"pearlies" poems
They crawl hands and knees!!!
Lacklustered fanatic's,
Groupies of needleshooter's and powder transits,
Their noses they wipe off fairied dust!!!
Their skin fragile and delirious!!!
A spoon to copper boil,
Eyeglasses to split the sun ,
Sticky fingers to stop and go..
Bloodied toast!!!
They cringe their pearlies,
And wobbled by to and fro waves,
Their here for today,
Gone for tomorrow!!!
A vein full of sorrows!!!
A hitch hiker of fertile roads,
Though,
Thy load leadeth one down to the pit!!
Within millipede's of Spit,
To drippeth the argot that slurreth them!!
Taketh thy hector out of thy baggage,
Thou serf of emptiness!!
For thy plentiness thou seeketh,
Lies beyond the ark,
Behind the purple shroud!!
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 9:12 PM UTC
The club is small and dark and hazy
like the veiled comedy of minstrel performers.
Those dingy lights do little for the atmosphere—
dangling hemp from clouds of cigarette smoke.
This hole is filled with the classy of day and the
sassy of night—a real “blue material” kinda crowd.
Harry, the manager, after calling quarter and five,
booked some awful oleo acts just minutes before
“places!”
—The crowd sits on their hands ‘til they’re numb
and lame like the fish they watch flop on the boards.
Two acts down followed by some soot-covered
clown’s lazzo about who’s who and what’s what.
Give me a break! The crowd wants fresh fish to fry—
Girlies in pearlies with spun out legs that tower
the torsos they’re pinned to. Give them that
New York Style Cheese-cakewalk Variety Act!
The listless listeners of this K.A. circuit let out a
snake-like hiss, en masse. (The only show stoppers
are off the billing, stage left at some other club!)
The manager thinks fast like a quick change act—
Harry snatches a prop from the nearest kook—
In a long brown bathrobe, with a broad brown cane.
He hushed the crowd of loud, jeering jerks, in one
swift swoop of his leg-breaking, knockout **** called
The Vaudeville Hook.
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 8:10 PM UTC
there was something about the way her lips formed words
how they hugged and gripped each letter
there was something soft yet rough about the way she walked
each step looked like the ground reached up and kissed her feet
oh, and that smile.
if death were 32 pearlies, i'd die a thousand times
she seemed to struggle with they way she looked at herself
her eyes didn't see what others saw
her eyes, her angelic crystal blues, yelled to me and could not deceive me
while that deadly smile laid upon her face
i saw the hurt, the anguish, the plea for help every time she blinked
or didn't
she once told me a story only i reckon it wasn't a story
about a young woman who made one line across her wrist every night
just one line
the young woman thought more than one slice would only pull her death closer
see, although being six feet deep was ventured by the young woman
she prayed and begged to God for her life to shine they way her smile did.
she prayed that she wouldn't have to make her mother cry
and that her tears would no longer stain her pillow case every night
there was something about the way her lips formed words
how they strangled and struggled to push out the truth
she never said what she thought of herself
she never said why her smile never matched her eyes
she never said why dying alone on a bathroom floor
with an empty bottle of '32 pearlies'
was as beautiful as she was.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC