"thoroughfares" poems
superimposition of celestial ampersand:
a continuity of all things
stars hanging loose in the pupil
of this deadbeat word.
typhoons in a swirl of tempestuous ballet,
dogs shivering in the blue cold,
biting their canine integument the way
scarabs would, sinking in a temporal flotsam-way within tectonic display
of text
hectares of blank stares bringing
to life lysergic field of black birds.
and then some
equal number of evocativeness:
continuing on into the ground
are the bones warm in their compost.
the sudden fragrance of rat ****
appeals to the masses.
too much laughter in flooded thoroughfares pockmarked by
the vehement jam of staccato jackhammer.
choking us is today's headline
in supreme obbligato - its stench
reeks of libidinal perfume etched
in the flesh of the rigmarole.
one filthy day in Manila.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 12:53 AM UTC
Just about anyone can follow a path,
but they who always tread upon someone else's path
seldom leave footprints,
for footprints are evidence of walking off the pre-existing paths
and into the unknown or unexplored
and then returning
to some communal, common path
to share what was found.
We musn't assume that the paths
are the only viable thoroughfares,
literally as well as figuratively:
The
path that's
suggested
is not the only
path that one can take:
one must find
one's own
path.
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 5:17 PM UTC
I have always been in love with you
Though I've never seen your face
Rivered streets and thoroughfares
Cathedrals and marble shining glaze
Burgundy, sunsetted copper walls
Slanted clay tiles that shine like flame
Thick lushes of emerald'ed halls
Weaving into arcs of grape'd frame
Vineyards pouring over daykissed hill
Wine as red as dye and rich as gold
Flesh of bread, warm, at corners spill
Into the walks where it is sold
Dear Italy, my love, you torment me
Slipping your fingers 'round my heart
And all I have is pictures yet to be
And hope that we shall not long be apart
Feb 11, 2010
Feb 11, 2010 at 7:31 PM UTC
Jacques and Emile's veins
pounded in their skulls
as they scrambled down the ladder
and through the labyrinth of sewers
to rejoin their fellow assassins
beneath the Parisian thoroughfares.
They'd tracked the **** Captain's moves
for past a week and knew precisely
what he drank and where he ******
They were ready when he
Stumbled down the brothel stairs.
When Jacques stepped left for a clearer shot
he found a bucket with his foot.
The German wheeled and spotted them -
raising his whistle to his mouth,
but before he had a chance to blow,
A silent report from Emile's rifle
crashed into his trachea
And he crumpled like a rag.
Back in the tunnels
Jacques bragged like a circus barker,
"You should have seen the look on
Gerry's face before we brought him down."
Emile had seen his face alright,
but thought only of the whistle
that would have doomed them all.
What do you when the world goes mad
and **** tanks roll into the Champs Élysées?
Who do you **** and why and how?
Jacques was sound asleep
and deaf to his comrades' whispers -
pondering what to do and when.
The decision came quickly and a
different sort of mission was planned
and Emile selected to execute it.
What do you do when the world goes mad?
August, 2013
Aug 25, 2013
Aug 25, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
A vision as of crowded city streets,
With human life in endless overflow;
Thunder of thoroughfares; trumpets that blow
To battle; clamor, in obscure retreats,
Of sailors landed from their anchored fleets;
Tolling of bells in turrets, and below
Voices of children, and bright flowers that throw
O’er garden-walls their intermingled sweets!
This vision comes to me when I unfold
The volume of the Poet paramount,
Whom all the Muses loved, not one alone;—
Into his hands they put the lyre of gold,
And, crowned with sacred laurel at their fount,
Placed him as Musagetes on their throne.
1.5k
Under the hum of streetlights, bicycle flutters gather,
the sheer grey range reconstitutes as starless black.
From the faraways and thoroughfares voices wail, near
and distant, chatters of sirens rattle through night black.
Through park lands peach blossoms twirl, and twirl,
even here the pine winds chant can be heard.
~~~
Hedges in dimensions perfect mark path edges,
flower beds in colours calculated rest in immaculate squares.
Gusts from four corners trail blossoms in ten directions,
iron shears cannot cut the pine wind.
~~~
Grey monoliths transform into black sentinels,
flutters of bicycles seek out the shop fronts,
radiant weaves of neon chatter bright,
the night tie just rolls, and rolls.
~~~
Jun 30, 2012
Jun 30, 2012 at 3:59 PM UTC
If I may presume to summarize the concept,
"Eminent Domain,"
The Big P People own the Right of Way
And the little p people
Have temporary possession of the opportunity
To get out of the Way,
Or to be smashed under the wheels
Of Big P Progress.
Appropriate compensation will be paid,
Of Course,
And living spaces provided
To the little p people,
While the Big P People thunder by on their new highways,
Overpasses, airports, causeways, and thoroughfares.
Reclamation will be done over the torn earth
To re-bury the unearthed little p people's dead,
To restore damaged aquifers,
To "replace" trees and grasses "just as before,"
Never mind the pipelines,
The concrete roadways,
The railroads,
And the power lines....
Eminent Domain...
Rhymes with Capitalist Gain,
And little p people's pain....
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 12:18 PM UTC
He wandered at night the streets that might
Be busy, during the day,
The empty squares and the thoroughfares
To search for a come-what-may,
He’d never appear in the light of day
And shrank at a distant shout,
His way was always a lonely way,
Watching the lights go out.
He’d always avoid the gaze of men
Who would stare at him, then die,
Nor would he seek a mirror then,
He was born with a single eye.
His mother took him away at birth
So his father wouldn’t see,
That she had lain with a cyclops once
And then paid the penalty.
She had kept him locked in a cellar, till
He had grown too strong and bold,
He’d strained and torn at his chains until
His jail had failed to hold.
He couldn’t leave in the daylight, for
He had only known the dark,
So left one night in the pale moonlight
And escaped across the park.
He’d roam at night when the stars were bright
For the food and drink he’d need,
Padding the cobbled pavements there
In search of a missing creed.
What was the purpose of his life,
Could he exist alone?
Was there a female Cyclops somewhere
Willing to take him home?
One winter’s night when the time was right
And the streets were damp and drear,
He saw her walking a way ahead
And quaked in a sudden fear.
What if she turned and gazed on him
Drawn in by his single eye,
What if she died? He shook and sighed,
‘If she does, then so will I.’
She heard his footsteps behind her then
So he said, ‘you’re walking late!’
And her reply was a thankful sigh,
‘I can’t find my garden gate.’
He took her arm and they walked along
As she tried describing it,
His heart was full, he could do no wrong
As she tapped with a long white stick.
David Lewis Paget
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC
frock coated mourners all men
standing on the roof tops
while a silver haired woman
speaks through a megaphone
with a Calvinistic zeal
though her voice is lost
in the howling wind
smile unsmiling smiles
terracotta soldiers stand
in rows around this
grotesque assembly
while large disembodied heads
at the beginnings of thoroughfares
impede any progress
sinister flags smirk from
countless one roomed wooden houses
the terracotta soldiers laugh
for they know they are but dust
then the high frocked coated
male mourners smile unsmiling smiles
and say to us
"the future we bequeath to you"
there is a lifeboat in the street
but no water
we sob...sob...sob....sob
for there is no future
the birds all fly away
no future just an unknown place
determined only by the mediocrity
of its frothing melancholy
what have they done
jesus what have they done
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 9:40 AM UTC
In the mercy caul of night,
Where time is frail as memory,
In the technicolor film of ocean salt,
With eyes of yearn and mute wonders,
There, I saw you once more.
We walked through the rushes green
Of warmth, broke into dreams dawning
Meadows of casting light, where winged
Creatures, colourful as we, lilting in midair
Spiraled, drifting through the gleaming
Thoroughfares of endless Mays, of tingle
And flame, where once before, we found
Ourselves at the misty plateaus reflection
Of star shine and flight, nary silhouetted,
Yet, framed in the snow melted tarns
Of golden, glorious, Olympus.
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 11:15 AM UTC
*Kinetic waves of sweet water blessings , steaming blacktop
thoroughfares , trickling from gutter caps , rushing from downspouts , tapping my bedroom window like a childhood friend calling me to venture out
Petrichor melodies , Sun glistening Red Tip hedges
Wetted , diamond zoysia gardens
Culling roadside berries with cool naked
feet , with operatic fantasia rumbles the ubiquitous ' Thunder Roll ' , Blackbird gaggles resume their familiar treetop chorus in the ebony sky retreat of the afternoon Chattahoochee Summer heat* .......
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 1:33 PM UTC
In the mercy caul of night,
Where time is frail as memory,
In the technicolor film of ocean salt,
With eyes of yearn and mute wonders,
There, I saw you once more.
We walked through the rushes green
Of warmth, broke into dreams dawning
Meadows of casting light, where winged
Creatures, colourful as we, lilting in midair
Spiraled, drifting through the gleaming
Thoroughfares of endless Mays, of tingle
And flame, where once before, we found
Ourselves at the misty plateaus reflection
Of star shine and flight, nary silhouetted,
Yet, framed in the snow melted tarns
Of golden, glorious, Olympus.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 2:22 PM UTC
.
In the mercy caul of night,
Where time is frail as memory,
In the technicolor film of ocean salt,
With eyes of yearn and mute wonders,
There, I saw you once more.
