"tellers" poems
#*We're awakened to our insatiable longing for heaven
through both beauty and the painful marring of it.
For beauty hints to us of that for which we are truly made,
and its marring shouts that we are truly not meant to find it here.
We can be eternally grateful for beauty lost when we realize
that it's one of the great secret-tellers of the universe.
Still we fear it so and often fear even to hope for the beauty itself,
though they are a necessary cycle that fuels us on and drives us home.
We cannot deny or diminish our intense longing for beauty--
to see it and have it and be it, and we cannot pretend that its
dreadful loss does not press down upon us like a crushing weight.
We must let it crush us until our ache for heaven is excruciating.*#
Nov 18, 2015
Nov 18, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC
A circus lives inside my head
Fortune tellers control my fears
Clowns are in charge of my humor
All you can eat contests make me crave certain foods
A Ferris wheel of thoughts
A merry-go-round of emotions
Jugglers toss around my decisions
Fun House mirrors showing my insecurities
Face painters create my expressions
When will I become the ring master of my mind?
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 2:25 PM UTC
Have you met the Who-Gee Boo-Gee Man?
He scammed fig leafs in the garden,
And **** cloth in Ottoman.
outside-in, inside-out; upside-down, right-side up
The Who-gee Boo-gee Man can cuss.
He offers snake oil, spins a tale,
So you feel smart, healthy and hale.
from top to bottom, bottom to top
The Who-gee Boo-gee Man can't stop.
He swrawls with a Sharpie pen.
right is left, left is wrong
That's the Who-Gee Boo-Gee song.
Consultation for now is free,
No hidden added extra fees:
You buy two, you get three.
north to south, east to west
The Who-Gee Boo-Gee Man won't rest.
I've heard his feet are cloven;
The eyes are yellow, lips look swollen;
He has two fingers, wears silk- woven.
He sweats like water to the lowest level;
He's quicker than the slyest devil,
Selling hell, but we hear heaven;
Doing so twenty-four seven.
He photo-shops secret desires,
Twists truth-tellers into liars;
Artful, wily, scheming, subtle,
The Who-Gee Boo-Gee's a hungry jackal.
*today is the day, yesterday's late,
tomorrow's a place that just won't wait*
I met up with the Who-Gee Boo-Gee Man,
Peddling apples from my jardain.
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 10:26 AM UTC
The end is becoming clearer
Disaster is spreading wider above areas
The time of joy is finally a closure
Society has lost it's power
War is rumbling, errupting in any second
Mother nature is crying, deforestation at it's worst
Earth is collapsing, balance is thrown off
Peace is dying, anarchy starts rising up
The leaders become corrupted
The idiots become famous
The truth-tellers become executed
The innocents become jobless
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 8:25 PM UTC
We give thanks for all who have
enriched our lives with their presence;
may we honor them
by always being present for others.
We give thanks for those who
selflessly serve in our armed forces,
for the quiet sacrifices
of their family and friends
and for those who witness for peace
and work to end the conflicts of war.
We are thankful for the tears of the poor
and their example of fortitude
in the daily struggle to live
and for those that extend a hand
and offer a vision of hope
and a pathway to advancement.
We are thankful for our rich abundance
and the blessed spirit that leads us
to generously share it with others.
We are thankful for wise thoughtful teachers
and students that are eager
to use that wisdom to better the world.
We are thankful for courageous truth tellers
and the hard truths they speak
and to people of good will that are open
and willing to listen and act on those truths.
We are thankful for the care givers
and their veneration of life
and to those who receive care
and fill the heart of the giver
with fathomless gratitude.
We are thankful for people
of humility and good will
and their blessed example
of quiet service and grace.
We are thankful for children
as an embodiment of our hopes
and the future flowering
of our greatest aspirations.
We are thankful for
our animal friends
and their example
of trusted companionship
and unconditional love.
We are thankful for sobriety
and our ability to discern,
see, discover and experience
the daily grace life confers upon us.
We are thankful for those
who are no longer with us,
may our time on earth be
a blessing to others
as they were to us.
We are thankful to
a higher power
that keeps us right sized,
humble and grateful for
one more day on life's path.
Selah
Wishing All the Beloved
a Happy Thanksgiving
Peace and Prayers
Music Selection:
Shirley Horn, Here's To Life
Oakland
11/25/09
jbm
Nov 27, 2013
Nov 27, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
My Sunglasses
I’ve got all of Tucson trapped behind my sunglasses
I’ve framed mountain ranges in the frames of my Raybands
I’ve got reflections of saguaro’s stranding still in front of my eyes
I have sunny days taking refuge underneath my shades
I’ve domesticated the giant star that rides blues skies into walking the edge of my brow
I use black plastic as onyx shields
So Tucson, I see you.
