"selections" poems
There’s an assembly in the making
and the suits are all shuffling in for the big event
making way to their front row seats
****** in nose
hanky in hand
and all colorfully draped
in those cuffed pin stripes
and Jerry Garcia ties
*now what would the Grateful Dead
or any of their fine entourage
have to say about this foul routine?*
Apropos of that
they’re talking in the 3rd person
with tight syllables
and wavy hands
and all taking a run
at the state of the union
there’s Valentino
and Freddie
and good old Sal
"look....their fiddling with their nuts!"
cries a layman from the balcony seats
the Yin and the Yang
have got even the most liberal minded
scratching their heads
as questions fly in from the field:
*don’t you know the way it used to be?
have you no morals?
which way to the exit!?*
These front row fanatics
have surely been scrimmaging
in the corn fields
all down in that classic 3 point
watching their weight
with sample selections from the
Spicy House and Yaas Bazaar
as members of the congregation look on with envy
*pass the aperitif...the big ***** lady is on deck!*
Union heads are running rogue
loading up on grievances
and lines
passing files at a make shift pew
jumping the bunkers
and stepping on clams
while the orderlies move in
for governance
It’s a bewildered state
and only for the mind of the rigorous
Jimmy D would say:
“it’s nothing you pussy...to the victor goes the spoils!
everyone has a bit of good you know...
you just have to find it!"
Unrest is growing in the ranks
and the masses are unstable
Time to hammer down
with a formidable brace
and two tick play
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 8:05 PM UTC
I think that Jimmy Carter
A true and noble man
Should monitor the voting
Check on ballots being scanned
Watch over our elections
The suppression of our votes
Long lines, few polling places
Jimmy Carter, that’s no joke!
I pray that Jimmy Carter will
Monitor our elections
I trust he’ll keep them honest while
We’re making our selections
When there is no paper trail
And lines 5 hours long
Votings not for weak or frail
Be Jimmy Carter strong!
The man can still build houses
Even though he’s 91
Please watch those ballot boxes
Or Democracy is done!
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 1:59 PM UTC
#
shackled to a notion
rubbing through wrists
in rusted remains
of beautifully easy
it's a slow bleed
through insults slung
in fear the unmaliciois
only noticed in hindsight
calling the innocent a *****
doesn't breed hate from love
the duke-yeilding cowardly lion
flings back like a monkey
##
breaststroking a marathon in tears
wading through pain I never caused
pelted with double-barrelled denial
THIS IS NOT WEAKNESS
there is no waver on my solid ground
torn flesh and compound fractures
cannot break harder than history
still, gavel strikes
in sucker punched cracked ribs
that look like a past that ain't mine
###
keep hacking off pieces
maybe I'll fit into those pretty boxes
your liars left as gifts
nasty reminders that trust has sharp teeth
maybe that's just you
biting back any hand that gets too close
pandering in placating platitudes
ain't my bag
flattery fails to flounce from unfettered friends
####
can't be beat into submission
with unspoken broken rules
can't run from a truth in plain view
this is what it looks like
to believe what you know over
what you've lived
I'm not running
I'm not biting back
I'm not going anywhere
then again, why would I
I'm not the one afraid to love you
https://soundcloud.com/user-166761247/a-fourth-in-time-to-cracked-selections-of-music
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 8:04 AM UTC
A group show in a city church.
Nothing religious,
but selections from an evening class
occupying otherwise vacant space:
only a tomb here, an extravagant memorial there.
These are 'advanced' painters,
and decoding their statements,
examining their work,
it's possible to imagine daily lives
where art lives in the spare room.
Lewis paints you know.
After Laura died, and with the children distant,
he did this course in Norfolk - oils I think.
That large landscape in the sitting room is his,
all sky and salt marsh.
Jayne is studying the disorder of ******* dumps,
the contents of skips, what's left after a fire.
Her photographs she prints herself you know.
She says she loves to control the image,
chemically, and you can tell.
