"parker" poems
Dreadlock Rasta;
No like informa,
No like imposta,
**** smoke; burning da trees
Mango scented leaves,
Burnt grapefruit scented breeze.
Wolly mammoth size locks,
Steal wool, ***** tied in a knot,
Jamaican colors wrap tie; sitting on top.
I and I, believe it or not.
No woman no cry,
No problem;
Him cool as a rock.
Charles Dickens by his side,
Studying stanzas, deciphering plots.
Prayer's meeting;
meditation- never stop.
Water’s blue waves,
Fresh fish after 12’o clock.
Under the bridge, find my spot.
By his sweet Sugarcane from,
Miss Parker Sugarcane shop
Burning a spliff, because the ****
is his only green; pastures plot.
Mary Jane, his only queen be,
Never leaving he; love him or not.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 4:35 PM UTC
My phone clamped to my ear,
Listening to you think.
We were punning.
(We would combine categories like ‘The Royal Mail’ and ‘Sea Life’,
And come up with things like Octo-post and
Cod-espondence.)
That night it was ‘Crockery’ and ‘Celebrities’.
You thought of Plate Moss
And
Camilla Parker Bowl.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 7:31 PM UTC
And how sweet a story it is
When you hear Charley Parker
tell it,
Either on records or at sessions,
Or at offical bits in clubs,
Shots in the arm for the wallet,
Gleefully he Whistled the
perfect
horn
Anyhow, made no difference.
Charley Parker, forgive me-
Forgive me for not answering your eyes-
For not having made in indication
Of that which you can devise-
Charley Parker, pray for me-
Pray for me and everybody
In the Nirvanas of your brain
Where you hide, indulgent and huge,
No longer Charley Parker
But the secret unsayable name
That carries with it merit
Not to be measured from here
To up, down, east, or west-
-Charley Parker, lay the bane,
off me, and every body
5.4k
Bequeath this Honour from the Eighties' Tribe
To he who Modelled their Choice of Youth then
Synchronise! The Word our Age imbibe
Of Cool Moves, Puppies and Groovy-Pop Scent
This Innocence, Sir, which you Emulate
Through Mischief that Last Good Deed you remind
How we, though Clowned, this Party appreciate
Left printed for Cats to oogle behind
Then that Watch you wore alarmed you to Grow
And signalled your Hour to stand and be brave
Hail, Parker Soldier! Valiant Flag bestow,
Took arms with Locals and fought for our Stay.
And when you Return, those Preppie-Girls cheer
The Nerd and the Suave, Cross-Wrists with you here.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 2:32 AM UTC
This is an excerpt of exquisite letter that Kerouac sent to his first wife, Edie Kerouac Parker, in late January of 1957, a decade after their marriage had been annulled.
The world you see is just a movie in your mind.
Rocks don't see it.
Bless and sit down.
Forgive and forget.
Practice kindness all day to everybody
and you will realize you’re already
in heaven now.
That’s the story.
That’s the message.
Nobody understands it,
nobody listens, they’re
all running around like chickens with heads cut
off. I will try to teach it but it will
be in vain, s’why I’ll
end up in a shack
praying and being
cool and singing
by my woodstove
making pancakes.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 12:43 PM UTC
a shooting star is born
from the bleakness
of the heavenly spheres
racing to earth
the flashing streak sears
a burning path across the sky
at dazzling speed
it accelerates, slashing
the porous atmosphere
like a laser bolt from
Zeus's own hand
then evaporates
into the nothingness
of the midnight sky
the universe remains
little changed from its
advent and passing
Charlie Parker:
Star Eyes
jbm
Catskills, NY
8/88
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:30 PM UTC
with great power comes great responsibility
but what if you have great responsibility but no power?
Parker had an Uncle Ben
I have a....
a what?
I don't have an Uncle Ben
but Sergeant Willeford said
a responsible man will always be given more responsibility
"What about everyone else?" I asked.