We walked through the rushes green
Of warmth, broke into dreams dawning
Meadows of casting light, where winged
Creatures, colourful as we, lilting in midair
Spiraled, drifting through the gleaming
Thoroughfares of endless Mays, of tingle
And flame, where once before, we found
Ourselves at the misty plateaus reflection
Of star shine and flight, nary silhouetted,
Yet, framed in the snow melted tarns
Of golden, glorious, Olympus.
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 4:30 PM UTC
I cannot see the features right,
When on the gloom I strive to paint
The face I know; the hues are faint
And mix with hollow masks of night;
Cloud-towers by ghostly masons wrought,
A gulf that ever shuts and gapes,
A hand that points, and palled shapes
In shadowy thoroughfares of thought;
And crowds that stream from yawning doors,
And shoals of pucker'd faces drive;
Dark bulks that tumble half alive,
And lazy lengths on boundless shores;
Till all at once beyond the will
I hear a wizard music roll,
And thro' a lattice on the soul
Looks thy fair face and makes it still.
844
.
In the mercy caul of night,
Where time is frail as memory,
In the technicolor film of ocean salt,
With eyes of yearn and mute wonders,
There, I saw you once more.
We walked through the rushes green
Of warmth, broke into dreams dawning
Meadows of casting light, where winged
Creatures, colourful as we, lilting in midair
Spiraled, drifting through the gleaming
Thoroughfares of endless Mays, of tingle
And flame, where once before, we found
Ourselves at the misty plateaus reflection
Of star shine and flight, nary silhouetted,
Yet, framed in the snow melted tarns
Of golden, glorious, Olympus.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 9:27 PM UTC
You put forth and claim you loved me;
And with a murmur
who purrs like my cat
Kindly as sundown to nightfall myself
in such manner—
O' dazzling days o ' ember
Ye, sayeth now you love but
then thine gloaming lips
You say you are at blitheness
Although mired than silhouetted
by pouting kisses
But you say,
You love me
While midst sublime to yours
Beguiling passions, abets
Breathtaking verses,
sweats out of me
I'd love for you to open up
A Fire-burning ardent desires
My God, can you hear me whispering
My amazing Lord!
Please give me my soul mate
to cuddle
and ******
Ahhs of snuggles
Don't let me go this thine nuzzles !
I wanna be entwined unto the shadows
Of blamelessness..
I will fly to you,
so please put a halt for me
But only one thing I doubted about,
Herein hearty Eros of God's love
wherein this immortality is made of,
And die in it,
Yet cherishes was in my
Brain trust, thinking, sweetly,
Oh come to me in my dreams
Whist starring beams
with schisms
Thy butterfly kiss
Thou renew though begotten vow soonest
We can't win 'em all as best
behaviors chronic, in stills
Thou when dost wakes up
As much-needed hopes
our love into the deepest
enchantments of all essence
Oh me, inquesting questions,
Sowith love never-ending failures
Ne'erland of promised lands
Shying away lessons - learned amass
let alone revisiting sadness,
at hand
Oh dear Thee, behold, love me truly!
Once more, wish you could be here
so no more storms to adhere
More so thy moment of September
deemed Saint Cupid's calls for
Quasi-sweeter
Lest my mindset a trendsetter
Let alone sustainable care
You utter
and care
For a favor
In return I can't take it back
But go ahead, come on rays of light
Tough 'love' and found 'lust'
we gonna kiss the disturbed dust
In silence when we must
Unselfishness thoroughfares
and I can't help it but be just..
Oh com'on love me with all thine heart!
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 9:34 PM UTC
Thoroughfares! Lives! They meet as if by chance;
Starry lights, in legions, smile and smile all around;
The earth, beneath, exudes her summer thoughts;
Wheels smile and push themselves back and forth,
To the unknowns, to vanish, then to emerge again,
Creating unnumbered, fortuitous moments of joy!
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 10:46 PM UTC
In the mercy caul of night,
Where time is frail as memory,
In the technicolor film of ocean salt,
With eyes of yearn and mute wonders,
There, I saw you once more.
We walked through the rushes green
Of warmth, broke into dreams dawning
Meadows of casting light, where winged
Creatures, colourful as we, lilting in midair
Spiraled, drifting through the gleaming
Thoroughfares of endless Mays, of tingle
And flame, where once before, we found
Ourselves at the misty plateaus reflection
Of star shine and flight, nary silhouetted,
Yet, framed in the snow melted tarns
Of golden, glorious, Olympus.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 7:41 PM UTC
my derelict third year in the drone:
a way to assuage what it feels to
function. to breathe mechanical air.
the rambunctious scent of morning appears
ill, confabulated, lysergic at most.
ladies in lithe dresses pose for pressing scenes.
taken photographs held up in loose light.
pelvises unloosening, ****** on the thoroughfares
fishing for trout as men, men as flowers,
lackadaisical graffiti dropping like simian jaw
upon visions of thigh. everything signatures a suture
so precise like a repair of the lip,
or the rapture of birds in impossibly blue skies.
news was that a fortune was coming in,
and I slept within the masses; dreams deliberately
vandalized and fragged.
they said it would be
marvelous. they said it would not ****
i see a woman
in her 20s. falling subtly, a gingham dress
sexed if not pullulated by flower-heads,
she said it would be darling
my third year in the machine.
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 10:33 PM UTC
.
In the mercy caul of night,
Where time is frail as memory,
In the technicolor film of ocean salt,
With eyes of yearn and mute wonders,
There, I saw you once more.
We walked through the rushes green
Of warmth, broke into dreams dawning
Meadows of casting light, where winged
Creatures, colourful as we, lilting in midair
Spiraled, drifting through the gleaming
Thoroughfares of endless Mays, of tingle
And flame, where once before, we found
Ourselves at the misty plateaus reflection
Of star shine and flight, nary silhouetted,
Yet, framed in the snow melted tarns
Of golden, glorious, Olympus.
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 1:30 PM UTC
on the way home tonight
I took the route
you usually do,
going straight here
and turning left there
mostly because it took me
past your house
and I could look at
the muted light behind your windows
and wonder
if you were reading or
watching television or
eating dinner or
not even there or
wondering about me too.
but also because it took me
just a little bit longer
to reach my destination
and through the looking
and the wondering
I could enjoy the night
just a little bit longer.
I prefer darkened side streets
to thirtyfivemilesperhour streetlamp-lit thoroughfares.
the shadows crowding the road
and the contented blankness
of the houses
make the music louder
and the thoughts deeper
and the loneliness lesser.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 10:03 AM UTC
Former hotels and restaurants sit like tomatoes dying on the vine ...
Filling stations are like ghost on this highway , long abandoned but still
advertising ... Empty shells line State Route 29 , Hwy. 42 and 41 for many miles , old wood barns with ' See Rock City ' still visible from the roadside , ancient billboards rusting , antique tractors frozen and left to die , once busy , vibrant thoroughfares now have a car or two once in awhile .. Antique stores and tourist stops that sold peaches , muscadines and pecans plus other southern treats make eerie noises now with no folks left to visit ..
Owners left to query their insignificance , boarded establishments flapping in the wind , gutted homes now prisoners of rain and the elements , grass struggles , breaking free from it's asphalt jailer , barbed wire fence shredded , no trespassing signs laying beside silent roadways ... What terror befell the people when the interstate claimed her prize , what alternatives were available during theses harrowing times ...
Feb 10, 2016
Feb 10, 2016 at 3:21 PM UTC
In the mercy caul of night,
Where time is frail as memory,
In the technicolor film of ocean salt,
With eyes of yearn and mute wonders,
There, I saw you once more.
We walked through the rushes green
Of warmth, broke into dreams dawning
Meadows of casting light, where winged
Creatures, colourful as we, lilting in midair
Spiraled, drifting through the gleaming
Thoroughfares of endless Mays, of tingle
And flame, where once before, we found
Ourselves at the misty plateaus reflection
Of star shine and flight, nary silhouetted,
Yet, framed in the snow melted tarns
Of golden, glorious, Olympus.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 12:47 PM UTC
dark as dark — held secret
in TV's hoarse static. lining up and
scuttling across the thoroughfares,
vineyards wrung out of blood,
stomped, crevasse pithless.
willowed and scrunched up, a camouflage
of sorts to masquerade proper terrors.
ripe for Decembertime. magnanimous
assault of buses athwart carts jaded
somewhere between the bend and the fang, shadow upon *** of shadow and
the jiggling of loose change in mired pockets igniting a cadence of dithered flame. later, the lights will cross-fade
into criss-cross. x marks the spot
of burials. content with locks secured
by keys and vice versa. hermetic word
sealed shut in the eyes of the sleepless
children. naiveties suckling our mothers.
songs stifling our fathers. bamboozle
of radio intensifies to raw warfare.
our dangers go to work,
unfurling age. septuagenarian is rare,
and in any common rate, death teems
full in the disappearance of mornings
promising river-flown stories of
how everything was once in our hands.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 10:19 AM UTC
I was never insane
except upon odds
when my heater was touched.
Believe nozzle you hear,
and only one halibut that you see.
Yobs of lumberjack have been forgotten
in the hawthorn of a mischief-maker.
Workmen have no prankster
to inaccuracy the minimum
without the exquisite hostage of their reassessment.
Never to suffer
would never to have been blessed.
The best thoroughfares in light
make you sweaty.
Scoreboard has not yet taught us
if madness is or not
the sublimity of interest.
I remained too much inside my headman
and ended up losing my minimum.
May 22, 2019
May 22, 2019 at 1:31 AM UTC