Heavy Metal Lovers


A rolling stone gathers no moss the only time I was good at something all it took was four wheels
And you could be a Genius I guess the wheels gives it away this isn’t about bad boy bands heavy
That broke many a levees of the mind but it is inextricably wound together with music and how apropos
To write about it today when the music of all heaven was called to silence and then a whole lot of
Shaking began When **** Clark walked through the gate don’t waist it just taste it it’s all right to be
Burly and squirrely “Get lost in the rock and roll” amp it up Bob Seeger everything comes with rules
There was time before Elvis but it still applied cool cats had one command be cool don’t break the
Jackson rule of Cool Square is not the fit you want to project oh the sixties the place the strip in
Hollywood the car an Austin Healy convertible if they even had hard tops which I doubt reading Michael
Canes auto biography he spoke of him being there I didn’t see him but he got swallowed up by the
Great beast it flowed out of those clubs into the street the sidewalks full of hot babes and cool dudes
We were so low it was like you were on the payment it even got into the act there was a raw energy
That electrified every ounce of your being it rose out of the payment and cruised those Hollywood
Streets plus every street in America felt its heat and heard it s roar red cherry glass pack mufflers
Then songs took up the anthem I had fun fun until my daddy took my T bird away shutem down GTO Jan
and Dean’s Drag City, Dead Man’s Curve, The little old lady from Pasadena and many more but the king
of cars that held the title was held by no other than the Cobra we were a couple of brazen GIs with a
Seventy two hour pass we met the enemy at a stop light the Austin Healy sounded so throaty in that
Southern California night air and we lived the song do you know the way to San Jose LA isn’t nothing but
A bunch of old freeways we would roar up the entrance to the ten the Malibu highway the Five to Dego
The 710 to long beach and the Queen Mary this southern California kid from Compton a suburb of LA
Was giving me the grand tour Disney and Knox berry later in the day the big sad Walt had just died
And then there was this monster next to us it was towering before we felt so continental a slight British
Smugness as we drove this fine European sports car but when the lion roars your purring becomes a
Little puckish it was bulging in comparison we were like a joke your mother won’t let you have a real car
What did they paint the light red how many shades of red did we turn as we set in this shadow of green
Paint and death for any idiot that tossed out a challenge when he took off it was like our car was
Wearing a smug British suit and the force he generated when he accelerated tore every stitch off down
To just underwear praying the smog would quickly envelop us the rest of the way didn’t happen so you
Do what anyone does you choose the less of two evils and rattle on about how they put Porches engines
Into VW bugs like who cares why is one of those suckers behind us well they are cool and this is about
Cool cars you could always tell them by the tail pipe instead of a round rifle barrel it had a wide round
Funnel at the end like the old blunder bust guns of the colonists then an era and times needs a voice
The male was a mix of Lou Rawls and Berry white doing the singing but also any time introduction was
Needed Aretha took care of the female side Jimmy Hendrix took care of the instrument on his
Supernatural guitar Hugh Masicali African Jazz drummer follow the beat every teen Idol was making
The girls swoon then you add in the mix the American auto chrome and steel dreams see the heat rising
Flashes that were blurs running wide open filled with teens and thrill filled screams and then there was
The exit and the entrance there was a royal distinction that rubbed off on its occupants the cool look
And clothes and hair for both sexes dreamy stars in all places not just the bright lights of movie magic
For girls it was they rode well but if they took the wheel this sealed the deal how can you add curves to
Curves they had the saying your blowing my mind man it in toned them as perfect inter changeable the
Womanly softness the interior the lines outside truly defined you are in the presence of qualities that
Run deeper than just the surface you see so much more how blessed when both car and women
Continually amaze you think you discovered everything oh foolish one you just stepped into another
Power zone that was built in at creation somehow the car was somewhat accidental but the woman’s
Was on purpose cheating would cease to a great extent if the truth was only known you got more
Excitement than you will ever know and for the man let him step out rise to his full height there is
Something sweeping and grand about it how could it be any different muscle and brawn distinction
Used as in art subtle but by being so it is so telling appeal runs no stronger and it effects effortlessly
Adds maximum benefit and joy girls find it unmercifully enjoyable packaged like fine wine in a wooden
Box with straw in other words perfected delivery of romance simply a soothe that washes over you
With lasting ramification the golden straw has glistening particles as well as star dust that make other
World tastefulness abide in two lives equally shared so drive into the setting sun in your own heavy
Metal dream that we love so well

There is a certain devil in my eyes
a twinkling trickster who despises
all pomp and proper posers who lie
to gain the affection of the less informed.

There is a puckish knave who raves
to undue the chains of those enslaved
by creative play and poetry
by active explorations of prose and nobility.

I know such endeavors are things of futility
for if they knew my form of Anansi
silk spinning spider
or my formidable four legged figure of coyote
who runs under the Nordic name of Loki,

I am certain they would try to lightning fry me.
Instead, I buy some time masking my mind
tapping out binary bridges of ones and zeroes
with mythic folk and fairytales to educate
my elves who have lost
their pointed ears and no longer hear
the sound of nature’s truth
concealed in their very flesh.

The world is full of colour
And it is gorgeous

People
Red people
Yellow people
Blue people

Mixing and mingling
Creating new colours
Green
Purple
Orange

Splashes of pink
Dashes of teal
Fuchsia
Turquoise
Indigo

Everywhere you look
There is beauty

Except at me

For I am
Grey

I am dull
Lifeless
Not even muddy brown
Dares to touch me
Nor puckish grellow
Nor faded puce

I am alone
I am
Grey

I wave at Periwinkle
Its shoulder turns to ice blue

Fire engine red fumes at the sight of
Me

Neon Green dims
At the sound of my voice

So goodbye world of colour
Goodbye world of life
World of High Lighter Yellow
Of Peach and Plum
Goodbye Burgundy
And Magenta

Hello White
Hello Black

Hello Death

I am
Grey

I,ve unclosed
                      (and
                             ­   i
                                  will speak
                                                      slowl­y
                                                               ­    trees

steeply uncrooked breathing 'gainst
the racing moon over the valley bending
swiftly thoughts of ungiant sprigs puckish
in the frailing summers wings

a wig of tender incandescent drops cavort
in silent wetness on petals the)

a cadence of caving murdered light
seamless fluid winsome dusting upon
the unserious lips of night flexing effortlessly
by their touch, and flaccid, upon mine
i am drugged
   of lilywhite tubes; crumbs of hushed love
a draught of limpid steam.    i

laced and foamy the jaw distends

baby, someday you will be dead
you'll needlessly of nothing lustful

              bodyheart or

******* hardly be (notbe, infact)
the loving stupor of thy fragrant zone
or the unchaste familiar kissing *******
not sore, not felt (save for rushing of
wormsdirtroots) not beguilers, food
instead be you'll, baby: crush of soil
or finely whitish powder scattered to
mingle in puckish breezes sweeping
the grass in your onceexquisite piercing
waist(so notdead, baby, i wonder if your
green stem supple might slightly acute
chafed of thorn, baby might like my
hands rushing

                            notwormsdirtroots

unfleece you, and in your livid youthful
hipsspilll them full of
                                            me
                                                    ?

sun;wet,gasping,softly:murdered(petals)
puckish decay bathing blossoms
scarlet fingers dripping sharp pearls

so why then  fear that scythe mErry?
galloping steady precision up over
stark horizons(come to claim your
smooth thought's body). hollow solid
conviction.

it's better this way...) just
take me:        2

Guarding the door,
like a bulbus Heimdall,
a blank pumpkin sits,
internally unhallowed,
without gashed gaping maw,
nor knife-notched nose,
nor eyeslits: triangular and odious.

Its inertia, serendipitous,
not for a moment did it greet
children asking
"Treat-or-Treat?!";
Never a one did it glow for.

Encased within, like
those stringy pumpkin guts,
is the puckish Pagan spirit,
craving bones ablaze in a fire;
Lost Loves manifested as moonlit
flaxen apparitions,
finding them Angelic
(yet unchanged),
easily as a ring
found in barmbrack.

A return to the turnip.

Ambling along ferns
rusted that same shade of pumpkin,
pondering the dead, and where
I long for them to reside now;
Rose, with her heaven,
Ryan, his Valhalla.

To each their Kingdom
of eternal inviolate peace.

from the tiny melody of your hips
sp
    r
         ou
                    t
                           s)
the symphony of your waist licks the air
as each stride bifurcates the clean summer heat
feet snapping a flip-flop symphony. crunch the petals
and drip into my apex. stubbornly beautiful
you are sharp and green. a perfect thorn. towering
precisely with ******* freckled softly with my lips.

                    what divinity smiled this

upon my skin. you.
                                            ;
i drink your breath and taste your heart. exactly.
        the puckish rhythm of your thighs
is pulsing steady and unbearably. nerves all stumbling
electricly tingle to the deft razor of your nails. i       was
       a  
                    m
                    a
                    ­ n.   but now merely,               a

Old one-eyed jack,
old all father
dressed in
****** black,
walking down
a windy path
while Fenris
nibbles on his chains
and the Midgard serpent
goes on searching
the tree of life
for something
like an apple
to sink his fangs
into.

Slipperier than
all his other
trickster friends
Loki
doesn’t make amends
just contends
with puckish trends
acting like a nave,
a slave
to playful
impulses.

And all those
Asier,
Asgardian,
Norsemen,
Reapers
valiant Valkyrie,
well I would concede
gratefully
going to the halls
to drinks some mead
but I am not a warrior
just a very bad bard.

What a beautiful man
a character in muted colors
speaking Shakespeare’s words.
I covet the players coven
a place where such wonders
where made manifest,
where actors did their best
to express in proper parlance
past prose and poetry.

What a fine figure
full of creative vigor
that speaks loudly
marking lines with fierceness
and a slight playful puckish
variety.

What a time to relish
spoken forms
the theater
worn for such
vocal storms
and I am in love
not a ****** decree
but an infatuation
founded upon
the wonderous creativity
of this sweet performer
before me.

In his eight quartet Shostakovich
externalizes his most internal self.
Using his own name
to paint the hellish moodscape of a city disassembled by violence -
    as his own body too
went to war with itself.

That doleful counterpoint of haunting melodies,
lacking all life, vibrato-less,
yet twists into demented dance.
Some demon, puckish, plucking at the strings.
And moves the observer,
uncontrollably,
in time with the music.

Arctic Skuas, fish wives beware,
       steal from birds, without a care
Blackbirds, fond of hedgerows hewn,
           known to whistle occasional tunes
Cuckoos. heralding spring sing loud,
            beware the cuckoo land cloud!
Doves, duck with a divers ease,
            traditionally symbolise beautiful peace
Eagles, immortal, courageous and bold,
            eagle-eyed, with a plumage of gold
Flycatchers, search flies in flight,
            swoop from perches, feeding mid-flight
Geese, possessing little wit,
            occasionally upon golden eggs do sit!
Herons, gangly and vexed,
             also known for having s-shaped necks
Insects, many a good feed,
             airborne fast food, eaten at speed
Jackdaws, inquisitive, kindred of Crow,
             steals through the skies, taking all aglow
Kingfishers, sapphire, red, and green,
             beautiful colours to be seen
Lapwings, loud shrills, and insincere,
             fly with egg-shell attached very near
Magpies, possessing magical mystique,
             sometimes portent of coming times bleak
Nightingales, mythologically Philomel,
             melodious midnight serenades, sang so well
Owls, emblems of Athens past,
              symbolic of wisdoms, of the stars
Partridges, particularly partial to pear trees,
              when braced, huntsmen to please
Quails, eggs delicacies held dear,
              causes Quails to tremble with fear
Robins, red-breasted, (with leaves they cover the dead), not Puckish, but good,
              loved like the folk hero Robin Hood
Starlings, amiable, keen for friendship,
              travel afar on migrational trips
Thrush also Throstle, fluent of tongues,
              mistle-toe food and christmassy songs
Uplands, Utopia for magical Merlins,
               loves high ground, gently unfurling
Vermian, for most birds, a succulent delight,
               eating worms, as part of their diet
Woodpeckers, like climbing trees,
               picking out insects, with utmost ease
X is for extinction, of various birds,
               preventative action, louder than words
Yellowhammers, cursed eggs destroyed,
               taken by men, collecting like boys
Zoos, offering sanctuary for endangered species,
               unfortunately caused by the human disease

Her decisions are petals
of a daisy,
plucked off one

by one. It makes her
crazy. She can’t undo what is
done. These gaps make her sour. Too many

for one little flower. All she can do
is hold onto the remaining ones
and hope that the light

of the sun will be forgiving to
a petulant floret, who remains sore at
the ones who tore at her petals

for their own puckish pleasures.
If all is lost
she’ll stick feathers in

where the petals have been. Each one of them
she’ll splay. Then pack up and fly
away

Robins are Puckish
Eternally red-breasted
Delivering hope

Bury the dead with leaves
Red-breasted Robins in myth
Estranged hero, folk-lore

Are positive sign
Symbolises renewal
Thoughts of lost love, lurks

by Jemia

Amidst the boisterous downpour
We met on a desolated street
Your visage seemed a vague ,grim image
in  the reflection of silvery sprinkle
As the dusky evening cast its shadow and darkened you
The cloudburst chattered and sang in euphony to its ecstasy
It pierced through and clattered between our silent gaze at each other
The silhouette of crimson red evening  sky
Unravelled the blushes n flushes on my face
The row of trees on the street stood drenched, embarrassed and stared at us in amazement
They cast red flowers on the bed of soil
Draping the chestnut soil, bedecking it like a bride, with a red garb
I stood in silence, startled,wondering if it is an illusion
As we drew close, our eyes collided like lightning
The thunderbolts suddenly broke our silence roaring stentoriously
The puckish wind stroked my frizzy hair and strolled around
Us.
The rustle of leaves whispered to us the dawn of spring
Heralding the joy of nature, the song of  love
As I longed to see u more vividly
You suddenly vanished with the incessant shower
Leaving me in extreme anguish and despair.
Was our meeting a fallacy?
Or a reality, or an unfulfilled dream yet to be animated?