And more and others,
their 'work' holding stories,
other worlds of imagination and
depths of looking;
the silent collecting of things,
photograph after photograph,
the tidy sketchbook
(with last week's life class experiments).
And yet and yet
at the group show the finished pieces glow
in this badly-lit corner of a city church
where few visitors venture - but you must see this.
It's good, arresting in conviction and purpose.
This is art without artifice, reticent with meaning,
intense with intention, good, affecting, good
well-chosen tutor-curated;
good enough to come back to.
Consoling? Yes, consoling.
I needed consoling.
It consoled me.
I was consoled.
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 3:37 AM UTC
"Fashioned out of Bits and Pieces of Clay "~ Proclaimed the sign ! In fact, the sign was surrounded with Neon lights and measured 35' by 80', sitting so firmly supported above the entrance door to the Store of Stores~ named ~ "STORE OF PLEASURES AND DELIGHT " { Members~simply referred to this Giant as " P L E A S U R E S " . The Parking lot was full with 52,000 vehicles at 5;30AM~ and the store would open at 6;00 AM 'SHARP". The people were already in line~ to select and choose the finest of what the store had to offer. OH,,or even "OMG" the Pleasure to be had at "PLEASURES" ! ! Choice after choice of Bits and Pieces of Clay' Was what the Crowds were clamoring for~ in Their shopping Frenzy ! No where on Earth could such sweet Delicasies~ such as these could be found. NO SIR~ when it came to the very best CHOICE of items "Fashioned out of Bits and Pieces of Clay ", ONE simply couldn't shop anywhere else~ ONLY~ at " P L E A S U R E S ". Big, Small, Bright and Dull, color after Color, shape after Shape, Long and Narrow, Tall and Short, Broad and Narrow~ Every possible CONCOCTION of Man's imagination~Was offered up for sale and consumption. THAT... was was the Speciality of " P L E A S U R E S "~ Whatever was presented from the Mind of Man~ WAS fashioned out of Bits and Pieces of clay at " P L E A S U R E S "~ From dreams and wild thinking* These were the things offered up for SALE ! ! From Weird to Plain, From Gawdy to Drab, from Elegant to Simple, from Bizarre to Mundane... YES.. Man's Mind when allowed to "Roam-Free'~ would fill the shelves of each Aisle~ Freely Roam the store~ Click in your selection of those Precious Items of " Bits and Pieces of Clay"~. Click Approval and PAY...wave thanks to "P L E A S UR E S " as you Leave. Your selections and an Attendant~ will be waiting at your vehicle~with "YOUR-SELECTION". **PLEASE VISIT US AGAIN SOON.......for your choices of "BITS and PIECES OF CLAY...."
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 8:10 AM UTC
Planting excitement upon us,
My daughter asks how to thin the beets.
"When the plants are three inches tall,
Pick the weaker ones and pull them up,"
I say. "You'll take out two thirds of the young plants
So the rest can grow."
I see a troubled look upon her face,
And realize what I find in myself....
The teacher's quandary:
Picking whom to keep,
Whom to cull...
We put our love into them all.
Watching for first and tender shoots,
Celebrating as the fledgling leaves appear,
Not thinking of a time ahead,
Dreaded time to thin....
Teachers are reluctant to cull,
Building emotional connection,
Providing loving direction,
Promising success to all....
Then come the standardized tests,
The team selections,
The popularity contests,
The invitations to slumber parties,
The division of elites,
The rising of divas,
The rostering of first teams...
The separation of pariahs begins,
The promise we made to early learners ends,
Superiors, exultant, drown out the tears
Of those left standing by the fence,
Excluded from the chances to advance.
Standing in the seedling beds,
Spring breezes rustling tender leaves,
I turn to Kate....
"It's never easy....
But if we don't thin the beets,
The beets will not develop
Beneath the leaves."
These damnable analogies arise
Infrequently these days,
And I am standing in the dirt,
Black soil upon on my hands,
Wondering about survival of the weak,
The treatment of humans and young plants,
Pondering humane ways to honor every student
In which I am investing...