There’s an art revolution beating at your horizon
I’ve seen it skirting around these wastelands
They tell us we’re wasting our time
Telling the roadrunner to run back home
When its nest was here since the beginning of time
Tucson.
I’ve seen folklorico and mariachi pay tribute to your origins on the hottest of days
I’ve seen in the shadows in underground art forms
Graffetti. There’s a protest in there somewhere.
I’ve even witnessed it in pen to paper
In lips to mics. In cafés in your desert nights for your desert nighttime audiences.
Tucson, your culture and artistic value shines too bright for others to see.
Your artistic worth shines too bright for others to broadcast
They tend to only record your overdoses and murders
Seems like our televised story tellers prefer to paint us in immoral reds
The only time they pay the south side attention is when the south side is aching
It doesn’t help that schools force you to choose business
Give you chance to study law all the while cut out your art programs
Fine art is required by universities but they don’t always expect you to get that far.
Tucson’s fine art is too fine and infinite to be recognized by those undeserving
Society wants to capture our southern brethren as outlaws not poets
We’re called the misfit of the desert. As if every spray can, paint stroke, choreographed twist,
Slam poem wasn’t something to take pride in.
I’m sorry they only pay your schools attention when ambulances are parked in your driveways
And administrators get caught in doing ***** deeds.
I see your talent wasted. Your talent shown.
To remind myself of your artistic significance, I’ve framed you
On walks home I photograph your murals.
Listen to the poets in the hallways.
Observe the dancers compose and the musicians choreograph
I’ve caught your reflection in my corneas’.
I’ve dilated my pupils thoughts behind my sunglasses.
Framed your mountain ranges in my frames.
Took cover in your shades.
Trained the artistic freedom and right to walk on my brow
Tucson
I see you.
Nov 27, 2012
Nov 27, 2012 at 3:58 PM UTC
I bring to you
serenity in a cup
time at
a standstill
material
for fortune-tellers
shadows
of the Empire
you drink
a bit
then spill
it
on your paper
the stains
spread
like a sunset
blotting out
bad news
* Empire - British Empire
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 12:46 PM UTC
Psychopath, questioned and played with, complex mind games with
Paper fortune tellers and crystal ***** utilized by con artists.
Chrome decorated room filled with trippy, grippy, grabby men
With blue cats swimming around their head. Coherent words do not exist to them.
Sucrose breaks you down, sweet creature, and thieves the antimatter in your empty scull.
Your favorite song no longer passes through your hollow ears.
Notes and the beats... A heartbeat. The thrum of a low piano key in a house supposed
To be isolated and abandoned. You are not alone here, child.
The demons summoned her because of the lettered board between a mattress
And box spring. The springs are broken from too much activity,
Don't jump on the soiled mattress. That's how you receive punishment.
But one without two does not match the storybook your mother read to you.
The nauseating tale of role,play and ********** Everyone knows the story, seen the Disney.
You can run, but you can't hide from the memories of horrible visions
Given to you by the gods. Hold on, child. You will grow to be a man one day
Despite the nightmare of being a wolf child who clawed his way out of his mothers womb.
Jolt and sweat, forgotten top bunk , and a concussion;
The dreams are back. The recurring realities of a twin long lost, but somehow inside.
Dream catchers don't make the callback list, can't act for the life of them, but
They are beautiful against the scenery.
A porcelain doll holds the demon that hacked my system and took controll of my history,
And once again, she takes my place, fooling everyone into thinking I am here
When, in reality, I am buried six feet under.
Blood dribbles from the letters chilled into my stone, I curl and let them add more letters into
My back to symbolize the life I led. The collection of poems I wrote about you are the ones they
Cut into the skin on my legs, permanent reminders of what I have felt.
"What have you felt?"
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 10:13 AM UTC
There is no moon tonight
just the cold stars
in the unfeeling sky
yet I cling on to dreams
the gypsy caravan
I stood & gazed at
as a child
in the City museum
is still there
painted, gilded
calling for the carefree road
& in my heart
long before I met you
lived my fascination for your mysterious people
enchanters, fortune-tellers,
some say, child & horse thieves
portrayed thus
in my Mother's Russia
- the wild people of the endless road
the people & whose fiery songs I wanted to follow-
& now, in a far off world, bewitched
by you,
I find out that your dark eyes
are that of a gypsy - Romany
& it's like fate
like D. H Lawrence
' The ****** & the Gypsy'
so why, Northener, do you not love me
like your people, I am also a wanderer
a creature of the road
a castaway with no home
than the one my heart happened to find
if you or fate somehow cast this love spell
upon me
if this was meant to be, you should love me, Gypsy
only that would make sense
take me away
let us go a-wandering
across the land, moors & hills
beautiful boy, sweet poet
do you know I once tread the winter's
frost all the night's way to town
for you, hoping to seal
my love's fate
the dark sky
above me
doesn't know how to lament
lost love
the summer of it's heart
has passed,
drunk long away
in quiet pubs
there is only this poem
poorly written -
my heart bleeding
on my sleeve
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
We give thanks for all who have
enriched our lives with their presence;
may we honor them
by always being present for others.
We give thanks for those who
selflessly serve in our armed forces,
for the quiet sacrifices
of their family and friends
and for those who witness for peace
and work to end the conflicts of war.
We are thankful for the tears of the poor
and their example of fortitude
in the daily struggle to live
and for those that extend a hand
and offer a vision of hope
and a pathway to advancement.
We are thankful for our rich abundance
and the blessed spirit that leads us
to generously share it with others.
We are thankful for wise thoughtful teachers
and students that are eager
to use that wisdom to better the world.
We are thankful for courageous truth tellers
and the hard truths they speak
and to people of good will that are open
and willing to listen and act on those truths.
We are thankful for the care givers
and their veneration of life
and to those who receive care
and fill the heart of the giver
with fathomless gratitude.
We are thankful for people
of humility and good will
and their blessed example
of quiet service and grace.
We are thankful for children
as an embodiment of our hopes
and the future flowering
of our greatest aspirations.
We are thankful for
our animal friends
and their example
of trusted companionship
and unconditional love.
We are thankful for sobriety
and our ability to discern,
see, discover and experience
the daily grace life confers upon us.
We are thankful for those
who are no longer with us,
may our time on earth be
a blessing to others
as they were to us.
We are thankful to
a higher power
that keeps us right sized,
humble and grateful for
one more day on life's path.
Selah
Wishing All the Beloved
a Happy Thanksgiving
Peace and Prayers
Music Selection:
Shirley Horn, Here's To Life
Oakland
11/25/09
jbm
Nov 23, 2011
Nov 23, 2011 at 12:05 PM UTC
As I gazed at the starry night sky,
The stars whispered:
We are your horoscope, and your fortune tellers!
We bring your loved ones together, so you share and bask in our beauty.
We shine so bright to illuminate and guide you through even your darkest of nights!
The moon whispered:
I am your loyal companion, and your secret keeper.
I provide you with light; I am the symbol of transition and progression!
I am the master of infinite beauty that inspires you with creativity and poetry!
The sun whispered:
Every day when I rise, I heal your old wounds.
With my shining face, I shower you with joy and smiles.
I provide you a life full of hope, growth, and empowerment.
I am your eternal song of rebirth, inspiration, and a new promise for a better day!
The earth whispered:
I have made myself a home for you and decorated it with trees, flowers, and rivers.
Do you remember when you had taken your first baby steps?
You stumbled and fell; I lifted you up with my gentle heart,
And provided you with everything that I have, to watch you grow and blossom.
When you are ready to depart, I promise to hold you like a baby in my gentle arms,
And bury your fragile body, along with your precious secrets, deep inside my heart.
I will embrace your soul with infinite love since I am your mother nature!
Hussein Dekmak
May 8, 2021
May 8, 2021 at 9:42 AM UTC
Late afternoon, haze hung low, heat and sky
holding breath. You’re it. No tag-backs. Asphalt
freckles our knees. Dinner is anytime: bologna
on white; Kool-Aid cut thin with tap. No hurry home
unless for the news. We don’t.
We want what’s coming, not what’s been.
Paper fortune tellers flutter open, close.
She writes the answers first, back turned.
Lift one flap: your dog dies. Another: a prince
charming. Another: best party in town,
limousine awaits. He lifts a flap: her name.
actually meant for you, her sister whispers.
Then rain, the blue-lined paper sags, ink settles
in cracks, bare feet scatter, futures wash
mid-fold into a storm drain. At Cheshire and
Green Meadows, a drunk witch swears Venus and Jupiter
will make us all rich. She leaves out how long
the sky makes you wait. Lunch money turns
to lottery slips. Rounding the corner, moving vans
idle over chalked hopscotch, our names folded under.