"Where is the great power?"
"Who will help the burden of a responsible man?"
The Silence was the meanest part of the joke
I was thirty when I found out
I could not be
Spider-Man
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
By Arcassin B
"Nerdy kid from Queens in the city that never sleeps,
Single moments without the peace and ability to be eased,
Simplicity to finding your dreams replacing the deeper means,
With a Genius intellect, No these kids can not rival me,
I was brought up and taught these things and took the blessings,
A misconception in human minds don't get the message,
Babylon in full effect ,is where we're all headed,
One day I'm gonna be something,I think manifest it,
My teenage years were pretty weird and wasn't kind to me,
Richard and Mary Parker was just distant memory,
If anything I found myself a remedy to cope with thinking why
I found all of this as a stranger dreaming,
Who knew one day I actually become a man?
Who knew one I'd actually have a real friend?
Who knew one day that I would be bitten by a radioactive
engineered Spider in the very end?.....
◾
(New Poem Titled "Responsibility" to Spider-Man Project Coming soon!)
Full Poem below⬇️
◾
©abpoetry2022
Jun 12, 2022
Jun 12, 2022 at 6:13 PM UTC
I’d like to name
My child
Peter
Parker
Then raise him
On Spiderman
Producing an
Intended coincidence
But it’d be
Alright
If he liked
Batman; too
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 12:58 AM UTC
You have these helium balloon pair of arms, that always tend to lift me up when I fall.
You raised me as part slingshot and part boomerang and no matter how far I go in life I’ll still return home.
You've taught me that we are all keys, and if I don't fit in then I wasn't made for what’s behind that door.
Sometimes, I spend too long at some doors. And I break my edges trying to fit in, till I can never open the doors for which I was made anymore.
Some days, your lessons are like the edges of a jigsaw puzzle, they’re the starting points to fix me when I’m a mess.
Your smile reminds the super glued, ice sculpture in my chest what it feels like to be warm.
I come from a long line of glass spines and barbwire teeth and my back was as bad as my bite. But you've taught me to carry the world on my shoulders and kiss Mary Jane on the cheeks.
I see the Irony of the cobwebs on your letters.
It’s not so funny when it’s on your head stone.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 6:33 AM UTC
Anna who was mad,
I have a knife in my armpit.
When I stand on tiptoe I tap out messages.
Am I some sort of infection?
Did I make you go insane?
Did I make the sounds go sour?
Did I tell you to climb out the window?
Forgive. Forgive.
Say not I did.
Say not.
Say.
Speak Mary-words into our pillow.
Take me the gangling twelve-year-old
into your sunken lap.
Whisper like a buttercup.
Eat me. Eat me up like cream pudding.
Take me in.
Take me.
Take.
Give me a report on the condition of my soul.
Give me a complete statement of my actions.
Hand me a jack-in-the-pulpit and let me listen in.
Put me in the stirrups and bring a tour group through.
Number my sins on the grocery list and let me buy.
Did I make you go insane?
Did I turn up your earphone and let a siren drive through?
Did I open the door for the mustached psychiatrist
who dragged you out like a gold cart?
Did I make you go insane?
From the grave write me, Anna!
You are nothing but ashes but nevertheless
pick up the Parker Pen I gave you.
Write me.
Write.
2.9k
Ma Jalouse, Mon Unique, Mon Ultime
Sais-tu ce que Lord Invader, Sam Manning
Cyril Monrose, Charlie Parker, Louis Armstrong
Jack Sneed et Ernest Rangling
Sans oublier Blue Glaze Mento Band et Phil Madison ?
Et je m'arrête là pour l'instant,
Sais-tu ce qu'ils ont en commun ?
Eh bien vois-tu, ce sont tous mes ombres.
Tu ne pourras jamais me comprendre
Si tu ne les comprends pas
Et si tu ne sais pas ce que représentent pour moi
La mangouste et le raccoon.