Wishing I could see the end of high stakes testing....
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
About three years ago I visited the Cavern pub on Matthew Street. My friend Ian Prowse runs the open Mic night. They have two rules. No cover versions and three songs maximum. I hadn't been for a while and was immediately set upon by Ian to sing a song he likes that I wrote. So when the time came. Up I got and sang. After I went to the bar, my nerves shot. I ordered a drink and a lady approached me and said how much she enjoyed it. We chatted and she asked was I there every week. I said sadly no I have other commitments. She then said she would be back next week as working in Liverpool again would I like to meet up for a drink? . I agreed to meet at 7, Matthew Street. I had just met Heidi.
The next Monday I finished work. Jumped the train to James Street and there she was. I asked had she eaten yet and she hadn't. So we went to a little Thai place on South John Street. We sat down ordered a bottle of white wine and made our selections. By the time we had finished the starters there was about 1cm of wine left in the bottle and she was very chatty and loud. Much to the delight of the couple on the table next too us who seemed to hang on her every word.
The main course came and went as did the second bottle. I still hadn't got halfway into my second glass. Now truly smashed she says "I suppose you will want a BJ after this?" The lady on the table next too us almost choked, her husband let out a laugh and I said, I know not why, "That sounds nice, but I was looking forward to the Apple pie with ice cream to be fair."
That was it for the couple next to us. His wife almost had an embolism and he laughed his head off.
Heidi got up threw her napkin on the table, downed her glass of wine in one, announced to the fellow dinners "He's not getting laid tonight" Turned, almost demolished the table leaving, and stormed out. The couple next to me now in tears, the waitress comes to the table and asks "Err is the lady coming back?" I reply No I don't think so.
She then asks would I like dessert?
Before I can say a word the chap on the table next to us says "I hope you have apple pie and Ice cream for the poor guy"
The waitress said "No" and that finished it. Three tables of people laughing relentlessly.
I sat and had melon ***** and they chatted like we had known each other for years.
What of Heidi?
She was never to be seen again.
Aug 4, 2019
Aug 4, 2019 at 9:00 PM UTC
~For Lila and the others~
there exists
a subset of us,
those who
for whatever reason
do not write,
but “just” repost
other’s work
Above see the word
Just
emboldened
for this selfless task
is justice inherent
For this act of bringing others
to our over constrained attention is an
action of justice,
or more profoundly
doing away with
injustice of
our human limitations
We could spend days entire
pursuing the works of others,
but life and the extraordinary demands
of writing anew, when the spirit is upon us,
are oft unable to spot, isolate, and
highlight
capture
the best of the rest,
and bless those
who reorient our eyes
away from our own bounded rivulets,
to the tried and truly, away from
habitual familial familiar good stuff,
but bring us revelations of gems,
caught within the mass maskings of missives that grows hourly, exponentially to
out attention,
to reorient
our attention,
to their filtered selections
Let us say in unison then
a blessing of gratitude
to The Reposters:
Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Ruler of the Universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, to give thanks to those who enable others, to reach us this season
Jan 15, 2025
Jan 15, 2025 at 2:42 PM UTC
Marriage: A close intimate union.
The days of dreaming are over because that day is here.
We are about to become witnesses to the words that we hear.
The two will become one, Fire and Desire.....Rick James and Teena Marie.
My desire is for you to finally become Mrs. B.
A picture of beauty in your wedding gown.
The groom is looking like he just stepped off the cover of G.Q.
Somebody go get the Four Weddings crew.
Royalty has just touched down.
This is how it is supposed to be...
The tears break formation and begin to run as I watch you come to meet me....on the moon.
We enter this kingdom together, but it's more than just two.
The covenant becomes final when we both say "I do."
Words have the power to make two become one.
You'll realize this when you sit and watch the sun kiss the horizon.
After the ceremony and honeymoon is when the marriage really starts.
