"servicing" poems
Where are all the anarchist tonight?
Have they all disappeared
under disgruntled lovers throwing acid,
bleeding misbeloved employees glocking no joy,
displaced juveniles servicing denial
at station number 3?
Where are all the anarchist,
my friends, the needles of hay,
stacked balefully, systematically
against the marginalized barn
side door beneath exit sign 4.
Where are all the anarchist tonight?
Have they drunk too many Molotov
and can't find the Way,
and instead burn car, smell bushes burnt
and forgotten the **** up?
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 11:35 PM UTC
at the end of the pier
no one is fishing
a couple from Jersey
leans out over the
rail looking down into
the brown swill
rolling under the
weathered boards
The wife remarked
“Belmar's water
is much nicer.”
on the Gulf’s edge
unhappy gulls convene,
plaintively gazing
over gray waves
ebbing at their feet
Brown Pelican crews
fly in long
ordered formations
incessantly circling
in widening rounds
seemingly reluctant to
plunge into the
endless depletion
of this aquatic
dead zone
I speak with a
Jefferson Parish employee
working a shovel
to regrade disturbed sand
boasting a consistency
of moist drying cement
“How did the Gulf oil spill
affect this place?” I ask
“It took evarding.” she said
With a slight Cajun accent,
“dig down a foot or two in da sand
you hit earl. It nevar goes away. Nevar.
“I live down bay side
near forty years.
Had’nt been in de water fer
twenty five. The ******
******** took evarding.
They should go back
to Englund”
She went back to
tilling the sand.
Deepwater Horizon
yet festers a short
forty miles out to sea
is now covered by
an advancing storm
swelling in the Gulf
standing at the end
of the long pier
my hands grasp the
sun bleached lumber
straining my eyes
peering into a
dark avalanche
the serenade
of bird songs
have been replaced
by the motorized drone
of tenders servicing
offshore rigs
sounding
a constant refrain
filling my ears
with a disquieting
seaside symphony
the taste of
light sweet crude
dances on my tongue
the pungent sting
of disbursements
climbs into nostrils
rends my face
prickles my eyes
grandeur is a
conditional state
never permanent
forever temporary
Music Selection:
Cajun Music:
Hippy To-Yo
Grand Isle
2/20/17
jbm
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 5:52 PM UTC
In VANCHINADU EXPRESS
By the window I sat with stress.
Munching by the dust-bin sat a mouse.
Disturbed soul in mouse-trap-inn
Though dismayed senses beamed in shells trio-
The encircling walls that make three koshas-
Annamaya of metals and minerals
As the shell of eggs form; form the body.
Manomaya of thought-waves is magnetic field active;
As prana vibrates in its shell pranamaya kosha
Dead engine whistled abrupt;
On the rails the train swaying moved
Vanchinadu express swaying moved.
How can I express its pressing stress?
In dress is my body ; in body my spirit: the soul,
Under pressure of crowd and crowding thoughts.
Smoke clouds of the engine chocked me, shook me.
How can I express this pressing stress?
The stress of balloons soaring high up
Of surging waves and volcanoes live
How..how can…how can I express?
Am I not one, one among them?
Oh! Calm mouse, you too not ?
How-
Express?
X Y press?-
Progress?
Regress?
Elite-
Soul's
Senses-
How I express?
Note: 1. Annamaya kosha= shell of body;manomaya kosha= shell of mind;pranamaya kosha=shell of soul/nucleus.
2. X and y are chromosomes
3. Vanchinadu express is the express train servicing from Ernakulam to Thiruvanamthapuram
Feb 29, 2012
Feb 29, 2012 at 10:06 PM UTC
“give me your linguistic promiscuity”^ Cyrano to Roxane
trifle me not with sugar and spice,
give me salt, and everything not nice,
Campari, with a spritz of lime bitters, doubling,
the bitter sexiness of your taste buds
on the private parts of mine mind
the body’s parts held a conference,
who is the most important of us all,
all spoke, touting their unique servicing functionality,
at last, lastly, the tongue spoke
“none so powerful as this itty bitty muscle-me,
for with a chosen-few, well claimed, words whispered,
can put all of us in a prison cell to rot collectively,
utilizing my linguistic promiscuity, enticements seductive
so beware the disastrous dissatisfied tongue,
needy for 24/7 accoladed attention,
fail to worship can result in bee stinging poetry,
and jealousy
my love is bitter, my taste buds glory in this wondrous horror”
except for my Roxane
<>
Oct 23, 2019
Oct 23, 2019 at 10:48 AM UTC
transducer -
a device that receives a signal in the form of one type of energy and converts it to a signal in another form: A microphone is a transducer that converts acoustic energy into electrical impulses
~~~~~~~~~
so many names,
none of them, kind,
none of them, nice words
The A, The B, The C word.
she would laugh and mock a spite and spittle filled man's
feeble curses and flit off to
charge her battery, steal electric life,
from a new outlet, another male body.
now a queen bee, regaling me,
her private audience,
with takes and tales,
of newly arrived
used up worker-boys,
her pleasure sources,
discards after a
singed single discharging/recharging
why come back to me,
what perversity,
did I supply?
she was elegant,
not stupid mean,
she was royal, imaginative,
her conception of a life well lived
was freedom from responsible,
self servicing,
the only motive
the negative pole, was I,
her cruelties energy, supplied
she was a transducer,
she was a re-former,
making her hate into her positivity
the original sin, mine,
hardly original, a cheating a beating,
plot of a rerun, rerun
the fist of being her
first
and then,
her last,
and now her only,
was
her curse returned,
sevenfold unending
her vocabulary was her deeds,
and her stories,
raw rut, well writ,
notated with selfies,
to insure my eyes agonists,
lest I cover my ears
I am your Transducer
she boasted,
pronouncing it languidly,
completing its proclamation
with the venom of a shotgun
I am your
Transsssssss-ducer!
I am a woman more sinned against than sinning,^
I am a woman more avenged by revenging,
I have taken your energy,
learned your cruelty,
and it has transformed me.
Feb 2, 2014
Feb 2, 2014 at 4:40 AM UTC
my fingers felt
that new horizons beckoned
and dropped off, one
by one
my eyes, grown tired
of servicing my brain
popped out
and rolled into blind oblivion
my tongue
has slithered off
flicking foolishly,
untasting
they are lost, and rot
and I am poor, and broken
We were one
but now
we are nothing.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 4:02 PM UTC
I miss you in moments and movies and music that we once used to share
I miss you at events I'd have to beg to have you there
I miss the many magic moments that from life’s stress gave lenience
Even though now I see everything required your convenience
We’d introduced and then declared ourselves: serial monogamists
But after the breakup I saw this statement strangely ominous
This seeming dedication, to love, until the right was found
Would reveal itself as—for you—passion easily re-bound
It’s so rare to find a partner, your best friend, a man in one
No one else on earth with whom I’d ever hoped to have such fun
And you would write and say the things to me that made me melt
Only to realize sometime later they were things said--not felt
How ironic, silly, useless, and ungrateful of me, now
To scorn your absence when from tragedy it disavowed
I should be thanking you for cutting short the growing hurt
That surely I’d endure for years as your affection grew more curt
Thank you, I guess, for being self-servicing enough to leave me,
But for not being so much so to both in faith and life bereave me
For I did not lose you--the man I’ve loved and lost’s a ghost
A man you haven’t been long before departing from this coast
You can’t help someone through the hurt they don’t admit exists
You can’t help someone soothe a fight they claim you fought with fists
You can’t convince an independent that love takes work to flow
You can’t love someone out of habits they don’t think they must outgrow
*Every day I wake up feeling slightly less impacted by a truck.
I’m confident that one day I’ll find for whom my love is luck.*
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 5:07 PM UTC
a century skipped
from one soup line
to the next
never thought I would
stand in one, a homeless octogenarian
who doesn't like soup
the library serves sandwiches,
Eden’s apples too, on Mondays, but gray Sundays
they are closed, so here I be
at a holy house
that feeds beggars, bankers
and ****** but only after servicing
our souls, with etudes on eternity
and other hymns to which
I am deaf
tomorrow I will visit the VA
for my monthly meds, free potions
to pacify me while I wait for a bed
in the shiny new castle,
forever being built
in the meantime, I get the shed
behind the shack, of another "brother"
who tells me war stories
that can't be true, since he
was but ten and two when
the last bird chopped its way
into the Saigon sky
the embassy below yet teeming
with ghosts, and the screaming hordes,
scurrying still in a conquered land, desperate
victims of our proud command
I don't tell him he does not
speak the truth, for he gets even more
potent pills than I to keep
his demons at bay
today the broth has chicken
and rice, and our platoon slurps in unison
after another plaintive prayer
to a god I never knew
tomorrow, over my white
bread and bologna, we will
be able to sup in silence, in the
calm cathedral of tomes
where I will try in vain
to comprehend the mystic
Kabbalah, or perhaps read The Grapes of Wrath
to hoist healing hope of suckled redemption
before my ancient eyes
.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 5:13 PM UTC
For Secret servicing so nice
and pay for play that rocked your world,
best keep private your secret vice;
If there's a next time, Pay the Girl.
Squabbling with a **********
in Cartegena of all places
has made you unemployable
and caused flushed and embarrassed faces.
Your actions placed POTUS at risk-
Foreign relations are so tricky
Settle on price before you play,
avoiding situations sticky.
Your servicing was less than secret
The whole world knows you sought some "strange"
A shame you lasted just a minute-
still no excuse to ask for change.
Apr 20, 2012
Apr 20, 2012 at 10:00 PM UTC
You don’t want to go
With that kind of woman,
Henry’s mother said.
What kind of woman
is that? Henry asked.
The kind that offer
themselves to men
who are not their
husbands, his mother
replied, sitting back
in the soft chair by
the fireplace, joining
her fingers, forming
what she used to call
her church. Henry watched
her church form of finger
forming, his eyes sliding
over his mother’s dyed
hair, the grey streaks,
the nose, the thin red
painted lips. But isn’t
that kind of women
providing a service?
Henry asked, walking
to the window, watching
his father mowing the
lawn, sweat on the brow,
the eyes dead looking.
Service? His mother said,
her tone icy, Service?
She repeated, that’s not
service, Henry that’s sin.
S.I.N. Henry raised his
eyebrows, there was in
the pocket of his pants,
a pack of fives, unused
as yet. Oh, Henry said,
Duncan Smold had this
woman in the back of
his car, he called it hard
smooching or some such
word. Henry’s mother
eyed him closely, her eyes
narrowing. Then he sinned,
Henry, he sinned, she said,
pushing a hand through
her hair, her features going
red. Oh, right, Henry said,
I’ll tell Duncan next time
he’s in his car with some
woman in the back, that
he’s sinning, Henry turned
away, he didn’t want his
mother to see him grinning.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 2:46 AM UTC
-
from between feathered clouds
of the east through branches of
misguided deeds waving crooked
shadows into the window–
and then
penetrating the skin-tight sheet
that wraps around a throbbing
head into a pair of thin
quivering optical blinds—
the rays of Sunday Morning now
blisters a soul in preparation
for a forgiveness—
from Saturday night...
s jones
2022
.
Feb 6, 2022
Feb 6, 2022 at 8:17 AM UTC
AKELDAMA (THE FIELD OF BLOOD)
If I were Shakespeare
I would say: what hath happened to you mother earth?
Fallen creation! What hast thou done?
Abel’s blood laments from the ground
Innocent streams of blood flow in the swamps
Calling in the deepest seas
Yet creation joys at its screams and groans
Blood and bones spread like a red carpet
Bodies hung like clothes on a washing line
Akeldama! Akeldama! The earth has become!
Brothers butchering each other over stolen money
Babies murdered in the name of abortion
Albinos sacrificed in the quest for wealth and good luck
Oceans are dump sites for human carcases
Pastors servicing their ministries with innocent souls
Alters covered with ***** and blood
Bribery has become the order of the day
Akeldama! Akeldama! The world has become!
Authored outside the garden of Eden
Anger and heartlessness have become a burden
The love for money has made hearts to harden
With personal pockets to fatten
Forgiveness and good virtues are forgotten
Akeldama! Akeldama! The earth has become!
Shattered into pieces my heart bleeds
My soul weeps tears of blood
Tears that are torn and roasted before they reach the ground
Causing my troubled heart hasten to pound
Just like a floating trophy blood shed circulates around
My voice is bubbling within me
I am like an ant under an elephant’s hove
Akeldama! Akeldama! The earth has become!
Judases creeping in the shadows
Like giant monsters
Innocent hearts dripping and drizzling with blood
The guilty jubilantly roaming the streets
The church is silent
A sleeping lion!
A toothless bull dog
Blood stained tithes and offerings
Flesh fuelled businesses crowding the CBD
Deceit and betrayal is a game of hearts
Dead consciences that cannot be resuscitated
Children are fatherless and mothers are childless
The rich are heartless
The heirs are senseless
Crying is useless
They deem Christianity meaningless
Talking about Ubuntu is a sign of weakness
Leaders are foreign to selflessness
Oh Akeldama! Akeldama! The earth has become!
To him who hold the seven stars in his right hand
Who is the first born of all creation?
Turn not a blind eye on our afflictions
For how long will we sing the sour song of Akeldama
A song written by the greedy and blood thirsty
A rhythmless song sung when strings are broken and voices are full of anger
Akeldama! Akeldama! The earth mourns!
Oh Akeldama!
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 3:17 AM UTC
all those
who lock their gaze
on the study of this world
are the personifications
of confusion, servicing
walls of text to summarize
so you don't
have to.
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 3:23 PM UTC
For Secret servicing so nice
and pay for play that rocked your world,
best keep private your secret vice;
If there's a next time, Pay the Girl.
Squabbling with a **********
in Cartegena of all places
has made you unemployable
and caused flushed and embarrassed faces.
Your actions placed POTUS at risk-
Foreign relations are so tricky
Settle on price before you play,
avoiding situations sticky.
Your servicing was less than secret
The whole world knows you sought some "strange"
A shame you lasted just a minute-
still no excuse to ask for change.
Apr 20, 2012
Apr 20, 2012 at 10:00 PM UTC
She said she needed fun
and laughter
Baby I said what you need then
Is to pull into my Gas Station
Me! I'll give you a good servicing
I'll fill you up yea! give you a good
fueling
I'll check your oil, all your gauges
Pump your tyres and clean your windows
Give your bodywork a nice wipe down
I'll even shine your bonnet
You're so shiny.
Jun 7, 2020
Jun 7, 2020 at 2:26 PM UTC
I loved you but all of a sudden
you left me all alone
I gave you the best of my life
and you left me all alone
Those years were the best
until you left me
You left me all your technology
so I clipped all your cables
I turned off all the connections and
deleted your files
You left me your car
It was time for the annual servicing
You left me your house
you left me your money
your stocks and your bonds
The wolf's not at the door
it's eating at my heart
You left me all alone
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 6:18 AM UTC
I always felt
You can make anyone
Happy by offering a tip
But, some situations
Will prove you wrong
Today when I went to the dealer
For servicing
And when I reached there
I am welcomed by an elderly person
As yesterday we had a blizzard
I couldn't completely clean my car
I apologized him and then asked if that is ok
His reply
"Not to worry sir, it will melt anyway".
Am very happy by his gesture, the warmth in his voice, caring and love just reminded me of my late grand father.
He took my car inside and brought me a loaner car
While taking the loaner, I offered him tip.
He politely rejected and said
"You are good man, I did my job."
No words from my mouth. Then I saw some blood strains on his face
I asked him about it he said it's because of one of the car's door.
He then said, "see I got this, than a tip".
His point is my caring.
I am inspired by his gesture.
How many people we will encounter like him
I don't know.
By the way his name is Bob. That's what I heard I don't even know his full name. I made a mistake but, he is busy I can't disturb him though.
But, he will be in my thoughts and also in my prayers.
Location
Grand Subaru
bensenville, Illinois
Thank you Bob for your gesture. You made my day. Am blessed.
Small actions lead to major impacts
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 12:17 AM UTC
I feel sometime like '89 and others 1962, through each Alice looking glass I pass and see, '45 and 1923 roaring in and out of me, whistling down some avenue near 5th and Main, see how I'm blue and full of pain and the year of sometime begins again, but where I share this little note with you I do unto others too.
This quill still drifts downstream ringfencing dreams and it seems like '45 again when someone breaks a pane in the glass and Alice, poor lass with a fortune on the stock exchange and Robin in the Palace servicing or giving service to her majesty, oh jeezus what a shame and ain't it sad that rich folk had the lot and poor Alice though we know she's not as skint as that squint eyed *** in Whitehall thinks, thinks Christopher changes his guard more than enough.
It's all and more and the ***** of where Babylon used to be has moved into the chancery and now we're all in it.
I or a bit of me laugh gleefully, but that's because I've been touched by the Sun.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 3:38 AM UTC
The aggressors can't be named if the service is forever
The version of your story is just lip-servicing
Equating the flexing flight of the mind, reeling in your doubts
The ebony and ivory of the piano man speakers, ringing the terse team of bandleaders in the sociable house
Gustave Flaubert lemme leave like the wind, inert in the auberge
Submerged condo, semaphoring in this serious veritable wine
The train of the trident offal rises to the shore, the smoldering
The effect of the fact of the scientific fact
The temerity of the fruitcake turned out to be an eggbox
Short of the 3 rotten eggs, I broke the rest of my cracks in the yonder China's
China's is churning out the Russian socialist revolution
Keeping all your eggs in another basket for you, trade unionizing
Unionizing, the humble job of the little free and the trees and the dated deeds
I'm sure your history correct, and the ***** statues look nice to your buildings
Monumental tragedy, the system of the ideological home of the Lord
The tocsin of a couple of sins, in the alarm-clock dream
The nun summed up my sins in one
Sell out of the sucre of the embarrassing crowd of faux pas behavior
The demeanor of the surreptitious invaders, guilt-ridden
The trill and striding ruse, that can criminally break principles
The women represent the principle of hating God
Men represent revelry in his love
An earring of six figures puts them in the same dour story
Let's not get sour about the salty crisps, scouse accent out of the south
Jul 29, 2019
Jul 29, 2019 at 5:27 PM UTC
What would I do in a certain area, how far would I go?
I'm not sure you'd be interested or you really want to know
I would try almost anything if it really took my fancy
But I would not be interested in a male or a nice boy nancy
Okay I would go round the back and enter through the rear
But I draw the line if it's a man because I am not that queer
The ladies are most welcome weather thin or fat
Extra body weight is good so I'll have a bit of that
An overweight fat heffer or a gal that's a bit thin
I'd be very family friendly if I could meet your female kin
It doesn't matter if your old or even a bit younger
As long as it's consensual and it feeds your desired hunger
If your not up for it yourself then maybe your mum is
Or if your mums not ready I can give your gran a kiss
Have you got a sister that may want to get on board
Or a handy cousin that can strike up a good cord
I'd consider female offsprings but I don't know if I aughter
But a slender touch would be nice if you have a **** daughter
Does your mum have a friend that may need servicing
Or your grans old folksy friends well just give me a ring
Any legal age is fine there are not many limitations
I'll wait and see if I get any offers or any invitations
If I don't get any invites well really that's okay
But anything could happen if things would go my way
I know it's quite unlikely to bag a minor star
If I had the slightest chance but I'd never get that far
I could really spice things up with Rosemary and Thyme
So I guess Felicity Kendal and Pam Ferris would be fine
Thing's could get exciting if you really want it to
Everything is possible we can do what you want to do
I don't mind if your not that **** or even a big faker
It makes no difference if your a *** kitten or a bad love maker
Michael Jackson said it don't matter if your black or white!
Cos you can't see colours in the dark and if your doing it at night
Certain thoughts I must convey that I just don't care to mention
I hope you catch what's in my mind my meanings full intention
I won't divulge my fantasies this is not the time or place
I'll only get into that if I meet you face to face
If we where to get together then it could be quite a hit
And if you want to get rude well I just wont mention it
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 5:32 PM UTC
Deep words spoken truly shallow
Lips merely servicing the mind
Walking on the grounds so hallowed
I opened up the place you weren't meant to find
My eyes forever blinded my heart
I fell down, down, down into love's abyss
Long, so long, I wished and worked toward the start
Washed into your ocean with each stormy kiss
Passion came wave on wave
Rolling me, tossing me into your spell
A drowning man became a slave
To each crest, to her rising swell
Now I'm clinging to abandoned planks and pieces
The waters became still as her current flowed away
Yet the storm within me never ceases
I'm here waiting, forever and a day
I pray my thirst she will quench once more
That these seas will again rise and fall as we stir
Flowing with all I still adore
Tides of love move not without her
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 12:31 AM UTC
Generous and kind acts,
What is charity to you?
Give away my thing,
Now is it right to call it mine?
Service to other, who are we
servicing really?
What is the true nature
helping is being kind simply.
Toppled by feeling good,
Is it for others or self?
Elated within
Reminiscing with pride.
Do you wish to give away all of yours
To your kin or strangers?
trinkets of mine, now owned by so many
The resource from earth, passes on.
With our last breath, who are we
donating skin and eyes, the body will pass on
Who am I, a soul?
This life ends, but possession remains
What becomes of me, where do I go?
Jun 10, 2025
Jun 10, 2025 at 3:29 PM UTC