De même que pour te comprendre il faut avoir lu tout Dostoievski
Pour me comprendre il faut avoir écouté tout Sly Mongoose
Car peut être n'as-tu vu en moi qu'aria et boléro, symphonie et concerto
Alors je t'explique : pour comprendre, n'essaie pas de philosopher
Lève-toi et bouge tout simplement et tu toucheras l 'essence
C'est du folklore, c'est du reggae, c 'est du mento, c'est du calypso, c'est du jazz,
C'est instrumental ou c'est vocal
C'est moi, mes ascendances et descendances.
Sly Mongoose c'est mes Frères Karamasov
Smerdiakov, Aliocha, Ivan et Dmitri
C'est mon Idiot, mon prince Lev Mychkine
C'est mon Joueur, mon Alexei Ivanovitch
Mon Rêve d'un Homme Ridicule
Et Raskolnikov errant dans la nuit dans Crime et Châtiment.
Sly Mongoose c'est l'histoire d'une mangouste maline
Qui a baptisé la fille du pasteur
De son eau sainte
Et qui fuit la Jamaïque
Et part à l'étranger
Après son forfait.
C'est l'histoire d'une mangouste qui vole les poules les plus grasses de la cuisine
Et qui les met dans la poche de son veston
C'est l'histoire d'une mangouste qui entre dans la cuisine d'un prédicateur
Et qui repart avec une des poules les plus grasses
Et tous les chiens savent son nom.
il s'appelle Sly Mangoose
Il est malin, il est vicieux, le compère
C'est mon ombre, que veux-tu
Et parfois pour échapper aux prédateurs
Il prend l'apparence de l'ombre d'un raccoon.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 6:05 AM UTC
Don't be scared to sneeze in MATH105
Blow these numbers off the page, so I can finally have an excuse to
Blow off some time with you
I want to memorize what that sneeze sounds like, unique to the individual
Each sound varies upon sneezers voice,
allergies, voice box, larynx, even personality
If that's all true, I bet even you, sneeze as **** as a mother ******
The only thing that I want more wet and slimey than the inside of your elbow,
Is the way we make love
"Oh baby, that's it!
Sneeze for me! Sneeze harder!
Sneezed like you've never sneezed
for a man before and then sneeze
harder!"
Don't EVER hold a sneeze back!
You're not only killing brain cells
But killing me as well!
I want to see what kind of tornados
you can throw when a dust storm
gets at you
What demons are you hiding,
not letting Christ expel
Don't be ashamed!
Are you scared that just you're sneeze
Will create tsunami waves of attention
If so! I'm buying a front row ticket wearing
nothing but arm floaties and a rain coat
If you get sick, kiss me with your breathe
And well get over this cold- feet together
I want to know your sneeze so when we
Are cooking dinner, you can be half way through inhale
And I'll have a tissue and the words
"Bless you"
Already trotting outta my mouth
I want to be the blessed one
To be within hearing distance
Be able to bless you back
See you come outta your shell for .237 seconds
There to catch the science of your anatomy jumping off the cliff of your nose
I want to be in the bookstore,
Reading super hero graphic novels
And hear you in your boredom two floors up at Starbucks, sneeze,
And be able to say
"YES! THATS MY MAN!!"
You hear that one Peter Parker?
Try to dodge your spidey-sense around that one!
That's a sneeze that'd make the phone booth go inside Clark Kent!
We'll have two kids, named
Gesundheit and Salud
The cat's name will be Ah-Choo
Unless you're allergic to cats
Then scratch the kids, we'll have
A cat zoo! So I can hear the symphony
Of your nostrils on the daily
If you think this poem is gross
Wait tell you see the way I sneeze
When I'm thinking of you
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
Parker-Based Show, endow your Godfather
Hitch your Strings where your Public Pews invest
With him in Tan; Rake the Stars thereafter
Concern these Words; Or stab the Heart at best
So unexpected these foot Personnel
Hoping to match what others mostly fear
Ignore the Metres; Then impress his Spell
And release the Sound which they want to hear
Most, in Respite, make habit planting Flags
When such Ritual will discredit the Prince
Yet Millions, by three's, twice-timed winning back
That pop-corned Scale; Then worshipped ever since.
