"rowdies" poems
In this trouble torn. Grief stricken world
Only music embalm my aching soul
When corruption and bribery are the order of the day
Goons and rowdies show me the real way
Even the judges succumb to dishonesty
Morals and ethics have lost their identity
The veena, the flute, the clarinet, the drums
And the guitar make a soothing effect to my ears
When there is incredible symphony
The distinction between East
And west is totally lost
Only peace and harmony forever last
Music is more intoxicating than vine
It is undoubtedly divine
There is music in the blowing wind,
Flowing stream, chirping of birds,
The hissing of snakes,
The bleating of a goat
And the beating of a heart
And the passing of blood to each human part
But understanding the synchronization is a difficult art
Jun 22, 2012
Jun 22, 2012 at 10:59 PM UTC
since I last
rode a bus,
no, poems aplenty
have poured and dripped
from ink-saturated fingers,
here there and everywhere,
disguised by many a nom de guerre
the bus riding infrequently,
as work no longer demands me,
I ride for the occasional occasion, when legs won’t
carry me the far away distances
they say violence in the city
is random, and just seems worse,
seemingly a newspaper creation,
but I know better, and random violence &
poetry inspiration do not walk or talk
hand in hand, not for the hands that write…
in every crack, lamppost,
festooned
with flyers for concerts years ago,
poems reached out to me, write, right?
I too am papered with memories of long-ago
city travels, picking up scenes & dreams
that became poems, instantaneously, scrambling,
to get home with them retained, untainted,
preserved with the freshness of city smells,
city swells, homeless, rowdies & oldies shuffling,
the interwoven of disparate desperate humans,
fodder once and now for Walt Whitman’s leaves,
each distinct needy for something else,
but for me,
just one city big view, a Cloister’s museum tapestry,
remade, rewoven anew every moment of every day
and a poem-rough tumbles from
without
&
within
,
Oct 24, 2023
Oct 24, 2023 at 8:55 AM UTC
Holding hands with the sun
and all of these infant flames that
I love.
But don't let me wander off and wonder why we're all the same.
With an opening of the eyes of the child inside
our conscience will go where we fear the most.
Yet stuttering none but shouting loud,
a rowdy multi-colored crowd,
we sing, we dance and romp around.
With love we hug this newfound sound.
And play we may, but fun we must,
for yesterday's tomorrow is time for us.
Nov 16, 2011
Nov 16, 2011 at 5:58 PM UTC
1. MISSISSIPPI II
Keesler Air Force Base
Sergeant will **** you
Crocodile got to eat
2. SAN FRANCISCO QUAKER
Not a bad place un-
til looters step on
the bookshelf that fell on you
3. L.A.
The real ***** Holly-
wood is just the pump
shooting sin into it's vein
4. WYOMING
Don't sit on the yell-
ow stone. That's where the bears
went after picnicking.
5. VERMONT
Red necked wooden
Boys always looking for
a fight from a Yankee
6. NEW HAMPSHIRE
Charlie and Kathy
are from here. They're nice to
know if you can find them
7. MASSACHUSETTS
The prettiest girls live
in Boston. They have mouths.
Some worse than truck drivers.
8. RHODE ISLAND
Such a little place
to cozy up to the
over crowded rowdies.
9. NEW YORK SHUFFLE ?
Buffalo girl moved too
Saratoga Falls. Hasn't
Had a dance since last fall.
10. HONEYMOONER FELL-ER
Took my girl to Niagra
Falls took my ******
Maybe next time
11. DELAWARE
Overcrowded racetrack
Casino lots of
swampy grass derelicts.
12. MARYLAND
Ain't no place to
Stop off 95
For this' lilly white man
13. VIRGINIA
Had them Japanese
people eating fish.
Didn't know it was lunchtime.
14. WASHINGTON STATE
All that rain and snow
Can never compete
With it's powerful blowholes
15. OHIO
OH HIGH OH
OHIOH
OHIO
16. ILLINOISE
Birthplace of Lincoln
and Chicagoland
Nothing much else but farmland
17. ASSISTANCE?
I wanted to help
the homeless so I fed
them government nonsense
18. INDIANA
Same old flatland lit
up at night Lincoln's
Hiway taking in the sights
19. WINDS OF CHANGE
Big bad wolf tried
to knock down my house of hay
today.. I knew he blew.
20. COYOTE TRIED
Leader scolded me at five
Better off dead
Amen coyote cried
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC
Clear the busy crowds away
They are too many
Sweep them aside
I cannot see
Bring down the shutters
Ring the last-orders’ bell
Drive the late-night rowdies home
Let me seek
Pack away the houses
Roll the rainy pavements up
Put the cars to bed
They do not matter:
Somewhere
In a sleepy town
From a restless dream
She starts awake and thinks of me
Jan 16, 2013
Jan 16, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC
birthdays,
like hooligan dogs,
racing back and forth
in the alley,
can be distractions
from life lived as
thoughtful poetry.
but unlike those hooligan dogs,
we can recognize days,
nights, as parts,
not broken pieces,
summing into this annual rite,
thus the moment can be yanked back
from those rowdies in the alley.
we can be subservient to the
pleasure of the moment.
food and wine, those rightful,
ritual signifiers
of “time after time,”
add poetry back to life,
leaving the crazed dogs unaware,
delinquents behind the fence.
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 10:24 AM UTC