"satyrs" poems
#*Your hair stills heart's rhythmic meter
For this I wish forever
Strands spun with goddess gossamer;
softer than touch of mother
Your eyes dazzle with no glitter
For this I stare o're yonder
Locking jewels with coins of others;
Leaves throbbing chests emptier
Your form flows as gentle rivers
For this I grudge past swimmers
Glory bequeathed to the winner;
drown will the losing suitors
Your voice humbles angel choirs
For this I listen eager
Songs molding seraphs from satyrs;
in harmony with nature
Your being stirs wildfire
For this I bear the pleasure
Ethereal flames dance together;
fueled by spiritual tethers
You are my love light of summer
For this I waded winter
Glowing 'bove, spring was made greener;
blooming nascent desire*#
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 5:29 PM UTC
III
Slim adolescence that a nymph has stripped,
Peleus on Thetis stares.
Her limbs are delicate as an eyelid,
Love has blinded him with tears;
But Thetis' belly listens.
Down the mountain walls
From where pan's cavern is
Intolerable music falls.
Foul goat-head, brutal arm appear,
Belly, shoulder, ***
Flash fishlike; nymphs and satyrs
Copulate in the foam.
7.4k
lovers are burning.] balsamic ****** gallops from shame
into the overwild wetness of labial volcanoes, caramelized in musk. by love's labor.
laid bare, their bodies origami inhibition...[ lovers are burning. ]
and surrender is victorious !
Eros is speechless. maidens howl into cumulus goose-down, chewing carnal haikus
with swayed backs.... hips wide and wanton. masculine wands plow oyster beds, unmade.
they joust pearls... and [ lovers are burning ]
.... a damp conflagration; tongue stoked and windswept, conspires.
monotony is slain !
puritan harps are plucked and thrummed ! lewd harmonies anoint the perfect pitch
and a chorus moans. the ghost of sylvia plath, straddles Apollo; and he earns his wreath
surging besotted. [ lovers are burning ] and laurels forgotten.
lotharios charge the seldom road; the starfish door to Saturn's parlor.
pumping unbridled, that glistening, cloven moon. her riding crop insists !
his urgency must do.
satyrs sup salaciously and summon staves to dip in brine. they grin and grind
their sutras, stripping karma gears with silk scarves. ankles to a post, well spread...
cushions crush. flowers press... stamen fed.
nymphs clutch their serpent stones
to drain what nectar slips the slit. they ***** and throat.
they peck and pinch their quivers; knock their arrows to the purpose, half spent.
[ lovers are burning ]
eyes ablaze. nostrils fetch randy fumes of consent. mouths seek.
a pouty swamp with Spanish moss.... finds a matador
and a bull, a china shop.
lovers are burning the rough sketch of a lost god
and their angels are voyeurs
with unclean thoughts
for gospels.
Aug 20, 2013
Aug 20, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
Oizys, son
From behind the leaves, I saw you, trembling
In your presence, your power strengthening
In the empty, midnight parking lot
While the street lights hummed
And moths danced around your illuminated frame
You turned slowly, onyx eyes of shame
And dirtied bare feet, male hair long and white
The street lights flickered when you blinked and cried bitterly
And I saw, for my first time, the eyes of Misery
Achyls, daughter
You were in an empty field
No premonitions did you wield
An ancient silo in the distance
Leaning over a chasm black lamb
Dark skinned, dressed in black robes
With tribal painted face
Digging earthen fingers into its black lace
When you looked up, I saw your cloudy eyes
Churning of a storm, cataract yet wise
Your lamb had absent vapored eyeballs
The Mist of Death made my skin crawl
Hypnos, son
Secluded in a cave by the sea
A silent, empty place to be
While gray waves crash into jetties
The clouds gather in the distance
Poppies at the mouth changing time in an instance
I go in your palace and rub my cold skin
For pulsing blue glows from deeper within
You, a lanky youth, with thick brown hair and heavy eyes
Sit there with a paper mask
Illuminated by the penetrating glow
In the center, surrounded by whale bones
Humming a song I remember fondly
You trapped me in your Dreams, singing lullabies softly
Eris, daughter
Violates a bedroom with utmost hate
There are paintings of kings and statues of satyrs
Pillows of silk and animals on the walls
Usurping the gold clawed palace
Silent but kicking and throwing with malice
With black skin covered in a chalky white substance
I peek through the crack in the mansion’s door
Lips formed in a silent shout, you notice my presence
Naked and bruised and plagued with no voice
Suddenly stops and lays against a ****** wall
Through your electric black hair
And fiery red stare
I witness a Child of Spite
Woman of Strife
Nyx, mother
I am a crawling shadow of trees
And wicked heart of night
I am the wax on the cold leaves
And the glow of the moon’s light
Apr 30, 2011
Apr 30, 2011 at 7:24 PM UTC
*I love standing
at the top largest hill of
Camp Half-Blood. Watching the
greens as the nymph wood dance in the hum of nature. Satyrs seasoning the forest with their magic recipe. I should spend more time, admiring the beauty of the wilds. For ere long, the border won't last long. Barbaric creatures will start to crawl. Demigods will fight, and I'll be there, holding a papyrus like a playwright.*
(a.k)
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 12:36 AM UTC
I
O goat-foot God of Arcady!
This modern world is grey and old,
And what remains to us of thee?
No more the shepherd lads in glee
Throw apples at thy wattled fold,
O goat-foot God of Arcady!
Nor through the laurels can one see
Thy soft brown limbs, thy beard of gold,
And what remains to us of thee?
And dull and dead our Thames would be,
For here the winds are chill and cold,
O goat-foot God of Arcady!
Then keep the tomb of Helice,
Thine olive-woods, thy vine-clad wold,
And what remains to us of thee?
Though many an unsung elegy
Sleeps in the reeds our rivers hold,
O goat-foot God of Arcady!
Ah, what remains to us of thee?
II
Ah, leave the hills of Arcady,
Thy satyrs and their wanton play,
This modern world hath need of thee.
No nymph or Faun indeed have we,
For Faun and nymph are old and grey,
Ah, leave the hills of Arcady!
This is the land where liberty
Lit grave-browed Milton on his way,
This modern world hath need of thee!
A land of ancient chivalry
Where gentle Sidney saw the day,
Ah, leave the hills of Arcady!
This fierce sea-lion of the sea,
This England lacks some stronger lay,
This modern world hath need of thee!
Then blow some trumpet loud and free,
And give thine oaten pipe away,
Ah, leave the hills of Arcady!
This modern world hath need of thee!
2.5k
All the bones at the bottoms of the rivers
Piling up under the bridges
All of the grief and lonely shivers
Washing out from the land to the seas
All of the mothers and sons in their caskets
For father’s ammo and daughter’s lies
All the babies placed in rivers in baskets
With hopes for their futures and tears in their eyes
The suffering fools can’t be accountable
Their fates stand on the edge of a knife
The suffering fools won’t be available
They don’t last long in the world of lies
I suffer the fools not gladly, but solemnly
It breaks my heart that I’m not on their side
I’m suffering fools and I can’t be responsible
I’ve had to suffer fools all of my life
From the desert of the mediocre, aggressive and arrogant
An oasis of sincerity is what I have sought
All this time I’ve put up with ignorance
to deny my merely rational thoughts
Each of the myths that was meant to save us
A foundation of sorrow and hopeless consent
What can be done with satyrs and saviours
By now no one knows what they really meant
The suffering fools can’t be accountable
Refusing to give, but eager to take
The suffering fools won’t be available
And decline to shift even for their own sake
I suffer the fools not gladly, but shamefully
It breaks my heart to know what’s at stake
I’m suffering fools and I know it’s disgraceful
But I’ve suffered all the fools that I can take
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 1:27 PM UTC
To sit upon this wooden chair
Before this plain white wall,
May seem, to you, to be quite odd
To me it does enthrall.
I take in all the vacant space
And let my eyes caress
The symmetry and peacefulness
…And I really must confess,
The nothingness before me
Draws me in, in such a way
As I wrap myself in plain, white wall
… my mind begins to play
From that tiny smudge of blue emerge
Kaleidescopes of clay
Which carouse across the vacant space
In a most artistic way,
In small concentric circles
In a patterned, frenzied style
They fill the background with mosaic
Of a gold and reddish tile,
With rooster tails of livid green
And dancing through the scene,
A spangled hand of aqua blue
Paints off a sequined theme.,
Some dancing naked maidens
Cavort pinkly in the pool
And a flight of silver satyrs
Scamper in and act the fool.
The roaring sound of raindrops,
The rush of welling tears,
There’s the thrill of my involvement
…and then “Ping” It disappears!
My plain white wall’s in front of me,
I’m sitting on that stool.
I sneak a peak, to check and see,
If someone’s being cruel.
My sister caught me out one day,
She roared with earthy glee
And pointed her fat finger
That girl made fun of me.
It’s really a small price to pay
To be a strange oddball.
I’d rather suffer this than leave
To watch ANOTHER wall.
I sit upon this wooden chair
Before this plain white wall,
May seem, to you, to be quite odd
To me it does enthrall…..
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
24 January 2008
Oct 20, 2009
Oct 20, 2009 at 8:43 PM UTC
PREAMBLE
*in the future
we’ll all be perfect
and there’ll be peace forever
and no one will have to complain ever
cos we’ll know
every part of body and brain and mind
and we’ll have them all fixed wherever*
1
in the future
people will not say 'Ouch!'
they will say 'Yum!'
cos we’ll have fixed
the part in the brain
where they feel pain
and it’ll all be pleasure
but the skin point
or tissue point
would all have implants
for auto-repair
2
in the future
people need not go to school
cos we’ll have enough good drugs
to fix their brains
and diamond points in their folds
for life-long
updates and upgrades;
and those Outdates
we'll slow humane-terminate
3
in the future
people will never feel negative
or down
cos we’ll know where it comes from
and flood it with the juices
from the smiley area
cos we’ll know where they come from too
and we can control brain droughts and mind floods
4
in the future
women will not carry babies
nor men either;
so couples can have ***
each strong in desire
and like satyrs in performance
and all no condoms either
and they’ll never conceive
cos we’ll have all the combinations ever
in frozen silos
that we’ll make copulate in infinite
possibilities and impossibilities
5
we’ll still have nations though
cos the Leaders will be able to choose
what brains they want their citizens to have
and all engineered
in the Nation Babies Pods where all babies will come from
so that we will still have
China Mind, America Mind, Poland Mind,
India Mind, Japanese Mind, Dutch Mind,
Polynesia Mind, Utopia Mind, Ideal Mind,
Reptile Mind, God Mind
and so on…
so really you needn't worry;
you'll still have personality
*so really
in the future
we’ll all be perfect
and there’ll be peace forever
and no one will have to complain ever*
Oct 24, 2010
Oct 24, 2010 at 2:44 AM UTC
like some jealous future self,
my writer's clock balks at this moment with you,
i can't explain, so i give up listening. (i have an app for that)
the writing only stops as degustation ends ~
thank you, though ~ i'd like you to hear
regardless of the meanings lent ~
the gymnolexical fear
appearing ornamental far and near.
google files us away, omniscient
acumen of o's and ones ~
words sing to me their luring promise of a lasting hold,
but less and less
as plastic griming fingers sync
with what it seems to be,
a new world search-
-engine culling info freely
do i still believe in order?
striving for the fitted words,
a love imprinted input thus on crystal pixel page,
your effect on me distilled--
refracted throng associational
fantastic server metacomfort
for an audience
swimming past into this,
now always
ever-new you appear, bursting
at the seams my vision churning
...effluent sourcing, blurry self of others ~
heart-charming river-nymphs!
bolt-hurling sky-satyrs! reeling nations are subtended by your words
that walk, trod, swim across what poetry,
dance with this ever-blooming techne-earth
as i mark your plasmic eyes
we flow and let flow,
we dance our farmer's mud
into the beryl-winding paths
of othernets and cyberplay,
the restful ends reborn bright white
lacing lattice-scopic fibrous
scatters of another wi-fi interlife ~
we stream and let stream,
river-tress girl, your eyes summon
a great coalescence in me,
we dance into the channeled
delta of spring beauty here across the keyboard;
it cascades a slow attentive phosphene
striking pointed notes of color,
ring beneath and through the
green, sylvan silicon throw of mossy html
so that even rocks and sprawling
tree-trunks sing within the disembodied
vortexes of arrowed imagery to browse
my virtual belongings to you,
alone in your sorrow-joy fighting
free love in an all-world-breath
before the screen
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 11:40 PM UTC
Xenophiles see it all the time.
The transubstantiation of matter
causing hysteria among every culture.
One alchemical shift from lead to gold
and you have empaths weeping over asps,
telekinetics dropping things on fairy's heads.
A tiny fusion of atoms and the next thing you know
satyrs are dancing with dingos, sphinxes are doing the two step.
Who knows what the next time/space shift is going to bring?
Sigh...........makes for a long day at work. Ya know?
Oct 27, 2011
Oct 27, 2011 at 8:49 PM UTC
Oh, just one glass, can't hurt
Complex decision made.
A fermented drink to suit my mind
Red for blood
Bacchanalian ecstasies
Dionysian depravity
Ritual madness and ecstasy
A fermented grape
A fervered mind
Freedom, intoxication, liberty
The cult of souls to those who know Dionysis
The dead are fed blood by his maenads
Vampire women
Maenads a nymph, immortal goddesses of natural manifestations;
Maenads the extremes of pleasurable emotions and actions:
*** rage, inebriation, frenzy, and dance, original Manson women
He the bull, the ivy, the serpent surrounded by Satyrs
Sated, Satyrs offer another glass of wine;
Oh, go on, one more glass can't hurt.
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 9:30 AM UTC
To see the world through fairie lens,
The scrying pool, the artist's pen,
To live in such a wond'rous world
Will feed the lover's soul, unfurled,
Will free the heart to catch the moon
Will start romantic hearts to swoon.
So Percy, young and free at heart,
Who from his love was torn apart,
Walked the woods in shadowy gloom
Proclaiming death of love, and doom,
When stepped he into fairy ring
And heard the satyrs ***** sing.
He watched the dryads flow'ry dance.
He saw the fairie happ'ly prance.
And in the midst of this he met
A vision out of Heaven sent
In form of twinkling, thoughtful eyes
And skin as clouds that grace the skies,
Skin much softer than the wind, and smooth
As stone that's by the water, grooved.
By magic fire a dance began.
By this spell, lost was the young man.
With eyes the color of the sea,
Began to court the fairy sweet,
Did Percy, past his other love.
By one touch from enchanted glove
Worn on hand of Percy's goddess
His heart did swoon and heave his chest.
That night the pair was lost in song
And Percy laughed and loved 'ere long.
At light of dawn the blue eyed youth
Received a kiss that spoke of truth
From elven maid, enchanted.
By the sun the fairie panted,
Shrinking from the light of morning,
And vanished fast, without warning.
Percy, in the wake of magic
Was abandoned. Feeling tragic
He lay prostrate upon the hill.
As days did pass he lay quite still
And slowly, overcome by woe,
He begged the Earth, upon him, grow
And take his weight, his sky blue eyes
And help his tortured soul to die.
Upon the spot where once he lay,
So aided by the sun and rain
Did grow a pair of flowers, blue.
The Earth had taken up the youth.
When one year passed, on Eve of Saints
They Fey returned, with colored paints.
The girl who danced with Percy, young,
When all the singing had begun
Did find blue petals, growing strong
And wove them in her hair, so long.
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 9:16 PM UTC
i think i often represent the butterfly i so often speak of
frail and weak in every step- my plain brown wings are just like the papery disgusting skin i want so badly to break out of, revealing my clearwinged beauty. but i've adapted to this form- i've changed. who cares for being disgusting- better to simply scare away the predators with my big nose and buggy eyes. who cares for being unloved- i do, for solitide is survival in this concrete jungle.
but i know better.
i am no graceful, gentle butterfly. satyrs are still lovely, despite being different, and i am not lovely. i know that these white wings cannot and will not be silenced. the beating drum behind me says otherwise. i am not butterfly. i am a falcon, and i do not dare hide behind a mask of a face. no-
i fight and claw my way out of it.
Oct 22, 2018
Oct 22, 2018 at 12:45 PM UTC
Walking in the woods, I fell
Down into a knothole that lead
To another realm, unlike our own
‘Twas a wondrous realm like a twilit dream
Where the dazzling sky at night engulfed all
And satyrs who were young like me
Beckoned me to their sordid ******
Fountains of wine poured into streams,
And wood nymphs danced and bathed in falls
Deliciously drunken and sweet, calling me
To pick their flowers.
We caroused and we aroused
As we fired our slingshots into the sky
And watched the night shimmer with the
Comets we launched up and away.
I fired mine, foolishly unaware
That my target was the moon so full
I shattered my joy to pieces
And brought this realm to darkness
The satyrs howled in fear
The wood nymphs withered away
The fountains of wine turned into blood
And I was left drowningl
Until a glorious golden hand
Went from the moon’s place to
Shield me, carry me back to reality.
I awoke in a sweat and a shiver
'Twas always night in the Satyr’s Garden
Be it drenched with stars and ecstasy,
'Twas night, and night to remain.
Mar 4, 2010
Mar 4, 2010 at 10:30 AM UTC
twenteesventh.
you write of dismembered leaves,
enhaloed lust(wtf)
pains too sweet because they’re youthfully incomplete,
using incontrovertible idiocies like
dry rain droplets shining like sunlight,
edible goodbye cheerios,
edible didactics, teaching “frosted flakys”
poetic methadone methodology,
poems hats with rhyming lyrics
that taste like that burnt eyelids colored
a blood stained mustard yellow, (yum),
beyond burger veggie based satyrs,
the happy gladness of sadness,
reversible rivers flowing heavenwards,
***** ******* you want an
infernal cataclysm...
really?
dechambered hearts, ventricular mysteries,
brains wearing wooly sport jacket helmets
and other Olsonian beauties,
like I write with succinct passion,
me, who gets eaten alive by buggers saying
“too long,” “too long,” “needed a mid-poem napt”
non-lexical non-commonsensical ecumenical hysterical
chemical verbal reactionaries
and then you wonder why
PEOPLE ******* HATE POETRY?
jes kiddin’ a leetle
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 3:48 PM UTC
Moments fly and phrases die
Like thistledown in breeze,
Creativeness evades
The minds capacity to seize.
Shadows of vast portraiture
Do beckon from within
Just to dissipate like gossamer
When almost penciled in.
Sequences of magnitude
Dissolve upon the lips
And laughter’s spontaneity dies
As vapoured humour slips.
To fancy pearls of rapture
Emanating from the brain
Would tax ones capacity
To ever fantasize for fame.
Frustrations of the frantic day
Those rushing points of call
Where interruptions, interrupt
In fleeting moments all,
Where focusing, just shatters
In the face of crass demand
Where inspiration’s stillborn babes
Are delivered cold to hand.
Tragic are the losses
To the mortified’s dry pen
And jubilantly, Satyrs claw
Creations’ prize …to them.
Marshalg
Victoria Park Tunnel
28 June 2010
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 9:26 PM UTC
You have to circumcise me with precision,
don't surprise me
don't close your eyes and tell lies to me,if you cut me I will bleed and I only need you because my religion says,
I must do
well **** you and **** the pope we have been born in a world with no hope and you can't conceive or believe that it's true
that this son born of man is saying, **** you,
are we just peripheral to the spherical or can we see through to the satyrs who wax lyrical and do we care?
**** you, I'm not there and never was,religion tells me it's because I was unclean,
well
dream on genie and call me Fred Astaire,I've told you before that I am not there and now it's you that doesn't care,
well stick the knife in and let's be fair and cut my ******** so you can wear it on a chain and
pull me towards you
oh what pain,
but you'll enjoy making the boy in me
cry for you.
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 7:24 PM UTC
I, another being,
spawned from hatred,
seven trumpets, hear me roar
cadaverous and malicious
I become myself whole
to fend away thy arrogant gaze
Come hither, broaden thy shoulders.
And thou standeth affixed,
bound in tarry,
for misunderstanding anew
for disposition anew
without disgrace to stain thy face
like rain on morning dew.
Now taketh this instant,
midst tallt satyrs.
Nary seek thine own indulgence
but one reason to divulge repugnance
with pitch black souls
preying for holes.
In this forest of hatred,
I cometh into my own again.
To emerge astonished
with ravenous eyes
betwixt thither, where dimmer trees do wax
in gloomy twilight still.
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 6:43 PM UTC
Whisper of fragrance
invade the senses
as you wrapped your hands
around my neck pulling me down
two bodies chiseled on white sheets
shimmer in the evening glow
mouths part as
tongues mingle and
breathe becoming one
opens the floodgate to
delightful promises
heralding the ecstasy to come
Firm warm ******* paid
homage to by loving hands
two sentinels standing at
attention are slowly encircled
and tantalized into
sweet surrender
fleshy carvings of alabaster wraps
around my torso trapped and imprisoned
Eros deep in earnest passion
shy blushing pink swells with delight
nymphs and satyrs frolic
behind the bushes
The bed heaves and sway alive and joyful
with cries of overwhelming emotions
as lovers are transported
into delicious rapture
and the mystery of love
is finally consummated
Jul 26, 2010
Jul 26, 2010 at 6:56 PM UTC
I need a shift,a move,a lift to lift me out of this,to raise my consciousness and unless I get it and get it quick,I'm going sick,I'm sick of it,it's a crock,a lock me in,a shut me down and shut me up,strap me tight and ***** the night,screw the day and that's the way of it.
I need a lift,need to bridge the rift that's opened up inside of me,the chasm that threatens to swallow up and hide me,
I need a lift.
Failing that
I'm heading back upcountry,leaving all and sundry in my wake,breaking ties,leaving lies as hostages against my non return.
In the heartland where I roam where my solace is a home and where Satyrs sit and sing I shall bring myself to book,take one hard critical look, and then decide if I'll hide in gaping chasms,swallowing in spasms whilst licking tics and twitches from my eyes,or I might surprise you all.
I may take the vow of chastity,live my life in poverty,flagellate in privacy but what the hell,I may just stay and wait to see
what happens
next.
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 2:55 AM UTC
[Dun-dun, dun-dit] [Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun]
[Dun-dun, dun-dit] [Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun]
[Dun-dun, dun-dit] [Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun]
[Dun-dun, dun-dit] [Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun]
[Russia ready!] U.S., England to;
Start the final chapter!
[In control!] Ready, launch, command-cool;
What are nations after?
[Everybody!] Thinks that they should rule;
Here comes nuclear disaster.
[We were walking!] On-the-way to our school;
Dwelling on the matter…
[Great White Flash!] Thunder, wind …and screams too;
Crescendo horror clapter!
[Engage in War!] For, three days they all do;
Such greedy little Satyrs…
In control, ready, launch, command-cool;
Countries run by b_stards!
Everybody fighting for their rule;
In a worldwide nuclear disaster,
[The Holy Tome!] Religion, cultural, pride, fools;
The end is coming faster!
[Everybody!] Thinks that they should rule;
And they serve a holy master!
[Russia’s honor!] America, Europe, England too;
Apocalyptic chapter!
[In control!] Ready, launch, command-cool;
Hear whooshing wings and laughter!
[Crafty-Smithy!] He’s walking among you;
You’re descending down his ladder!
Everybody’s fighting for his rule in the final chapter!
In control, ready, launch, command-cool;
Countries run by b_stards!
Everybody fighting for their rule;
In a worldwide nuclear disaster,
Everybody’s fighting for his rule in this final chapter!
In control, ready, launch, command-cool;
Countries run by actors!
Everybody fighting for their rule;
Who do you call your master?
In control, ready, launch, command-cool;
Countries run by b_stards!
Everybody fighting for their rule;
In a worldwide nuclear disaster,
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 4:02 PM UTC
written out on napkins, scrap pieces of paper, and the occasional wall i find barren
the love letters that i've been writing to no one; i'm still trying to forget her
and it's getting harder to lose the words in myself as i lose myself in the words
that i've put down on whatever, where ever i find the time in a love letter
to no one.
so, as i pour myself out into my typewriter and write the types of feelings
you should know i've been trying to forget you as each line passes
as i pour myself another shot in the dark of the days i've been seeing through light
you're long gone, dead, and still unable to see without the frames of your glasses
through no one.
you've taught yourself not to let the letters find you out there in the wild
as i wildly write these letters from the bottom of my heart
sending them off to be edited by the endless critics and satyrs of our time
that have no clue where i'm coming from or even where i had to start;
for no one.
Oct 2, 2012
Oct 2, 2012 at 11:20 PM UTC
and then
from over and under a blunder
came Captain Beefheart frolicking along
with his magical band
shining and smiling
like Prometheus or Pan
and the procession of satyrs
fiery eyed
pronouncing truth in tongues of humor to the moon
in the mask of the fool
sacred clown rockin' out
shouting "Hey you! Ella Guru!"
I think I saw my mother
and grandfather
dancing and holding hands too
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 3:26 PM UTC