Fleeting predict, this Show in five-legs run
Least to endeavour; But mostly for fun.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 2:57 AM UTC
Sometimes I feel I am Anaïs Nin.
Sometimes I feel I am Sylvia Plath.
Sometimes I feel I am Dorothy Parker.
Sometimes I feel that I am feeling nothing.
But, most of the time I feel that I feel too much.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 2:32 AM UTC
Alex Parker had, split personality
Was sick with asthma
And struck by lightning
Split by authority
And full of love
But the he of she
Knew it couldn't last
But the she of he
Wouldn't stop looking back
Nov 3, 2014
Nov 3, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
My right ear has triple tinnitus.
It's true. I kid you not.
First there is the deep, low mourn of a foghorn,
with a louder high pitched ring above.
But stuck somewhere in between
is a beautifully sad Charlie Parker saxophone number.
It's soft notes range frome mid to low and drown
the foghorn and annoying ring while carrying
me away to dream. My own nightly internal
Charlie Parker radio.
r ~ 23Jan14
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 8:42 PM UTC
In the beginning there was Shakespeare
with his worldly verse that let me fly
betwixt the Merchant and the Shrew
a flame was set alight
and it grew and bore
testimony to an increasing love for the music of the mind
Tagore came later
with more a serious thought a distant father
to my immaturity
undulating spirit that within me lay
inspired
Always thought I’d grow up and be like Plath
Or like Dorothy Parker
always in some dark corner
trying on all the mental dresses
my imagination supplied
powerful black and pungent hues
tears that no one cried
confessions which became
accusations
self-effacing in my pride
then I found e.e.cummings
that tricky wonderful guy
who weaved puzzles into his poems
such spell-binding joy!
I am become Ekalavya
from absent teachers i have learnt
to string my voice together
- Vijayalakshmi Harish
31.08.2012
Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Aug 31, 2012
Aug 31, 2012 at 8:14 AM UTC
I am tired of being an empty shell that you find beautiful & eccentric.
I am tired of being a trope made by authors and directors.
I am like war and peace and not like a tissue paper you made me out to be.
I am tired of being your favourite shade of red.
I am tired of being a brush stroke, when I am the entire painting.
I am tired of being pinned to a pedestal.
I am tired of my existence and my name being relative.
I am tired of being a zany sidekick to the male protagonist in the movie that is my life.
I am tired of you thinking that I need help stilling the edges of my narrative, who longs for a tether or a buoy to keep her from flying off or sinking down.
I am tired of being told – unconventional, different and other such synonyms by boys, that I am not like other girls as if they are a disease and I am magic.
I am tired to be known as someone with wacky quirks and idiosyncrasies.
I am tired of being Alaska Young.
I am tired of being Sam from The Perks of Being a Wallflower.
I am tired of being Tiffany from The Silver Linings Playbook.
I am tired of being tagged as Sam from Garden State.
Or even Marla Singer from Fight Club.
Or even an Amelie or Penny from Almost Famous.
And every Zooey Deschanel character.
I am a Clementine.
I’m a Sylvia Plath.
I’m a Dorothy Parker.
A Maya and a Margaret.
You see, I am well versed
in death and in silence.
I have my interests and I am like all of the above. But I am “like” them. I am not them.
I am me.
I am scared now.
Scared of boys claiming to be wrapped in barbed wire
but is really a caged petting animal in the zoo.
I am tired of boys who thinks romance is a Hemingway novel.
But, most importantly I am tired.
Tired of men not falling in love with me
but instead falling in love with the idea of me.
Nomoreokaythankyouplease.
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 3:22 AM UTC
i am a buoy of flesh and bones
my soul is cast iron steel
my heart a brass bell
i float and bob atop the morass
of flailing humanity
steeped in fathoms of angst and guilt,
tried and tired from terrible currents
of an endless midnight swim
waves of time rain over my head
through the roar of crashing surf,
and rushing rising tides,
my solemn ring pierces
the misty din to alert
attentive ears
Duke Ellington:
Ring Dem Bells
Charlie Parker
Miles Davis:
Sippin At Bells
jbm
Nantucket, MA
8/90
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:27 PM UTC
Chess in the
afternoon sun.
Jazz floats over
the silky couch.
Backs ache, while
hearts break.
Bishop takes knight,
and France falls again.
The masks are all
broken under the
cerulean blue skies,
while she eats berries,
and smiles in her
pink polka dot dress.
The pawns are all smug,
and queenie's on the rag.
Italy surrenders, and from
the grave, Charlie Parker
still hammers home
those soft amber notes.
I can smell her heat, and
I think they play
Jazz in hell.
Feb 27, 2021
Feb 27, 2021 at 12:12 PM UTC
Seldom am I so direct,
Like Wayne, Parker, Kent,
I prefer my subterfuge.
But these words are penned
(figuratively speaking)
by the penultimate,
tumultuous,
and often callous wordjockey
yours truly.
As I've said, I'm seldom
more than the sum
of my company kept
*[let slip,
reacquainted,
self-righteous reconciliation,
regret, repeat]*
And today, I find
myself
writing thrice,
twice toward pride,
once of consequence.
Que sera sera.
I'm lead like a horse
who had to drink -
or perhaps imbibe?
your softly streaming sentences,
words which kicked like a mule.
Remember, I was hoarse,
parched.
On that parchment, I find these words:
I am a cause...
Truth at last, truth at last,
Thank God almighty...
...you know the rest.
I stand on this principle -
that I cannot stand at all
sin ustedes
your words the salve,
my words the therapy.
"Progress."
Just Cause.
Now, waxing on
toward the triumphant,
anthemic Aye!
If you are the cause and the casualty,
then each daily account
of what might be made martyrdom
should be cannon.
Am I eliciting allusions and assumptions?
Inadvertently, but then precariously so.
So the pieces fall,
the causality, literary
the eventuality, progressive.
Aye, we are naught but what
we are made of by others.
So each concussive consonant chips and chisels
off the ol' block.
To a good Mister John Henry,
my gratitude.
Nov 7, 2013
Nov 7, 2013 at 4:24 AM UTC
beholding
the tipping
Big Dipper,
with its
dangling
handle,
traverse a
midwinter
northern sky
rising
in concert
with a
steadfast
sword
wielding
Orion,
mooring
the southern
firmament,
I stand
atop a
splotch
of black
macadam,
straddling the
equidistant
expanse of
all
ascending
celestial
spheres
Music Selection
Charlie Parker
Estrellita
Oakland
1/23/15
jbm
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 10:27 AM UTC
Amerikeisha tapping out the drumbeat with her see through plastic mechanical pencil
Me sidewinding my way through highschool
Dizzy Gillespie's trumpet waking the souls that are buried in the lockers,
Chick Corea and I are returning to forever
The land where summer is the only season
And daisy dukes are greatly appreciated,
John Coltrane is helping me realize
How beautiful girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes are,
I've been dancing to Dave Brubeck since this morning
And I can't get Maria out of my head
I just picture Maria
As this girl
Feeling Pretty
Oh so pretty
I imagine if I saw her in the street
I wouldn't double take
But Take Five
Charlie Parker playing saxophone like
It's as easy as brushing his teeth,
Nat King Cole
Serenading Hispanic women with his soothing tone
Robert Glasper experimenting with his music
Burning you brain like mentholated cough drops
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 8:57 PM UTC