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"shoeless" poems
It was the time of my Auntie Bee summers    I was small then    She had a parakeet that landed on my head    and a bathtub too    with water so deep!    and legs and claws!    **** thing nearly chased me down the stairs! She lived in slumbery Windsor Locks    where bugs hung-out in the haze    of teenage August    I played in the tall weeds    with a shoeless Italian boy    who ate tomatoes like apples    and cucumbers right off the vine!    He was ***** free and foreign!    We played— reckless, abandoned    behind the gas pump, under the tractor, in the barn       and through the endless fields    I didn’t know....    His name was Tony    I ate pizza with him—the first time At Auntie Bee’s I had to go to bed at eight    but I could watch night flowers    bloom on wallpaper    She came in to say good night    slippered, shadowy, night dress slightly open    and I peeped her *******    like Tony’s cucumbers!    I had never seen my mother’s wonders.... Night spread its wings from the old fan—    a bird of tireless exhaustion    whipped, whipped, whipped to death in its cage    tireless exhaustion    tic-tocking in time to a wind-up clock    stretched out on the whine    of the overland trucks    Route Five through the night of an open window In the grape arbor below— tremulous incessant    crickets    crickets    crickets tremulous incessant—insides of a child    a summer child    not yet ready for the fall of answers Auntie Bee had a daughter—Maureen    I followed her everywhere I could    I was small then--        do anything for a stick of Juicy Fruit I followed Maureen through my dreams    of being sixteen    and woke to Peggy’s “Fever”    while she tied her sneakers    against the mattress by my head I followed Maureen (in my mind)    tanned and bandanned    to work in the fields of shade tobacco    with all those Puerto Rican boys!    She knew where she was going! I was small then ...do anything for a stick of  gum “Mauney! Mauney! Mauney!”    ...through the goldenrod of roadside    through the smell of oil that damped the dust     I followed Maureen’s white shorts    and chestnut hair...to the corner store I followed the way the boys smiled    the way the screen door slammed    on her bright behind    the way her lips taunted and took    the coke-bottle’s green I followed Maureen I swear, I tried for hours to get that right! Must have been Peggy Lee’s “Fever” Maureen ties her sneakers in my face Flaunts her years above my head She has that look— “We kids don’t know nothin” (Little turds” that we be) …followin’ Maureen through the goldenrod of roadside tic-tockin’, beboppin’ “Fever— in the morning Fever all through the night….”
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Aug 24, 2016
Aug 24, 2016 at 11:30 PM UTC
I Follow Maureen
It was the time of my Auntie Bee summers    I was small then    She had a parakeet that landed on my head    and a bathtub too    with water so deep!    and legs and claws!    **** thing nearly chased me down the stairs! She lived in slumbery Windsor Locks    where bugs hung-out in the haze    of teenage August    I played in the tall weeds    with a shoeless Italian boy    who ate tomatoes like apples    and cucumbers right off the vine!    He was ***** free and foreign!    We played— reckless, abandoned    behind the gas pump, under the tractor, in the barn       and through the endless fields    I didn’t know....    His name was Tony    I ate pizza with him—the first time At Auntie Bee’s I had to go to bed at eight    but I could watch night flowers    bloom on wallpaper    She came in to say good night    slippered, shadowy, night dress slightly open    and I peeped her *******    like Tony’s cucumbers!    I had never seen my mother’s wonders.... Night spread its wings from the old fan—    a bird of tireless exhaustion    whipped, whipped, whipped to death in its cage    tireless exhaustion    tic-tocking in time to a wind-up clock    stretched out on the whine    of the overland trucks    Route Five through the night of an open window In the grape arbor below— tremulous incessant    crickets    crickets    crickets tremulous incessant—insides of a child    a summer child    not yet ready for the fall of answers Auntie Bee had a daughter—Maureen    I followed her everywhere I could    I was small then--        do anything for a stick of Juicy Fruit I followed Maureen through my dreams    of being sixteen    and woke to Peggy’s “Fever”    while she tied her sneakers    against the mattress by my head I followed Maureen (in my mind)    tanned and bandanned    to work in the fields of shade tobacco    with all those Puerto Rican boys!    She knew where she was going! I was small then ...do anything for a stick of  gum “Mauney! Mauney! Mauney!”    ...through the goldenrod of roadside    through the smell of oil that damped the dust     I followed Maureen’s white shorts    and chestnut hair...to the corner store I followed the way the boys smiled    the way the screen door slammed    on her bright behind    the way her lips taunted and took    the coke-bottle’s green I followed Maureen I swear, I tried for hours to get that right! Must have been Peggy Lee’s “Fever” Maureen ties her sneakers in my face Flaunts her years above my head She has that look— “We kids don’t know nothin” (Little turds” that we be) …followin’ Maureen through the goldenrod of roadside tic-tockin’, beboppin’ “Fever— in the morning Fever all through the night….”
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82
Summer scents and summer heat Teenagers' laughter and water flying Dripping heads and shoeless feet Trees wear flowers and the sun is shining To him the day's grey and there's too much noise Smothered in his black shirt he's ignored by other boys Saved by the bell, he joins the row some teacher leads While a group of pupils talks, two girls argue and one reads At his usual seat he takes his usual things Acting like he's writing while he's finishing some drawings Yet his mind slips away to something near Someone's stare makes his concentration disappear Frustrated his eyes find her silent stare When the teacher turns his back, she leaves her desk in one, two, three Unbalanced he acts like he doesn't care He could just pretend like he didn't see Next to him she takes place The seat astonished by the company Her hands slowly reach his face And before he knows his vision gets blurry Still wondering what's going on, the poor boy has no clue Until she whispers- with his glasses on: Now I see the world like you. Y.
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May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 3:23 PM UTC
The Classmate
Sometimes is seems as though it's easy for us to just walk by Nonexistent are the pictures of them Moving, living, breathing Them, societies refuse Thrown away and discarded by life We are no longer our brother’s keeper Human beings rendered worthless; useless We move amongst them as a breeze blowing by Uncaring for all in its path Rushing to its destination Our selfish needs to hold on to the little we have And keep it from those who have none Not even our "little" Quickly it has become forgotten At any moment any of us can be overtaken by hunger Sweeping over us as garbage in the street Leaving us bare, empty, hungry We too can be eluded by shelter With no one to care No hands reaching out to help We too can become a fracture in humanity I see them peering at me from behind broken spectacles Shoeless feet in the winter Suffering in the bitter cold, nowhere to go Sound the alarm Our fellow humans are dying! Not perishing to wounds in battle Senseless crimes, illness & disease They're dying of hunger Exposure to extreme weather Tantrums of Mother Nature Sometimes we're afraid Afraid of the side effects of being homeless Some become as a Gemini having dual personalities The person they once were And the person being homeless Fighting for every breath of air has made them The side effect, the other twin The homeless twin with nowhere to sleep Our underrated simplicity of going to bed Let us keep our brothers In keeping our brothers, it is ourselves that we keep Safe, fed, protected, secured, sheltered The right of every human being
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Aug 2, 2010
Aug 2, 2010 at 12:41 PM UTC
Helping Hands
Sometimes is seems as though it's easy for us to just walk by Nonexistent are the pictures of them Moving, living, breathing Them, societies refuse Thrown away and discarded by life We are no longer our brother’s keeper Human beings rendered worthless; useless We move amongst them as a breeze blowing by Uncaring for all in its path Rushing to its destination Our selfish needs to hold on to the little we have And keep it from those who have none Not even our "little" Quickly it has become forgotten At any moment any of us can be overtaken by hunger Sweeping over us as garbage in the street Leaving us bare, empty, hungry We too can be eluded by shelter With no one to care No hands reaching out to help We too can become a fracture in humanity I see them peering at me from behind broken spectacles Shoeless feet in the winter Suffering in the bitter cold, nowhere to go Sound the alarm Our fellow humans are dying! Not perishing to wounds in battle Senseless crimes, illness & disease They're dying of hunger Exposure to extreme weather Tantrums of Mother Nature Sometimes we're afraid Afraid of the side effects of being homeless Some become as a Gemini having dual personalities The person they once were And the person being homeless Fighting for every breath of air has made them The side effect, the other twin The homeless twin with nowhere to sleep Our underrated simplicity of going to bed Let us keep our brothers In keeping our brothers, it is ourselves that we keep Safe, fed, protected, secured, sheltered The right of every human being
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44
There are two types of people in the world. People who don’t have enough shoes and people who… There is one type of people in the world. People who don’t have enough shoes. The poorest people dream of one pair of shoes- a right and a left, a pride to possess. The not-so-poor-people dream of two pair of shoes – one pair for casual, one pair for dress. The not-so-poor- but-not-so-rich people dream of four pair of shoes- one black and one brown, one to walk and one for play. The not-rich-but-better-off- than-the-not-poor people dream of multiple matching shoes- one for each outfit, a new pair each day. The richest people dream of endless lots of shoes- two for every outfit winter, spring, summer and fall, some that match their pets and some match nothing at all. Yes, there is one kind of people in the world. The kind who love shoes, and that makes us the same black, white, yellow or blue. So, let’s love all people, people with shoes. And give shoes to the shoeless so they can be loved, too.
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Sep 17, 2017
Sep 17, 2017 at 10:45 AM UTC
Love Like Shoes
Light spreads darkly downwards from the high Clusters of lights over empty chairs That face each other, coloured differently. Through open doors, the dining-room declares A larger loneliness of knives and glass And silence laid like carpet. A porter reads An unsold evening paper. Hours pass, And all the salesmen have gone back to Leeds, Leaving full ashtrays in the Conference Room. In shoeless corridors, the lights burn. How Isolated, like a fort, it is - The headed paper, made for writing home (If home existed) letters of exile: Now Night comes on. Waves fold behind villages.
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3.8k
Friday Night At The Royal Station Hotel
the tired beer talks the tired black nights the faces of people of family or friends the **** behind the car the fires where all you can see is eyes the empty cans the shoeless feet the people talking to people the relationships and the alliances on concrete patios in the woods near lakes or out in the deserts we are there listening to grasshoppers play their sad songs who sometimes get so loud that we yell at each other and laugh at the top of our lungs trying to fill up the black night and remind those bugs we’re not dead yet
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Mar 24, 2011
Mar 24, 2011 at 11:42 AM UTC
grasshoppers chirp
Honey meets tongue, Leaves taste buds stung and mouth melting violently versing vows, Spilling out fermented Thoughts caught aloud Dribbling down toward where they ought not Time stopped us In a clockmaker shop Cooking empty pots of dead doves in forgot sauce Some day in december's When Plans were dismembered For the scent of Butter bubbling curiosity Found horse hungry, So, suddenly he broke free Trampling Predictable  logic. chasing her tail to town When, I, sir pain, thought id taught again, then again the art of invading castles, Without being found. Trolling, rolling through The inner out of bounds A shoeless, shoreless yet Very sure way To get around None catching on of course Till swordsman number four Split with silver This world on wheels we made With a crash left some Birthday suit vision Standing stunned stupid Abashed with a gun to the  mirror Which crying, stammered: If you let them dear, Just let them, They will Listen, To your  chime, chiming Bells inside, Rhyming you dread hearing songs from" Said defense: "Who wants to play each blow to the heart With lawless abandon to The head?" "letting harsh  light burn holes and leave marks wherever they feel" Don't think so Solomon!" Vision laughs, reflection kneels, Hands praying And In the periphery, as a way to break scene here we see the mailman Crying tears on a map Who once watched little Ms steel-sturdy put on her full act. Wood chips flew thenmsky went black Pupils dilate to her shell-shocked state Of Before, before hell bent on Withholding, before Taking hostage of clowns who are all tied up with Lilith, the queen The state that led our wayward siren to begin driving round   in Some man-made beast She calls Ed.