Aug 17, 2025
Aug 17, 2025 at 1:35 AM UTC
Face in midnight
morning
like a fortune tellers crystal soul
sparkles forth from her flow--
dragonfly wings
aglow,
stories float off the tongues
from celestial waves
of knowledge books only
seen in etherial spaces
sacred words drip
from
our pens & fingers--
energy courses gallops
from cherry blossom lives to present
we remember,
we tend to flames
throw names
and pains
& grains into the eyes
of fire,
heal with liquid life,
float toward the light of the moon
soon
one mind
doors
red
black
& pine
rocks silently slowly unwinding
time toward consciousness nature love brain
a warm Kali embrace
a chilly Shiva cleanse..... ......... . ........... .. ......... ... ....... .... ..... .....
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
I ,
yes I the traveller have long seeked the moon ,
the stars and the sun ,
often they have slipped my gaze ,
now only a blanket covers my eyes ( blinded by the sun )
Have you met the story teller of the great ‘ I am ‘ ?
of his tales should I tremble ,
in his halls the lost do not seek ,
the sick and poor enter his halls with praise .
For even this Gods patience will one day like sand fall from his blood stained hands onto beaches castles were built .
Now begone with you for even I must sleep ,
and find comforts no man should wish .
For the monsters of the deep have found me ,
Lust ,pride , bitterness and fear .
Look my jailer comes with chains you can hear that drag down the passage on this dark satanic night .
Sage if you see him tell him what might have been ,
and sorrows only purpose is love .
Are you still there ?
Dam what’s wrong with my eyes ?
I used to visit the fairground ,
Preachers like Wolves used to say ‘ come this way ‘
‘ come that for a shilling , for a crown ‘.
The musics stopped ,
I can’t hear the music and what of the great hall ?
The story teller I must find on this blessed night .
Now a chain mail of Norman men rise in my sea of despair ,
they like skeleton snakes rattle like memories in my head .
Surrender or capture the light ?
Holy Spirit my demons confront me and darken my night ,
for this must end in heaven or hell I bid it the light .
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 1:42 PM UTC
Once He (a) was my Two A.M.,
And I tried to make him (b) my Three.
But to be honest, from Ten to Six A.M.,
It's usually just lonely ol' me.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
Sleep and wakefulness blur
Listeless longings begin to stir
Hearts twist into dire messes
right or wrong? anyone's guesses
Sickening ache pulls my chest cavity in again
No breath, no relief from this sin and pain
Cant be me
Can't have you,
Can't be free
Can't be you
Kisses and soul hugs on the winds
Casting flesh aside he wins
Only the ****** live free of this shadow
To live this life till the next is hallow
Ill bide my time in this makeshift hell
For a love that only the best story tellers tell
The one that goes on forever
Some can part but no thing can sever
Ours is of the endless stars
Countless opportunites to prove our hearts.
A love never cold
Never old -
Forever young.
Apr 10, 2017
Apr 10, 2017 at 7:35 AM UTC
I have gathered all time tellers,
grandfather clocks, alarm clocks, phones, watches -
to tell you that : I have all the time in the world for you.
It might not be the most sophisticated way
to say that I have an ear for listening and a heart for consolation,
but don't be too skeptical with my methods.
Forgive me, maybe, perhaps, if I can't be so bold and concise.
At least, now we've got all these antiques to talk about.
Jun 16, 2013
Jun 16, 2013 at 10:04 PM UTC
Tip
Of the tattle tellers tongue
Tenaciously Terse tales told
Tending to tea and tempting taboo
Jun 22, 2021
Jun 22, 2021 at 3:56 PM UTC
Kinda ironic
I write poems and find myself
writing about how much I hate English.
**I don't want to read
Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde again
or analyse a play!**
No matter how interesting.
The themes are the the themes
and the characters the story tellers
but to me it's just words
No link in my head.
Every sentence is read.
Then the next,
makes no sense.
It all seems out of context
but no one realises
I don't know what the ****
the teacher goes on and on about,
it goes over my head.
I can't explain my ideas
because I can't make them myself
and I can't understand where anyone else's are from.
So I lead my self on a tangent,
that could go on and on repeating itself
that could go on and on repeating itself
that could go on and on repeating itself
but will never come back to the beginning.
Writing aimlessly
but no one seems to see;
it's all nonsense to me.
