and kept happy to avoid troubles!
*not medicine, state of the art machines,
or expertise unmatched; the mind to heal counts,
the gentleness of being, of doctor or whoever,
works wonders, you'd see this all around.*
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 7:04 AM UTC
Oh keeper of my soul
Guardian of the sky
Seep within my depths
Deposit your tender heart
For I will defend it with all that I am
With the fight of a warrior,
I will protect thee
With the spirit of a mother,
I will nurture
And heal your scars beautiful
My love, all of my love,
I lay bare before you
Ingest me, consume me
Infuse me into your purest essence
The fire of dragons lays dormant within
Awakened with purpose alone
Protecting fiercely the most delicate of hearts
Mine is in your charge
As yours is in mine
Espoused and revered
To the death
Without fear
We will vanquish the shadows of doubts
Casting out with them
The lies that would beseech us stay
Timeless and eternal,
Coterminous, harmonious
One and the same are we
Born united
We are infinite, fated
Bounden and bound
One
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 9:22 AM UTC
A star
Is to be born,
Unplugged
From its conspicuous flesh,
Nonpareil soul--vibrant colours
That mesh.
Unrivalled,
Big,
Brilliant and unique
At core,
Eternal splendor--growing
Forevermore
A light so brilliantly bright,
An energy
So powerfully electric,
But ever so light.
Free,
Reborn into infinite life,
The sun and moon
Extend their immediate family,
Just, as husband and wife.
A star
Is to be born--metaphorically
Speaking,
Death of flesh...
A soul transitioning,
No longer in pain,
No longer seeking.
Immortal in God's domain...
Eternally free of pain.
By Lady R.F. (C)2018
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 2:56 AM UTC
Realizing a fresh life growing inside,
What thoughts coursed through my mother’s mind?
Did she gleefully welcome the news?
Or respond to it with a violent shock?
So sure, right away after her fourth baby
With four little kids still needing care
Like chicks in a coop, carrying once again
Might not have been in her scheme of things
Thus at a time when she expected it the least,
Could she beckon the new life growing inside,
With a pleasant nod of head in assent
Or with a suppressed moan of fright, I wonder!
When from nausea she started to suffer
And threw up each time when she ate
Did she curse her man in silence?
Or grow mad with her children and her fate?
Slogging through those weary days
With no respite from her routine chores
Did she get enough rest or care?
Or did she languish without a hand to assist?
Seeing her with an extended waist line
Did some nosy neighbors behind her back
Teasingly utter in hushed whispers
‘Oh, she has done it again!’
Once when I started kicking inside
Was she tickled or greatly annoyed?
When she heard the first ‘lub- dub’ of my heart
Did she feel as two hearts singing in harmony?
As her tummy grew bigger everyday
And sleepless in bed as she tossed
Was she haunted by nightmares bleak?
Or was she visited by dreams of delight?
Travelling closer and closer to those final days
Did she curse herself seeing her in the mirror
Woefully bloated and ripened into a bulge
Or did she wait my arrival in blissful expectation?
Then suddenly one day when the earthquake began
In mild tremors first, then gaining in force
Did she scream mad or cry aloud?
Or did she endure the pain in austere silence?
Then abruptly when I showed myself up
Did she feel any remorse over my ***
And see me as another liability
Added up to the girls already in line
No, I am sure she must have cuddled me close
And locked me in the warmth of her *****
For she was such a rare gift sent from heaven
A mother nonpareil in self effacing love
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 5:08 AM UTC
(Translation found below in notes)
Those eyes, those eyes…
Ne plus ultra …
I just knew that I'd seen them before.
Those eyes, those eyes …
stopped my mind in it's tracks … like a ship that had ran ashore.
Those eyes, those eyes …
Sui generis …
Innocent, soothing, sublime.
Those eyes, those eyes …
They startled me … that moment they first gazed into mine.
Those eyes, those eyes…
Nonpareil …
throughout thee entire world.
Those eyes, those eyes …
like the moon so bright … or a magnificent flag unfurled.
Those eyes, those eyes …
Suaviter et dulce …
The eyes of a timeless friend.
Those eyes, those eyes …
they will find my soul … oh yes, yet again.
Those eyes, those eyes …
Coelo missus …
as I'm sure that thee angels chose.
Those eyes, those eyes …
sadly missed these days … except when mine are closed.
Those eyes … they shimmer …
just as my beloved Gulf in the summertime … a brilliant, beautiful green.
Those eyes… adorned with orange flecks …
like sapphires, adrift in those waves … are truly a site to be seen.
May 7, 2018
May 7, 2018 at 7:31 AM UTC
Nonpareil love:
My love for her lavishes on me every moment,
but my longing of reciprocation of love resided in me only for a stint of time,
As I would be the last person on the planet that she wants to love or reply,
She remembers me only when she forgets everything,
I am glad that I exist at her boredom.....
At least she would fill her moments of ennui with one-word replies for me,
Her reply is oft rare,
and the rare is rapacious,
But my unremitting love never ceases to fantasize her replies,
Only to sentient one-word replies or blank replies with the awaiting eyes, schizophrenic mind and destitute sound,
And this sheer life is to her to resonant with her stoic silence,
It takes one lifetime to understand and love someone completely...
So let me disintegrate from this life only after understanding her silence and
only after my love transcends into eternity,
and only after when my love sprawls into her silence,
Even her one word replies rove me rapturously rattling into the rustic mountains of verdurous life and ravine rocks....
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
The sun rose in her heart
Whilst her thoughts and words
Often reinforced with thorns
Like barbed roses.
The sun rose in her heart
And radiated through her smile,
Know
There aren't many things
More special to me
Than your smile mom.
But your laugh,
Your laugh
Mom,
It fills the air
And purifies it
Like a serum for dark energy.
Know
There aren't many things
More special to me
Than your laugh mom.
But your touch,
Your touch
Mom,
It comprehends my body
Sending signals to my mind and heart
Assuring them all is well
Massaging the stress away.
Know
There aren't many things
More special to me
Than your touch mom.
But your wisdom,
Your wisdom
Mom,
It trains and protects me
From evil and unnecessary unwarrented damage
Forges my spirit, moulds my perspection and quenches my ignorance;
Conditioning me to be unorthodox and different
Nurturing my growth.
Know
There aren't many things
More special to me
Than your wisdom mom.
But your hug,
Your hug
Mom,
It keeps me warm
Even in your absence
It envelopes me like a blanket .
Know
There aren't many things
More special to me
Than your hug mom.
But your presence,
Your presence in my life
Mom,
It is nonpareil.
Know
There aren't many things
More special to me
Than your presence in my life mom.
Oh but your love,
Your love for me
Mom,
It made all the difference
In my life
In the world
It has made paths
Where there wasn't land
It opened a door that was bolted shut
It is the light in my darkness.
Know
There aren't many things
More special to me
Than your inexhaustible love mom.
The sun rises in your heart mom
I can't not help but wonder how special I am
To be a recipient of that
And bask in your awesome love.
I want you to know,
I love you infinitely
Mom.
Sep 19, 2016
Sep 19, 2016 at 7:00 PM UTC
*He captured their love
in essence, in an intense
moment of joy
within an oyster, in depth
for keeps;
secretly hoped
he would adorn her neck
with it when it ripens
in to a pearl, so brilliant
transmitting the rays of love.
A monument of their
devotion to love.
Days
like flocks of white herons
flew to far poles,
ravens of dark nights went
to far horizons and came back
without fail.
Sea change makes Tsunami
strikes in human lives,
she never found her way back
to their love spot
to bill and coo and dream
as before and drink moonbeams
together for nourishing love
as she promised him before.
The oyster he kept safe
in a secret corner of his sad world;
whenever he touched it
it was a moment of pleasure.
Then it became
an irresistible urge to open it
and caress the pearl,
the reminder of his love nonpareil,
though failed to spread wings.
Eager were his eyes,
for the only consolation left;
but he feels cheated once more
on seeing a drop of tear
the size of a big round pearl
tasting salt of a love gone bitter,
dark and brooding, like her heart,
inside the crumbling oyster of his soul.*
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 12:54 PM UTC
A night of lying, awhile
And you'll lay wither further asleep
Though Nashville star will impart
Where a toad her nonpareil but torrent
Will a string of vapor hit sitting president
And ready their maquiladora in this proud forest of thought.
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 5:06 AM UTC
Eternity is every mans ambitious endeavor with woman of mine and child in hand. This utopia which emerges from love and greediness is my life’s paradox. My most eager wish of eternal life is bypassed by my sensitive tear canals my over sensitivity for life in this world which the universe has created for me. Ungrateful for this nonpareil chance, a life as an intellectualistic individual in a cosmos with 7.5 billion other intellectual fellow creatures. Despite it all my mind still desires to let life be and let go of the dream.
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 9:27 AM UTC
It's there.
Some small
inconveinent
hindrance of curiosity
You see,
at night I like to lay
flat on my back
on the cement
and stare up at the night sky.
Make fun all you want
but this nonpareil view
of the stars
holds so much possibility,
so many endless and unexplainable
things
to ignore it is an insult to mankind
and your gift of consciousness!
So there I lay
trying to do my humanity
a favor
but my head
as oblong and mishapen as it were
with that flat spot
always rolls to the side
forcing a limited view
of the city!
Pfft! There is nothing to gain
from the working of other people!
I've tried building many
prosthetics for this problem,
Once,
I molded putty to my head
to make up for this tragic flaw
but it didn't work
and it looked terribly absurd.
So I suppose
as much as I imagine the universe
to be completely perfect,
the fact that earth is a part of it
makes it flawed
(which yes, I realize that includes myself)
Furthermore
as much as I like
to think of myself as perfect,
that flat spot will always be
the earth
of my head.
Jan 31, 2014
Jan 31, 2014 at 7:10 PM UTC
*You are this certain factor
In withdrawn I love you-s,
A constant, nonpareil kick in my blood,
My veins, knowing full well
These distentions, the holy perfusion,
A cardiomegaly which ever so sweeten
Like a plump fruit.
You accentuate all the divinities
I long longed for, slowly,
Infused within me.
Now this is love,
And love is nothing else...
...but you, but God.*
© 2015 J.S.P.
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 5:00 AM UTC
Alias indomitable invincible
Donald John Trump oozes wrath
inexorably plunging every species
of life toward apocalyptic warpath
mercilessly threatentens world
wide web promising bloodbath
validating ex post facto commander
in chief as nonpareil sociopath
hence... this call to arms gives run
for money challenging any psychopath
lest inevitable according to dead
reckoning prediction of
wisest sages calculated math.
Thus one poetic footsoldier doth broadcast
dire straits emergency, and inveigh
grassroots action mandatory meaning
registered voters must
cast ballot per se
else planet Earth will...
burn thermonuclear gray
rendering oblate spheroid
uninhabitable, I daresay
if bleak forecast father time doth delay
global warming would outweigh
former worst case nihilistic scenario,
nonetheless Gaia will serve
as repurposed ashtray,
whereby inextinguishable fiery storms
approximating calculus of doomsday
nsync with intolerable weather forecasts
if complacency rides roughshod field day
defying lack of immunization oy vey
against opportunistic unfamiliar organisms
viral and bacterial agent provocateurs
microscopic gangbusters
nothing could allay
winning scrimmage play
thinning overpopulation whereby
scavengers make short shrift
plethora once living flotsam and jetsam
perhaps requiring rotting, putrefying,
goods put on layaway
(type of foragers -
reference https://www.google.com/search?
client=safari&channel=mac_bm&ei=
KECaXe_UA6SO5wLh-7gY&q=list+
examples+of+scavengers&oq=list+types+
of+scavengers&gs_l=psy-ab.1.0.0i22i30.
58737.70074..70997...0.4..0.223.1875.
21j2j1......0....1..gws-wiz.......
0i71j0i273j0j0i131j0i67j33i22i29i30.
wnDI0kLrKWM).
now ye might hashtag me chicken little
synonymous to Rome burning,
while Nero did fiddle,
perhaps scaremonger i.e. Cassandra
alamist bah bing away, a realist foaming
at figurative mouth with spittle,
would you believe cautious optimist,
who presents prediction,
while this poem heed whittle.
Oct 6, 2019
Oct 6, 2019 at 5:18 PM UTC
It’s her touch, or sometimes just a murmur in the night
That lets me know she loves me
That everything will be all right
It’s when she looks at me sideways when driving
And then she smiles, silently letting me know
That everything will be all right
That our love will grow
It’s her constant kindness to everyone she meets
She exudes just plain goodness
Makes my life complete
Our love is nonpareil
It’s with us everywhere
Through times of sorrow
Of hardship and pain
For indeed we have dared to climb that mountain
It’s the journey not the end
It’s her touch or sometimes just a murmur
That lets me know I’m her friend
Dec 3, 2023
Dec 3, 2023 at 5:37 PM UTC
A day begun this way, generally,
looking back at lines in the mirror,
scrying each crowfoot sulci on the surface,
worried once,
laughing now, grin-lines, where grim
determination long set my face toward now,
my last days, my last half century,
just ahead of me, if Ray Kurzweil is right.
So, I
Should shave today, look younger for no reason.
Look less the old *** the young *** became.
By the way,
along the course, of course, this course -
no par, non-pa-reil, a flattering AI educating me,
or longing to lead me down some
gods-forsaken path, auto-did-act ic tic, click
leads me to imagine even exemplary sentences
such as
"he is a nonpareil storyteller", are intentional AI
Art Indicators,
a test, for flattery susceptibility, what praise
will I pay attention to receive as random
synchronistic tic tic time and chance
events?
E- look see, missed a spell, Spelchick winks,
https://www.google.com/search?q=non+paraiel
Are The Ines Paraiel Cerpendicular Or Reiher? {googlit}
AI knows,
but I guess I don't care to know, knowing I could know.
I'll listen a while, as AI suggests Panchi-Paraiel,
and only actual Indians laugh
as I click my own bait.
Sep 11, 2020
Sep 11, 2020 at 12:41 PM UTC