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Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 7:22 AM UTC
How to invent a Trojan War
Honey meets tongue, Leaves taste buds stung and mouth melting violently versing vows, Spilling out fermented Thoughts caught aloud Dribbling down toward where they ought not Time stopped us In a clockmaker shop Cooking empty pots of dead doves in forgot sauce Some day in december's When Plans were dismembered For the scent of Butter bubbling curiosity Found horse hungry, So, suddenly he broke free Trampling Predictable  logic. chasing her tail to town When, I, sir pain, thought id taught again, then again the art of invading castles, Without being found. Trolling, rolling through The inner out of bounds A shoeless, shoreless yet Very sure way To get around None catching on of course Till swordsman number four Split with silver This world on wheels we made With a crash left some Birthday suit vision Standing stunned stupid Abashed with a gun to the  mirror Which crying, stammered: If you let them dear, Just let them, They will Listen, To your  chime, chiming Bells inside, Rhyming you dread hearing songs from" Said defense: "Who wants to play each blow to the heart With lawless abandon to The head?" "letting harsh  light burn holes and leave marks wherever they feel" Don't think so Solomon!" Vision laughs, reflection kneels, Hands praying And In the periphery, as a way to break scene here we see the mailman Crying tears on a map Who once watched little Ms steel-sturdy put on her full act. Wood chips flew thenmsky went black Pupils dilate to her shell-shocked state Of Before, before hell bent on Withholding, before Taking hostage of clowns who are all tied up with Lilith, the queen The state that led our wayward siren to begin driving round   in Some man-made beast She calls Ed.
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54
*I dreamed an ocean one day, Soft like silk, pouring through your fingers. Satin, woven from the promised land. In the thread, joyful echos, stained. I dreamed of days under the topaz sunset. I chirped to a toucan. A beautifully colored bird. Smart. Mute. She chirped back. I was in the Neverlands. I dreamed of royal parades. A mirage of Chiefs & they're daughters. Horses for manpower. Monthly packages of flour & sugar. Life was equally labored. I dreamed of being an Author of Poetry. Sitting in some tower. Seeing the world beneath my shoeless feet. Writing, A future.*
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Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 1:11 PM UTC
"Versatile"
Dark branches dance against an aluminium sky as dusk taints the edges with blue. The last crow warns of death as it passes, it's cry echoing along the shoeless streets and down to the brook where once laughter played. Storm clouds gather in furious array shaking thunderous fists at the earth below, their forked tongues tearing the atmosphere as the first droplets spew forth from their ragged mouths.
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Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 12:09 PM UTC
Cloudburst.
**Here you are, all dressed up To take me out to dinner, our very first date Even more handsome than in your corporate office So dapper, dignified, distinguished, so impeccably dressed and groomed In your Armani pinstriped business suit Silk tie, starched white shirt, cufflinks Polished black leather Italian shoes Your BMW waits outside Well, I have news for you.... I changed my mind Yes - changed my mind We will stay home tonight You will cook dinner for me right here You are stunned "ME? I have a reservation at the finest restaurant I know everyone there And I don't know how to cook! I know you're joking.. You must be." No. No joke. Give me those keys to your BMW. Yes – the car keys Take off your Rolex wristwatch No need to look at the time. Time to get cooking. No, don't complain You’re not in your office now And one more thing..... Take off those expensive shoes and socks I want to see the cuffs of your hand tailored navy blue pinstripes brushing your naked toes.... You are irritated, annoyed, frustrated As you obey, resisting all the way You give up your keys with the BMW symbol, Your heavy masculine watch, gleaming polished shoes, still warm from your feet thin black dress socks I know it is frightening for a man like you to surrender his shoes and by the way I do LOVE the shoes... They just don't belong on your feet right now You call the restaurant and cancel Shoeless and carless Suddenly a servant I’ll read the recipe. While you peel the potatoes..... I want you barefoot in my kitchen**
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Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 4:28 PM UTC
Change of Dinner Plans
**Here you are, all dressed up To take me out to dinner, our very first date Even more handsome than in your corporate office So dapper, dignified, distinguished, so impeccably dressed and groomed In your Armani pinstriped business suit Silk tie, starched white shirt, cufflinks Polished black leather Italian shoes Your BMW waits outside Well, I have news for you.... I changed my mind Yes - changed my mind We will stay home tonight You will cook dinner for me right here You are stunned "ME? I have a reservation at the finest restaurant I know everyone there And I don't know how to cook! I know you're joking.. You must be." No. No joke. Give me those keys to your BMW. Yes – the car keys Take off your Rolex wristwatch No need to look at the time. Time to get cooking. No, don't complain You’re not in your office now And one more thing..... Take off those expensive shoes and socks I want to see the cuffs of your hand tailored navy blue pinstripes brushing your naked toes.... You are irritated, annoyed, frustrated As you obey, resisting all the way You give up your keys with the BMW symbol, Your heavy masculine watch, gleaming polished shoes, still warm from your feet thin black dress socks I know it is frightening for a man like you to surrender his shoes and by the way I do LOVE the shoes... They just don't belong on your feet right now You call the restaurant and cancel Shoeless and carless Suddenly a servant I’ll read the recipe. While you peel the potatoes..... I want you barefoot in my kitchen**
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54
She noticed the basking shark was wounded, weeping vaginal blood. The tall man in a fedora whispered as he passed. Whipped by exploratory waves, she blushed. The horizon was a hazy green line dipped in red. She had been there since morning searching for love, and found it from a six-pack merman offering solace as he rode on the silvery back of a ray. As he approached, the sun at his back, she moaned and threw out her arms like a supplicant. Complete at last, the sand grasping at her shoeless feet, she sank towards the earth’s distant core using her arms as uncertain ballast. She awoke with a shiver brushed away the sand and headed back home. The shark had turned belly-up, scavenged by seagulls. Another day-dream enjoyed in the empty hours between lunch and dinner between her third cup of tea and fourth cigarette, her children snoozing in the back bedroom. Half-slumbering in a town barked at by bothersome seagulls where an unencumbered sun set on a postcard shoreline. Planning the rows of petunias to be planted by the hedge, making shopping lists, writing novels, never to be published, staring out of her windows at the sea she waited for her husband’s return, tedious evenings of T.V. and coition under the brightly coloured duvet. The waves that overwhelmed her, flooding her senses, were her own. The man in the fedora had made her smile.
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Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 10:59 PM UTC
Sea Dream
The vibration of the anticipation of seeing you tonight. I think I might put on skirt not to flirt but to impress [Oh God] I must love you, I’m wearing a dress. On the sand we’re shoeless and it’s now I must confess everything. I met you three days ago and I love you. We chase ***** and Blickah Blickah dance everything here is all just chance we walk for miles on the beach and if we keep going we can reach the pier the ultimate destination, but we keep getting caught in our own procrastination. We climb on a trampoline of a de-rigged sailboat and hope that we find contentment. Turns out we probably could have prevented all the ******** introductions and started the production of us from the start instead of the part we’re supposed to play. A meteor shower, [How so romantic comedy] but we’ve created a melody that’s in harmony with our souls. We give each other biographies as we stare to sea as barriers fade away. There is just so much to say but not enough time to say it don’t deny it just try to find it the words to tell me I’m right or did this night mean nothing to you? Can you hear that? A heart pumping, no thumping, thump, thump, thumping for you but you can’t see through the lines and the walls you just don’t have the ***** [I’m too good for you.]
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Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 11:44 AM UTC
The Blickah Blickah Dance
*** *** ba dum dump da dum *** ba dum dum                       /\                        /\                                /\                   [snap]                 [snap]                         [snap] *** *** ba dum dump da dum *** ba dum dum                       /\                        /\                                /\                   [snap]                 [snap]                         [snap] Sitting at the window staring at sliding rain I mentally slip on the proverbial banana peel *** *** ba dum dump da dum *** ba dum dum                       /\                        /\                                /\                   [snap]                 [snap]                         [snap] Floating deeper into consciousness’s backwater I ponder the reflection of a mirror in the lake *** *** ba dum dump da dum *** ba dum dum                       /\                        /\                                /\                   [snap]                 [snap]                         [snap] Looking down at shoeless feet fraught with fear I turn to run, only to find cell bars, box cars, sticky jars, and the planet Mars *** *** ba dum dump da dum *** ba dum dum                       /\                        /\                                /\                   [snap]                 [snap]                         [snap] Momentarily, my movement meanders making me a microcosm of mankind’s malady…another Monday morning *** *** ba dum dump da dum *** ba dum dum                       /\                        /\                                /\                   [snap]                 [snap]                         [snap] *** *** ba dum dump da dum *** ba dum dum                       /\                        /\                                /\                   [snap]                 [snap]                         [snap]
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Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC
ode to the Beats
*** *** ba dum dump da dum *** ba dum dum                       /\                        /\                                /\                   [snap]                 [snap]                         [snap] *** *** ba dum dump da dum *** ba dum dum                       /\                        /\                                /\                   [snap]                 [snap]                         [snap] Sitting at the window staring at sliding rain I mentally slip on the proverbial banana peel *** *** ba dum dump da dum *** ba dum dum                       /\                        /\                                /\                   [snap]                 [snap]                         [snap] Floating deeper into consciousness’s backwater I ponder the reflection of a mirror in the lake *** *** ba dum dump da dum *** ba dum dum                       /\                        /\                                /\                   [snap]                 [snap]                         [snap] Looking down at shoeless feet fraught with fear I turn to run, only to find cell bars, box cars, sticky jars, and the planet Mars *** *** ba dum dump da dum *** ba dum dum                       /\                        /\                                /\                   [snap]                 [snap]                         [snap] Momentarily, my movement meanders making me a microcosm of mankind’s malady…another Monday morning *** *** ba dum dump da dum *** ba dum dum                       /\                        /\                                /\                   [snap]                 [snap]                         [snap] *** *** ba dum dump da dum *** ba dum dum                       /\                        /\                                /\                   [snap]                 [snap]                         [snap]
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29
Je t' aime kamma   I long for thine sutra, throbbing Hilton põg. King of Prussia PA. O the first time thine many face moon playing hide and seek showered us with moonlight just to hear us sigh and sigh till song and dance lended our feet shoeless Pon our crib of fragrant blooms tracing on each others back mo grá Angel I'm yours, be mine. aingeal Is mise mise Te amo. Thermo King Westing house Je t'aime, Je t'aime mera bano main tumhaara hoon. ~ By: Karijinbba 74-95 -6-21
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Jul 19, 2021
Jul 19, 2021 at 4:46 PM UTC
Thermo King
When you die you walk on, shoeless, your only light a nightlight, and beneath your feet, the carpet-- it’s so soft, it feels like heaven.
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Jan 11, 2013
Jan 11, 2013 at 4:17 PM UTC
Death is a hallway
He passed a preacher in hazy, Misty, London streets. Whispering sermons From cracked shoeless feet. None would stoop to Cast a passing ear, To the words of a man With nothing left to fear. He told tales of love, Tempered by the light of reality. Love of money, Love of greed And all the objects of fiction We imagine that we need. "To each let it be known!" "None of your possesions are yours to own!" "Leased out for the duration of your time!" "From house to car and from the body to the mind!" The passers by barely noticed the guy Who spoke from the heart With the words of the wise. The wisest words they would hear for weeks Lost among the Hazy, misty, London streets.
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May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 5:25 PM UTC
A City's Whisper
baseball a malformed hand resting in a hay bale feet so discolored     a figure shoeless at dusk talk an unbroken scribble connects the ears bathroom sink the mirror’s      belly in it are fish hooks survival lives alone by the looks of this sandwich jesus is teething
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Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
a misanthrope without a world
streaming moonlight wakes me from demented dreams of green staring eyes and blood on the bathroom walls and shoeless hallways and blindless windows they took my purse they took my wallet they took my clothes earrings phone sunshine air leaves and grass they took my blood the north winds cookie crumbles constellations and wafts her sultry glares through my eyelids heres your cocktail go home
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Jul 30, 2010
Jul 30, 2010 at 10:46 AM UTC
the hotel
Ragged clothes on the sidewalk, toddlers murmur and cry cold morning air where abandoned row houses smell of whiskey, sage, and molded cotton diesel exhaust belches into light breezes forests of burning coffee beans mingle into their hearth, the children, this is their nostalgia everywhere leavings of life scatter driven by wind cover unhoused, distressed, makeshift families they stand shoeless as fortunate people drive past Glut of humanity smells of wet newspaper grey gulls picking at grimy cellophane cardboard litters muddy sidewalks above the billboard the wealthy jeer at them sitting by a liquor store with bars on the windows shut out of row houses with black wrought iron gates basement stairwells filled with trash men in alligator boots ready to lunge into the lives of slick, bright, vacant women this is the fate of feminine mother love Thriving in dead landscapes growing lost opportunity under skyscrapers where it is always almost dusk
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Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 12:05 PM UTC
Squatters’ Children
How long did it take her to be free? How long did it take For the wingless dragonfly to finally open her heart to the world How long did it take for her to overcome Devil’s workshop Slowly caressing her retinas With silky daffodils and two-faced tulips Where Now She dives into a glistening pool of complicated risk Opening her atrium to the masses Shedding incumbent teardrops Just for that one standing ovation That sets her free It was then Where pieces of plastic chains fell from demure stratosphere Dented taps, similar to a shoeless dancer, Setting off bass tones and low-key monotony For she was One cholesterol filled syllable short To be genuine One tearful, hyphenated lyric Too blunt To be embraced by their “god” One dilapidated vowel shy Of being honest Her diary didn’t have enough pages torn From emerald sanity There were too many “Wows”, Diluting into disingenuous shoulder pats Her stanza pushed aside A glorified ***** call with no call back number Leaving messages towards empty dial tones … How long will it take her to be free? Until she looks up Knowing she already holds the key
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Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 12:06 AM UTC
Rules and regulations
i. eating is done fast and alone. teeth chatter in the corner, a rabbit muscles in the mouth. sister visits naked save the sheet she learned to wrap in college while haunting tents. ii. dogs at the door. father shoeless in the basement negotiating claw & cigarette.   iii. grasshoppers press the palm, spit. mother swats her magazine at hard boys hits the wall, these pictures that have her smiling, shrug. iv. sleepwalking like something brother won at the fair. we nudge it. put the bread back of the mouth. injured deer, slanted mailbox. wife a gown ghosting her legs keeps taut the clothesline from hospital to home.
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Jul 27, 2012
Jul 27, 2012 at 12:10 PM UTC
glide ohio
We’re like tramps living in this half-furnished house taking two-mouthful shots outta that big old bottle playing 8-bit games in between smoke breaks And when we feel like dancing the house will shake letting the primal urge take we throw ourselves around the basement room empty save a couch, the speakers and some ****** art installment we are still painting There’s a pile of us on the extra mattress in the laundry room talking about hopes and dreams for a new life ****** out of old nests, we build our own in the ***** clothes someone starts crying I swear I’m in love with every person in the room. It’s time for another pack or two of smokes for the boys So we wipe our tears and snot and leave the nest to run down the 4 am streets with no shoes sparkling in starlight like vagabonds. And I turn to my shoeless friend and say: We could live like this. Home to a half-furnished house, muffled in sleep-sighs the couches, the chairs are draped with passed out kids I cover them with sheets and blankets and kiss every one goodnight Even the mattress in the laundry room is full so we lay out a blanket and throw pillows in front of the ****** art installment sleeping in just shorts, as the heat wave holds the town the boys let me on top of the dog-pile because I’m smallest and because in the morning I’ll wake up to make them breakfast.
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Jul 23, 2011
Jul 23, 2011 at 12:12 PM UTC
Restless (Listless)
My love, today they found you in the alley, an abandoned porcelain doll. Your cheeks flushed and lips stained from the cold - left shoeless in the snow. Fist wrapped around your empty matchbook - burnt out - used up - dead. Those tight jeans and rag of a shirt looked uncomfortable even in repose. At first nobody noticed. Much to do, this New Year’s Day: resolutions to be broken. No time to stop and smell the corpses. They get younger every year One cop coughed to the other a cough of disgust. They made you a nameless number. A statistic doesn’t feel the burn of frostbite. It lends itself to jokes - and forgets humanity. In death you are The Jefferson Avenue Whoresicle and sooner or later, forgotten altogether. I can’t forget you, on display – hiding in that most undignified uniform. Your eyes stabbing straight though me. New Years Eve, you tried to sell me a warmth. I ignored you, avoided your dagger eyes like the sun I walked away, Not after I saw how lonely how frightened how cold you were standing there alone. I can only image your visions as you burned through those matches and prayed for some John to come to your rescue. You can finally rest in a bed of your choosing. No judgment passed. No cold nights on the street. No home to fear going back to. It’s all over now.
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Nov 30, 2010
Nov 30, 2010 at 4:18 PM UTC
Baby Bluejeans
Egalitarians of a smaller world with forks for fingers chew loudly on the gravy train of poor boys paper thin paychecks spit me out cause I got no cash better to be on the street with a shoeless shuffle than trying to capture a seat at the silver spoon table.... Pasty-faced bankers counting out loud the graves of American dreams they spoiled the song of their voices in unison is a terrible dirge and a strange romancer that keeps one and all clinging to that sweetest of dreams hope.... Dudley Do Right is a little man in his little office acting like the bureaucrat he was born to be just pennies on the pound for his cold soul a deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang his heart a cardboard cutout of his childhood idol deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang all these flavorless fools pay to play on the great machine where the crowds call for ever more salacious parody of what should be where the almighty buck stops here twice a day all day Sunday preacher man baker, solider, liar, thief deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang deadeye wrangler six shooter bang bang © 2018 mark john junor all of my poems are my exclusive property and all rights are reserved
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Apr 16, 2018
Apr 16, 2018 at 12:11 PM UTC
a deadeye wrangler
places where I worship from the dark green church of my fascination with heavy frogs comes the **** body of a boy wearing the head of a heifer.  his legs are not entirely under as of yet but he is let stumble.  from the same dark an excessively wormed fishhook flies on a line and knocks the boy’s ******* behind like a bell.  I scratch my fake arm from shoulder to elbow and believe the sound is not coming from the hook scraping back into the dark.  even in dream I hallelujah lip synch.         places where I am discontent in an abandoned dog’s house, I am, shoeless, with a slipper, in my mouth, a spotlight, caresses, dry grass, my mind, I mistake my mind, for the brain, cinerea, for cinema, my thoughts are meat, are herded, whipped at by a whipping tool, I fear nothing more than I fear, my ***** what it thinks of me, or that it thought, me, first, and lastly beneath that whip, at the end of which, some interrogator’s, bulb.
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Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC
(places)