The manual has changed....so now there is a new set of directions.
Please grab the updated version and become familiar with the selections.
Words can become weapons, so before they depart.....
Remember God didn't create people with bulletproof hearts.
Let these words become a source of inspiration and allow the power they provide to be a source of motivation.
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 7:57 PM UTC
You can only spend so many hours in labs, study groups and classrooms - under relentless, fluorescent lighting - before you start feeling life withdrawal.
When I hit that stresshold, I need to rebalance myself.
I could go to the New Haven harbor - I find the ocean endlessly relaxing - or for a quick fix, I can always rely on the warmth of multicolored product packaging.
For the last one, a grocery store will do. I’ll walk the bright, prismatic cereal aisle, and run my finger gently along the gratuitous, rainbowed variety of selections.
It’s a soothing gesture that I repeat several times. A reminder that there are still beautiful, shiny things out there, on demand, in the uncomplicated, non-academic world.
Feb 26, 2024
Feb 26, 2024 at 11:22 AM UTC
Bedside table minds clean paper
Pen at the ready, lying in wait
for wording as I wait for the sandman
Thoughts pole vaulting at high speed
tossing, and turning then settling
unable to make it over the top
Mind frozen in time with selections
untamed uneducated words, hitchhiking
around my head, seeking new adventures
on paper with other more interesting fellows
Words stuck in the corners of my mind
spring cleaning energy is needed here
to pull them out of their aerobics class
Forcing the words down my right arm
in Gymnastic style movements
out of my pen they stream endlessly
inking up the page in the stillness
But I dare not move to switch on the light
for the theme will be broken for all time
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 1:18 PM UTC
Chance Operations are methods of generating poetry independent of the author’s will. A chance operation can be almost anything from throwing darts and rolling dice, to the ancient Chinese divination method, I-Ching, and even sophisticated computer programs. Most poems created by chance operations use some original text as their source, be it the newspaper, an encyclopedia, or a famous work of literature. The purpose of such a practice is to play against the poet’s intentions and ego, while creating unusual syntax and images. The resulting poems allow the reader to take part in producing meaning from the work.
The roots of using chance operations to generate poetry are generally traced to the Dada movement in Western Europe in the early and mid-twentieth-century, involving writers such as André Breton, Louis Aragon, Tristan Tzara, Philippe Soupault, and Paul Éluard. The Dadaists were deeply interested in the subconscious, and they believed that the mind would create associations and meaning from any text, including those generated through random selections. In one section of Tzara’s “Dada Manifesto on Feeble & Bitter Love," he offers the following instructions to make a Dadaist poem, here translated from the original French by Barbara Wright:
“Take a newspaper.
Take some scissors.
Choose from this paper an article the length you want to make your poem.
Cut out the article.
Next carefully cut out each of the words that make up this article and put them all in a bag.
Shake gently.
Next take out each cutting one after the other.
Copy conscientiously in the order in which they left the bag.
The poem will resemble you.
And there you are--an infinitely original author of charming sensibility, even though unappreciated by the ****** herd.”
The use of chance operations in contemporary poetry has been used most famously by the international avant-garde group Fluxus, poet Jackson Mac Low, and the poet and composer John Cage. A good example of a poem that was written using chance operations is Jackson Mac Low’s “Stein 100: A Feather Likeness of the Justice Chair," which also includes Mac Low’s explanation of the methods he used to compose the poem.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC
recollecting collections projecting selections injecting protection infection dejection
dyslexic narcoleptic rejecting dejections ******** complexion complicating interjections
perplexed inspectors intercept pterodactyls relaxing in backpacks extracting disillusion
contortionist philanthropist dejected transgression implementing eradications of moss buying patrons
eclectic perfectionist rests limp-wristed whispering disparaging remarks to the wait staff
trombone percussionist impressed and impoverished gravelling wistfully mimicking Rickles
I sit half disheveled grinding my wisdom teeth feeling the fleeting muse sitting in disbelief –
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 12:21 PM UTC
Strolling through the aisles
A decision I must make
Multiple selections
But only one choice
What shall I buy?
How much shall I spend?
Questions that I constantly repeat
To an inquisition
A gift
For strangers
Whom I never met
But cannot afford
As I leave them priceless
Jan 4, 2010
Jan 4, 2010 at 7:03 PM UTC
1.) Waking up alone Saturday morning means not having to get breakfast hung-over for anyone but yourself.
2.) Cleaning your room is optional.
3.) Books are so much better at pillow talk.
4.) Taking the stairs will do more wonders for your body than elevator hookups ever will.
5.) It is a blessing to have no one but yourself to debate with over Netflix selections on a Sunday afternoon.
6.) Choosing true friendship over a hasty ****** will always be the best decision.
7.) Music provokes the heart when you’re with someone, but provokes the soul when you’re not.
8.) Crying over things other than men gives you a better understanding of life’s meaning.
9.) Sometimes you discover things you thought were lost forever when searching long and hard for your key, because without it you have no where else to sleep.
10.) Contrary to the hand of another, a pen will not let go.
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 9:26 PM UTC
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Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 7:25 AM UTC
"I like your shirt", she said
"Where did You get it?"
Online I responded a one
day sale four weeks back
came in the mail today...
"cool", she said "I like it
a lot. Nice selections"
She held up my wine
and milk. "Thanks"
I said, "The milk is for
breakfast, the wine for
me and you, tonight.
You can't have one without
the other though." "Deal."
She muttered.
Mar 23, 2011
Mar 23, 2011 at 6:13 PM UTC
The papers are wet with ink.
Russia is losing it's war.
North Korea is swamped with the Covid.
Tucker is backpedaling his replacement theory.
Finland and Sweden are enrolling.
Armament shipments are making a difference.
The Pope is apologizing.
That needs repeating: The Pope is apologizing.
(But why stop with the Aboriginals. Consider the Jews and Irish).
Fossil fuels are on the decline.
(plastic microchips are in our fat)
I can still buy Roundup.
Tobacco is banned in most public places here.
*** is not.
There are more drunks, and more behind bars, and in front.
We have safe injection sites.
I have robots asking me if I'm a robot.
There are more tv stations selections.
TV is not worth watching.
LPs are making a comeback.
Right to Life is Wrong for Many.
... and on... and on
May 17, 2022
May 17, 2022 at 8:59 AM UTC
Hey Fragments! a Haiku Contest!!
Spring is everywhere.
We want everyone to contribute to the first, "Quarterly Season Greetings Haiku Contest!"
We will select a panel of judges, who will send me their three favorite haiku submissions. The haiku with the most selections will be declared the "winner" and enjoy a warm feeling of satisfaction.
Please, have those haiku in by the end of May
No limit on the number of submissions. Your haiku should follow the traditional form, but as always, the poem is more important than strict observance of form.
Write Every Day!
John and LP
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 7:22 AM UTC
When you live on the wrong side of sixty
You flirt with cold death every day,
You **** sweet air in like nectar
And you hold your breath and you pray,
For tomorrow may bring a black tumour
Or a spasm, or seizure or more...
Then whatever you do, whatever you say,
You’ll end up prone on the floor.
For our time on this planet is temporary,
Our time of enjoyment is brief,
Just pull out the stops and let loose man
Live it up, kiss your girl, take relief.
Tomorrow is lost in the dreamtime,
Today is the essence of being,
So kick up your heels and spin all your wheels
and send all those worries a-fleeing.
When you live on the wrong side of sixty
Your skin has a penchant to sag
And no matter how hard you diet
Your gut gets as wide as a bag.
Your whit was once so exciting
Your repartee so sharp
Now you mumble and wheeze
And occasionally sneeze
And frequently squeeze out a ****
Oh life was once so enticing
The sparkle and crackle was there
When you danced on the floor
The crowd yelled for more
And you dazzled with lights in your hair.
Now the dance floor is silent and empty
The music has faded away
Just to have it once more
My poor heart does implore ?
... But the crimson has faded to grey.
Now you’ll think I’m buried in sorrow,
Enmeshed in self pity galore
But the fact of the matter
Is served on a platter
… I really don’t care anymore.
For you see I’ve learnt a great secret,
Discovered a pearly white truth....
That life is as free
As a bird in a tree...
And remorse is really uncouth!
So no more do I wallow in sadness,
No more do I tear out my heart,
Instead I rejoice in my gladness
And retrace all the steps from the start.
For living’s a sequence of pictures
To give or take as you choose,
If your selections awry
Then you’re lost in the sky
...you pick the wrong one... You lose!
The sun comes up in the morning,
The light erupts in the sky
And the beautiful song of the blackbird
Brings a tear of joy to my eye.
The golden greens of the shadows
The crystal glint of dew
Encapsulates the rapture
I feel on seeing you.
For a friend makes life worth living,
A smile a golden door
To the promise of tomorrow,
Oh! The future’s good ..once more.
When you live on the wrong side of sixty
Life’s lessons treat you right,
You separate the wheat from chaff
And celebrate the fight.
You make the most of good stuff
And embrace all the fun,
You interact with positives ..
DO THIS,
AND FRIEND ….YOU’VE WON!
Marshalg
Mangere Bridge
21st January 2007
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 2:24 PM UTC
We began with little mutations,
Harmless, or more so beneficial,
We adapted to our love,
With no methods of dispersal,
People thought we couldn’t get any closer,
But your behaviors changed and we began to isolate,
We were stabilized so I hoped for fusion,
But realized that overtime not even reinforcement could’ve helped,
We had our Kingdom set up,
And later we fell into a “Family”,
But you classified me too general,
Now I don’t know where I belong,
My feelings for you were like the Cambrian,
Sadly enough they became a catastrophe,
You started selecting,
Seeing me as worthless,
But I knew I am not one to select,
You looked at me like you’ve studied Phylogenetics,
I was at the most top,
But ended up at the bottom,
You were not natural, but neither was I,
What did our selections favor?
And our relationship turned into cloud and dust,
Sadly it collapsed,
And you left me imprints of lies and hurt,
And words preserved inside me like a cast,
You ingested away my feelings,
I was the pili so attached to you,
But you were an endospore resisting all of me,
You no longer knew what feelings were,
And to you, I was an annual,
Got replaced so quickly,
But I shed tears where the oceans have formed,
And supported you like the roots of trees,
But you were a virus,
A pathogen,
A parasite,
And I was the host,
Blinded by your toxins,
And my cells swelled in favor of you,
You offered me and I gladly took,
I thought I was an obligate,
Surviving off of you,
But I was too mindless to see the real you,
And I was like the Archaea,
Survived the harshest paths for you,
But with a single expression you crushed my world,
And like a Zygomycota you’ve molded our love away,
And sadly enough I couldn’t evolve,
With pain feeling like spikes inside,
I am no longer the magistrate of love,
And love is my killer.
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 2:00 PM UTC
Wearing glasses completely out of visions
He is the man not for all seasons
Always surrounded by crooks and pigeons
Chosen for the post with all wrong reasons
Haywire, chaos and panic on all positions
Forever smirking on his thoughtless decisions
10 percent to 100 percent, guilty of social treasons
Harder on Mohammedans but soft on Freemasons
Apparently deaf and dumb, indifferent on honest opinions
Democracy had a glitch but not for future selections
Wearing glasses completely out of visions
He is the man not for all seasons
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 11:08 AM UTC
Can I ask for love
Without the romance
Without the slow dance
Without the holding of hands
Give the kiss, a miss
necklace and jewelries
without the emotional abuse
The manipulation we use
like flowers or presents
The chocolate selections
The dinner pretension
The relational misuse
and the facade we choose
When love in truth
is the exception
Sep 10, 2021
Sep 10, 2021 at 11:11 PM UTC