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Brumous Jun 2023
Half full yet...
I keep
dripping,
spilling,
crying,
breathing.

Everything creeps up,
and I empty myself.

I empty... myself?
They empty me.

Thoughts past zero degrees,
ice-cold breaths give me a mouthful of red.

empty cup, empty head,
an efficient way
to keep myself there.
Everything is getting too much; I have no place to shelter myself from this noise.
were you a 50's
godchild in the city,
wing-tipped feet
running the streets
all week, ketchin hell...
then you gots that check
come friday
and needed a taste of heaven...

you and the dog pound
swung mid-town
to broadway & 47th
after 9,
and joined the line spilling
from the royal roost round 48th...

by 10, the joint was jammed
with gents well-coifed,
matching honeys, and the sounds
of money being made:

chime of silverware ~ cling,
and the cash register's ~ swish cha-ching,
and the chatter of guests,
servers and bartenders
doing their thing ~ wah da bing

then the lights dimmed
leaving a semi-dark haze
of gray smoke swirling
over the crowd,
and mc symphony sid
grabbed the mike:

"...welcome to the friday nite jam session
at the metropolitan bopera house
ladies and gentlemen...."


hysterical hoots and applause
followed
as  the circular spotlight paused
center stage,
unveiling:

~ the miles davis nonet ~

featuring,
max on drums,
john on keys,
gerry and lee on sax
and a genius
on trumpet

'twas the birth of cool
and soon the rhapsody
of modern jazz
waxed hypnotic,
casting a spell
over god's children
when budo chased lady bird
down allen's alley,
spittin'...
          riffin'....
boppin'...,
          po­ppin'.....
superfluidity
like acid through
varicosed veins

the earth stood still
it seemed
for 4 thrilling hours
as heaven rained a rifftide
onto the lucky crowd...

and dewey's sublime trumpet
exorcised the devil
from the week that was...

~ P (Pablo)
(7/24/2013)
- for Miles Dewey Davis III
Dr Peter Lim Sep 2021
Mini-market

supermarket

hypermarket

we are overfed!
Dr Peter Lim Mar 2018
It would not be for want of words
that I regret but my reckless superfluidity
I pour them out in mindless torrents
betraying their trust and blemishing their purity--

hushed,  silent, solemn, reverential
I should learn to be in this my journey
perchance the Grand Council of Words some day
would grant me a second chance to write poetry.
James Walker Sep 2019
Poetic Satisfaction
Still trembling at the finger
Tips

The scale of all for all to see
Like open arms’ embraced

A word
A song

Such depth and
superfluidity

Ever longing for...
more
Copyright James W 2019 - Back to writing poetry again after a mild hiatus
This is my room, these are my four barren walls.
This is where anxiety keeps me in chains,
this is where I shield myself from the hurt.
Here I’m alone, nothing will rip my soul in twain.
This is where I wear my heart on my sleeve,
this is where darkness will find no home.
Here is my life, like superfluidity,
flowing free as a waterfall with an infinite drop.
This is my room, these shadows are mine alone.

— The End —