Kinda ironic.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 12:43 PM UTC
i was never right about you.
instead of questioning my motives,
i should have been questioning yours.
i should have, would have, could have,
it's never gonna change.
so why the hell am i still
caught up into you
when you are tangled free.
i'm wire walking from my museum to
the day i will cross over to our
smooth talked ******* and our late night
forget-me-nots.
wait, forget the nots (knots, rather.)
you knew the aches i woke up to,
i have never dressed so quickly before.
i found a scratch on my spine in the shape of a heart,
and i read into it with fortune tellers' eyes.
it meant that you still cared.
Mar 20, 2011
Mar 20, 2011 at 6:42 AM UTC
Tangible toys to trifle with
Telescopes and televisions and telephones
Teaching us to tick and tock
Telling us time
Trading touches for tricks
Though doesn't it seem just so?
The collective ties then tears
Tucking individualism into sleep
Terrors of the twilight to wake and hint
Tweaked in turbulence to set the sails smooth
Trying at contentment to dig up but contempt
Though doesn't it seem just so?
Telepaths and tellers on muted megaphones
Teething a societal infant proves troublesome
Tight jawed and spoonfed
Track the time travellers, the ****** heretics
Tennessee in '33 preached inequality
Though doesn't it seem just so?
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 9:44 PM UTC
If I were a wise old fool
Or a duck out of luck
Would I count my money
by thimble or by a dumping truck
I'm glad I have no such problems
I broke the rules and bank
I own a four cornered mansion
On every street with steeply sloping banks
I have no problems eating
I mark every foodline on a map
I own stock in Salvation Army
I bought off this persuasive chap
I worry not for tomorrow
Today is good enough for me
I've been told I have no future
So say the fortune tellers that is all they see
Oh well , oh whale , oh wail
It doesn't matter me
Time now for a free lunch
Then in your alley I will surely go to ***
Mar 2, 2022
Mar 2, 2022 at 7:30 PM UTC
Loose clouds, sink dreams of sunny days and sunny ways,
They are the front runners the fore tellers, driven
before the wind of the next wave of water falling
from the sky and from my eye.
It is a SIGN, It is a SIGN, I tell you don't wear a target out
when Scuds are about, It is a sign of bad weather and my doom.
DOOM I say! Falls fool and Winters wimp, blown in my haggard face!
Seeing Scuds (a loose vapory missile, leading the bad weather)
at my doorsteps, dampening my foot falls, scud after scud,
more bad weather, dark clouds, I bend into the wind
head down so I won't drown and the Scuds can't see my eyes,
That I have given up, hide oh hooded head
and given in, I use my umbrella to hide behind,
will I or it survive the wind?
until spring rings in, with summer.
.
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 12:32 AM UTC
This time is precious,
every moment infectious.
One minute in a parking lot,
parking cigarettes in the dirt,
outside a library no less.
And from one minute to the next,
shaking hands with a councilwoman.
Just her presence,
was a good omen.
This is a community meeting,
ahead of a strike,
on May 15th.
Our fight?
Our cause?
Wage parity.
The resource vitality,
of every worker,
and every family.
Every human deserves dignity.
Repeat it with rapidity.
We are all created equal.
This is a civil rights sequel.
You can't survive on $7.93
And if it were up to me,
No job would pay less than
FIFTEEN.
The rich can't inoculate,
what they didn't anticipate.
Fry cooks, cashiers, drive-thru tellers,
(these ain't no "bums" or beggars!)
They met up with activists,
and labor leaders.
They've walked off the job
and into the streets!
They've come out,
to take a stand,
to shake off their chains,
and make some demands!
$15 and a union!!!
If you haven't taken notice,
I don't what you've been doin!!!
I hope McDonald's, Wal-Mart, and retailers galore,
value the profit-producers,
running their stores.
The notion upon which,
both capitalists and socialists can agree,
is that labor produces value according to theory.
The media are watching,
in case you need reminding.
Watching you rake in BILLIONS,
while paying and STEALING,
POVERTY WAGES.
We call this condition,
hard-working ENSLAVEMENT,
with pay-as-you-go debit card "paychecks"...
And all this "part-time"
just to make sure workers are best
nickel'd and dime'd!!
But what you don't seem to understand,
is that this movement is long overdue.
Do we need a historical inflation review?
And this $10.10 business?
Please!
What is this 1993?
You can't sanitize,
Baptize,
nor televise,
this struggle.
These are a people who've had enough.
'Ya Basta!' they say! 'Enough is Enough!'
Enough struggle,
enough hustle,
Enough putting in muscle,
and your time, and blood,
and sweat and tears,
many with children,
many for years,
without a pay bump that keeps pace,
with the basic cost of living these days.
Still a minimum wage,
of only $7.93?!
I say 'Ya Busta!'
if you ask me.
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC