"rube" poems
I am nature
I am open and wild and free
I am the wind rushing down canyons and the hollering in banyans
I am a bird that sings
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things
I am civilization.
The trapped, fluorescent lighting in a library basement.
The cake walks and small talks and forced conversation.
I am the beeps and hums and dirt on bums.
I’m the faraway cell phone that rings.
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things.
I am exuberance
A child giggling loud sounds of joy
Puzzle completers and Christmas toys
Smiles and laughs and leaves of grass
The casino machine that dings
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things
I am anger.
Tears, scares, and not fighting fair.
I am the red in your eyes as you cry.
I am a ghoul that comes out in the night.
I am the cut that won’t cease to sting.
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things.
I am ideas
Originality through and through
Creations of my own evolve in my mind
Great sinewy thoughts searching for actions to bind
Mister Cleans and Daedalus wings
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things
I am silence.
Quiet. Tight. Composure.
Open. Weary. Closure.
I am the stillness of being.
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things.*
I am alive
I set Rube Goldberg machines into action
I contemplate, gravitate, and try not to hate
I breathe and I heave and I believe
I use my eyes to see
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things
I am dead.
I’m a sideshow reflection of the man I could be.
I am lazy cold and clammy.
Hopefully I can get my heart beating again.
Then I could be me, molecules upon cells upon bones against things
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 12:05 AM UTC
don't understand me. this is not for you. It's for you.
my Gemini shin splints are pirates. hopeless Romans, romantically dismantling
the things you Undo. the things you You.
I Doctor in your Seuss canal.
with a frontal lobe, more Job
than a postage stamp -
in this Day and Age.
It's grey and rage -
with the tooth torn
out !
Out
through the probable snout
of the next mummified god-king
of our interlocking rot...
our chamber pots
spotting the oft begot good
of our evil
Mummenschanz
we are crepes' rue; yet we roulette best
in Typhoons
from murk
placid.
with 2.8 kids
and damp
matches.
we are
struck in a gale
of flaccid
dumb as a Belle of the Ball
that Squares
a Rube
with an Ism.... from Ix.
sometimes.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 8:38 PM UTC
"The Carnival is Coming to Town"
I've heard the local gossip
I've seen it on the tube
I've heard they want to set up shop
They're looking for a rube
Rolling down the valley road
With their tigers and their clowns
Cloaked in magic's mystery
The carnival is comin' to town
There's a whisper in the moonlight
There's aroma in the air
We've heard about the slight of hand
That plays on love's despair
The tickets for the ferris wheel
That goes 'round and 'round and 'round
Are free to all who rode before
The carnival is comin' to town
We've seen them in the desert
We've seen them by the sea
They're popping up in parking lots
Giving rides for free
They know if they're hear long enough
We'll surely all come 'round
Flags and lights and marching bands
The carnival is comin' to town
They've been 'round here forever
Like spirits in the woods
Hiding in the shadows
Until the the time seems good
For a fee they'll change your world
They'll give you smiles for frowns
Magic rabbits pulled from hats
The carnival is comin' to town
So
Don't you turn your eyes away
The curtain's risng soon
With elephants and dancing bears
A trapeze 'cross the moon
The gypsy girl will read your mind
Will lift you off the ground
Dizzy, dazzling double talk
The carnival is comin'
The carnival is comin'
Yes
The carnival is a' comin' to town
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 10:19 AM UTC
the motherships are
hovering overhead
& to the east,
apollo breathes fire
past the ****** off incisors, like
'try &
catch me now'
now,
or never.
to my west I felt nothing
but the most
uncomfortable comfort.
it's just.
too.
much.
becoming barefooted
clouds of dust I run
to the godlight
& in time I find I
also become
disenchanted.
& I'm just freeezing
& my feet are filthy & bleeding
but
anything for that rush
tell me somethin brother
do ya cluster with the others?
are you some
undiscovered color
in the monochrome gutter?
are you sixsixsix seven
aren't you *** & heaven
dost thou seek
the foul
or the feather'ds;
brother of blood
& sweat,
is thou the sheep
or the shepherd?
wolfman.
we want the teeth.
to the tooth, troopers.
how rude;
I can see right thru
that wool suit
all too true to the stupor,
stupid.
don't you know I know you,
don't you.
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 8:52 AM UTC
Beware the bottled thoughts of angry young men
Secret compartments hide all their skeletons
Little girl wants to make her home with him
In the middle of the shore, she wonders
"Don't know what you asked for."
"Don't know what you asked for."
All young lovers know why
Nightmares blind their mind's eye
Your rube is young and handsome
So new to your bedroom floor
You know **** well where you'll go
I've loved so many times and I've drowned them all
From their coral graves, they rise up when darkness falls
With their bones they'll scratch the window, I hear them call
"Don't know what you asked for."
"Don't know what you asked for."
Stay with me under these waves, tonight
Be free for once in your life tonight
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 11:55 PM UTC
Our existence is just an overly elaborate Rube Goldberg machine
Apr 25, 2015
Apr 25, 2015 at 8:06 PM UTC
*Let SPAM reign supreme
Same as all mediocrities
Hello Poetry*
*Let lame egos win
Peacocks, fops, vacuous thoughts
Hello Poetry*
*Let psychopaths shine
Make all the peacocks *******
Satan ruling hell*
*Hello Poetry
Tireless self promoters
Hoarders of nothing*
*Let the clueless gawk
At the boneyard of Peacocks
Feather blatherings*
*Hello Poetry
******* all life out of it
Allowing lame writers*
*Wolf Spirit blows hard
Clueless rube awful Pontiff
Hello Poetry*
*Stars shining in void
If ever there was lameness
Hello Poetry*
Aug 13, 2015
Aug 13, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
Hollow is the rube . . .
To be bereft of one's soul,
. . . What a pure mindfuck.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 2:16 AM UTC
the farmgirl with the green flecks in her anime eyes
is snoozing in her van. it's afternoon and she's lost her ruby slippers. she knows not where.
she charms the water fleas with her clean teeth.
she gropes through the ampules of her ample ***** where her heart is like a fox and hound.
in a glass forest. the otherwise, warm porridge is the cruel gruel of her next poem.
she gnaws on the nape of her next unborn. the naked rube of her snipe hunt
on a night with no moon.
she doesn't mind either.
her kites fly, un-flummoxed in the effulgent. unchained in the Quixote of our windmills. distilled
by charcoal fences. a net of screens, nimbly deployed across the hinterlands
of our possibilities.
now " who could that be ? "
agnes is calling and i know she just wants her computer fixed.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 11:57 PM UTC
The army brat has come back
He whistles a whirling tune
And speaks of charms and amulets
He gambles and always wins somehow
You can now tell he's feeling free
Hiding behind witty sarcasm
He couldn't care less
Let's agree to disagree
And understand that we have a misunderstanding
The ornament doesn't care much about her appearance
Just about her performance on the playing field
She rides her boards goofy-footed
Always making plans with Mary Jane
Building Rube Goldberg Machines
Cleaning up after Pavlov's dogs
Let's agree to disagree
And understand that we have a misunderstanding
They can't get out of their own way
Brushed hair, combed teeth with two different shoes on
Suffering from ADD
But demand perfection
Refuse to bend or break
Don't let them latch on and bring you down with them
Let's agree to disagree
And understand that we have a misunderstanding
We're flip-flop-waffle-minded people
Who can't make heads or tails of signs and labels
Who are aware of the bad blood between some
Unintentionally manipulating and deceiving one another
We're on the third pitch, let's not miss it
But even if we do, we look good doing it in style
When we make exclusive appearances
Let's agree to disagree
And understand that we have a misunderstanding
-Tommy Johnson
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC
I will kiss new days with the same wonder I always have
I'll just be doing it before I brush my teeth
There is no one left to impress with minty fresh breath
Sometimes when I forget hand lotion
I run my fingers through blades of grass
I rube the dew into my pores
Long blades of grass smell better than short blades of grass
That's why I never like mowing the lawn when I was little
When a baby cries an angel gets their wings
When little kids laugh our cat runs and hides
When I blow bubbles little kids laugh
My cat is very good at hiding
My mom thinks I listen to my headphones too loud
I think if I blow my ear drums listening to rock music
Then I'll never have to hear anyone say good bye again
That doesn't sound bad at all
I will stare in the mirror with the same discomfort as always
Only this time it will be after my shower
I still have someone out there to impress with my unassuming good looks
I don't always get dressed
But when I do
I prefer to wear clothes
I don't always wear clothes
But when I do
I prefer clean clothes
My iron broke
It takes a village to raise a child
It takes a city to raise a Gaga
It takes time to heal
It takes a clock to see that time
It takes a man to build a clock
Therefore it takes a village to tell the time
I wash my sheets every time I cry
I am very sad about you leaving
But I'm out of Tide
And I can't afford another bottle
I'll cry on pay day
It's just not in my budget to cry today
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 3:51 AM UTC
I’ve dreamed I was falling asleep
And shaking myself to keep awake.
There’s only so much weirdness
And crap a poor dreamer can take.
It was all involved with friends you see
That I don’t see now, because they
Were stranger than my dreams
Or maybe I was. Back in the day.
I would be partying with them
And walking remembered streets
But I’d look around and everybody
Found other people to go meet.
Then suddenly the Hollywood
I knew and loved for twenty years
Became Kansas City boulevards
And Hollywood totally disappears.
Or maybe I’m coming home
At the end of a tiring long day
And look around, find myself
Saying, no way. No effing way;
This is not my apartment!
It’s fine, I kind of like the place
But someone is pulling a joke
The housekeeping is a disgrace.
Then someone would come in
Who I was supposed to know
And this chick is my roommate?
Oh, no. This woman has got to go.
But before I can get my head
Wrapped around standing up
My family is there too, cooking
Handing me a steaming hot cup.
Well,, now I can’t offend them
So, I sit my *** back down.
I don’t want to seem ungrateful
Like some unfunny kind of clown.
****** I leave to go for a walk
Thinking I am in Tucson but then
This is the Country Club Plaza
And I’m back in Kansas City again.
One time I was building something,
Under an expensive sort of contract
But none of the sub-contractors
Or the assistants knew how to act.
They were putting the thing together
Like a Rube Goldberg machine.
I was going ballistic on them all;
The ugliest thing I had ever seen.
These are the dreamworlds for me
On a regular, but often bizarre basis.
Streets change while walking
And people I know change their faces.
Or I am tasked to do something
Involving technology or looming mass
I end up getting no help at all
And wind up falling right on my ***
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 3:53 AM UTC
Little dull birdies . . .
Love own songs by mirror pond,
. . . Graceful swan sails by.
Hello Poetry . . .
Rube lords with simple vainness,
Watch him crown himself.
Hello Poetry . . .
Day sullies night, bright vanity
. . . Rube is a poser.
Hello poetry . . .
Even vain rube's bio drains,
Spews self promotion.
Here is Pantheon . . .
Dabblers, self aggrandizers,
. . . What a hollow hall.
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 1:08 AM UTC
june is a fist of botched odds
plodding along... a rube of wise fools
cumbersome.
the long frost of a brief dim
witness to a harm gone
ambergris.
you seem less full.
an entire galaxy of wane suns
lonesome.
it's your mask: my masquerade rules
under some malignant
lush fog
and asked for this.
Nov 17, 2011
Nov 17, 2011 at 8:31 PM UTC
Little dull birdies . . .
Love own songs by mirror pond,
. . . Graceful swan sails by.
Hello Poetry . . .
Rube lords with simple vainness,
Watch him crown himself.
Hello Poetry . . .
Day sullies night, bright vanity
. . . Rube is a poser.
Hello poetry . . .
Even vain rube's bio drains,
Spews self promotion.
Here is Pantheon . . .
Dabblers, self aggrandizers,
. . . What a hollow hall.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 11:06 PM UTC
a quatrain is not a tomb. it's an altar of cellulose and low merchants chanting.
we sell the individual curses of our seldom mirth. songs sting as they must -
for they must not ! if they will not hurt...
if they will not be beautiful, for the asking.
a poesy is a feast.
a revenant of our choosing, unless you had no choice.
i am the receptacle of This voice; and solve ridicule with ranting,
just because.
i fuzzy the logic to inspire the haggard hopes of our refrain; unrestrained.
remaining on vigil,
i mark the stars passing in a waking slumber -
with a fool's mask. and a talent's masking.
i am the urge.
how my mind works is my heart's domain. a wrench in the parsley we hardly; i daily.
i parsnip the rube barbs of a bards assemblage. i revisit Atlantis. Polaroid pics -
with graining. with irony
i photo
shop.
a quatrain is not a tomb, but a rarity,
as we say new the old things
that make us
we.
for i, for one
am one.
i continue
from no sum
and eventually
add up
to something
because -
why not ?
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 10:16 AM UTC
Sometimes Silence is a Lie.
it drains the lake, it does... it siphons the symphonies.
it bleaks the speech, unbridled
from a long mute, to a mutiny. the mute in me ~
would rather, but we'd rather knot.
null reprisals, highly prize super nova
in the Scotia of our scathing
plight.
no other might. but...
we'll do what the light won't
in the dark night.
we'll trouble the cube. each of us, the rube
in tomorrow's ****
the Thumb
in the oyster of an ill quiet
where the Lord of Prayers
Errs the attempt
to split Heirs.
We inherit the wind
and a breeze.
And a breeze will ****
a Windmill
straight fair.
but not for the lack of peace.
but the fog of war.
at the very least.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 1:48 AM UTC
One
Moment
In one day
Can change it all
Even if it's small
Just one thing is set off
A chain reaction begins
And everything falls into place
Like a giant Rube Goldberg machine
And the final result is a new life
Oct 10, 2010
Oct 10, 2010 at 3:28 PM UTC
Little dull birdies . . .
Love own songs by mirror pond,
. . . Graceful swan sails by.
Hello Poetry . . .
Dawn lords with simple vainness,
Watch her crown herself.
Hello Poetry . . .
Day sullies night, bright vanity
. . . Dawn is a poser.
Hello poetry . . .
Even vain rube's bio drains,
Spews self promotion.
Here is Pantheon . . .
Dabblers, self aggrandizers,
. . . What a hollow hall.
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
Oh eager member,
how you make a mess of things,
turning long hugs into lawsuits,
adding inches of distance
between closer moments.
You make getting up to leave
a dance between the couch and door.
Stealing what I’m sure is precious blood
flow from my brain, you grow without
regards to your destination. I’ll call you
rube, scrub, and newbie, ****** *****
because you can make a mess
of even holding hands,
but most often,
just my pants.
Sincerely,
What should be blushing cheeks.
May 15, 2011
May 15, 2011 at 5:38 PM UTC
How many miles left?
Can my tires make it, or have they corded out already?
Am I driving on rims?
Move, please I beg of you, get me there. Take me back where I was when I felt something other than this hollow emptiness that now echoes my marbled halls.
You sputter with one last puff of black smoke. I rest my head on the steering wheel, realizing this Rube Goldberg device stopped working long ago.
I don't care to lift the hood and diagnosis the issue, finding a remedy for your fluctuation.
So I'll just leave you here, with a white t-shirt in the window, but I'm not coming back.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC
when all the bells have toppled silence and on the breeze rides a summer of stammering stunnery the likes of the color blue on stilts
snagged in the sun’s corona.
like a fish on a hook of sunshine, thought he saw a worm of real life
but got caught in the vaporous torrent of his weakness.
savoring the dawn like a mushroom mottled in fresh dew
twinkling in the circus of fecundity where the thrum of glory
spoils the view of a curmudgeon and marches on into destiny’s *****
in the clutches of our habits and rabidly
living the dream that’s killing us.
how real can it get?
and is that real enough?
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 1:23 AM UTC
Dear old lover,
You send me all these signs to remind me that you’re around.
You come again and again to **** me over in your bed of lies,
You give me cracked porcelain and glass expectations for me to mend with gold.
But you’re a topaz among yellow diamonds, a ******* rube.
But you’re Splenda, ******* Stevia.
You’re overpriced, second hand Ikea,
I’d push you into a swimming pool to ruin your silk tie.
Your hands white from the bleach and peroxide, and collar yellow from nervous sweats.
Yeah, you’ve got a library; dictionaries of medicine and candy sweet science,
but you must have burned everything on doing a person right.
You’re a double entendre pain-in-my-fucking-ass with a Ken doll grin.
Give Mr. Freeze his heart, and buy your soul back from the devil.
As filthy as it is, you could do with a little in your life.
Dear former friend,
I want you like a salad of poison ivy,
I need you like I need a nap, and I’m the designated driver.
You’re chopped liver, and your humors are out of whack,
The crown you wear is turning your forehead green and doesn’t fit quite right.
I’m the beast and you’re the burden
You’re the straw and this camel is kicking you off
at last chance, last call, last stop Nowhereville
You bathe in the bubbles of champagne dreams and silver fantasies,
But I’m the cup of ambrosia gods long for, and you lost me.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 10:09 PM UTC
Little dull birdies . . .
Love own songs by mirror pond,
. . . Graceful swan sails by.
Hello Poetry . . .
Dawn lords with simple vainness,
Watch her crown herself.
Hello Poetry . . .
Day sullies night, bright vanity
. . . Dawn is a poser.
Hello poetry . . .
Even vain rube's bio drains,
Spews self promotion.
Here is Pantheon . . .
Dabblers, self aggrandizers,
. . . What a hollow hall.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 5:31 AM UTC