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We were the transient children
windswept youth
marching to break the barrier
between nightness and dawn
whispering immigrant secrets
of our fathers
and mothers

lying on rooftops yelling
arrays of stars
speeding away
racing light
racing racing racing
hearts as we crawled
down fire escapes to
street corners
to proselytize

Amen
Hari Krishna
Namaste
As-Salāmu 'Alaykum
silent God
I love this poem, and I want to improve it. Comments on form?
Lucy Tonic Nov 2011
It's such a silly paradox
The lonely man
The island of one
Till someone enters your stage
Then you love, leave and turn the page
Cause a spirit needs to be nurtured
And most of us haven't felt that since birth
So why bother trying
When they sing freedom songs
From shackles of iron

But why not skip
On the cruelty of duel thoughts
You could be crazy or corporate
But your real father is spread wide open

I know your brain is bleeding
You rather have it broken then
Try to mend a torn hem
Living for the moment
Can make you rather numb
So you wear your jeans inside out
Hoping the future comes
Sticks and stones
Bring warmth to your bones
But words will always hurt you

But why not skip
On the cruelty of duel thoughts
You could be crazy or corporate
But your real father is spread wide open

Everyone around you
Is wearing the face of Jesus
But you see their roots
From the Judas tree
And they hit
Every branch
On the way down
Back to square one
Is back to the flora
And dumb
Tina Fish Sep 2012
I.  ****** Transient

Overnight takes on new meaning
when the sun never sets and will never rise.

This time i didn’t bring words, i brought lines.

And Esmeralda danced circles around my eyes.
You gypsy ***** You.
Leading me confused,
                  with knees low and back hunched,
                                    into a labyrinth of solitude.

Embarrassed of what exactly?
i’ve barred scars more deep than scars
like profound pools of black sticky tar
that almost suffocates with its gluttony
and still You wouldn’t look away.
And now i pay a price as images intertwine
                           creating zebra patterned designs
                                             on the alcoves of my mind.
         Black, White
They contrast in spite of the connection.
         and I wear this contrast like an emblem,
                  hanging from my throat,
                           heavy on my heart.
                                    yet with the delicate touch of some
                                             slippery silvery chain…
                                                      It almost rids me of the pain.


Back turned or give me the front,
i still want either way.
A petrifying carnival of desire,
making my eyes tire of this display
and my lips itching to play,
a lilac purple tongue,
and bronze arms on the way.

You feign revolution by shutting the door in my face.

A shuddering sigh and flutter of a heart,
                           as caged ribs start to part,
                                   liberated room for more,

i’ve become an emotional *****,
lips wet with anticipation,
pulsating with a passion,
that You defined as infatuation.

And that i just couldn’t define.

-or rather-

defined as a transition in time.

****** Transients* would abstractive-ly be the best,
         but the abstract, once put to the test,
floats past concrete lines,
and creates a world of its own where, even as a stranger,
                  i feel right at home.
                                    Lioness of the abstract dome.


Razor sharp You
        sliced a tingling into the souls of my feet,
        and week after week i did nothing but smile at my own loss
        of balance.

The feminine reemerging as the phallus,
and the phallus in comfort with its feminine home.

         i patiently wait for my Special Kinder Surprise,
                                    and meanwhile,
                                             satisfy myself with imagination,
                                                    ­           to which an interpretation,
         would require the use of a million scholarly texts,
                                    which still wouldn’t attest to this degree
Of Vulgarity,
         or this degree
Of Sexuality,
         or this degree
Of Spirituality.

Like the slaughter of fowl for mythological pride;
                           You hide behind an altar,
                                    and with all the holiness i posses,
I intend to pull through and impress with Determination.
                           --and the petrifying realization—
that You are Artemis and i soon to be set upon by the hound
                                                           - choking ego to the ground.


But ****, it was worth it.

worth the,
vulnerability
worth the,
audacity
worth the,
ecstasy,
-It naturally dissolved within me.

Only to be pushed down by an incessant flipping of the door,
an incessant call to reality.

is the overnight truly Over?
      —or pray mercy and tell me its begun.

The rising Sun seems determined to puncture the fun,
And the valiant battle with Apollo seems already to have been won.



II.  ****** Ensnared
  
I’m getting tired of this ****.

A tantrum fit as if we were kids of three.
Stomping on adult realized priorities.
We wear our hair like a mask,
                  we analyze our clothes,
                           personify the persona we wish to adapt,
         and commend that same personal persona
         complimenting its research studied aura.
                                                    
--I’d rather stay in this dream forever.
  (you judged me by my hair
   yet remained unaware
   to what it masked.)

Please don’t preach to me about consideration.

The obliteration of that term in action shocks me.
Truth be told?—I’m quite Angry, and I feel used,
Yes, believe it or not, Abused.
Infiltrated and Dominated.

And I am a Leo at heart.

So to part with my throne will only be met with roars of defense;
                                                        ­       to be direct, Aggressiveness.


My interlude is met with seclusion—
         isolation to the utmost degree—
and I see that the world agrees, as I’m met
with a phone with no tone
and a power-cut of electricity,
while the world contracts visibly
and the static in the air
ensnares my fiery wrath,
and storms overhead
are weighed down with
anxiety and dread
that express themselves
in raindrops, that I lovingly
call tears.


I fear this is me at my limit---
        And I exhibit nothing but ferocious gloom.

This room which contains me is not enough,
And I will huff
And I will puff
Until the walls come down.
                  And the only sound to be heard,
                           is the numbing effect of silence.

My Rifle stands ready to be shot and plunge through that stubborn heart
of yours until it is rejected or until the reflected opinion dominates. Is it
too much to ask for a change of heart?
Empathy? Understanding?
Basic societ-ical handling?
Apparently yes.
So I detest
having to put in.

The waterworks that I display
convey nothing but submission
to your inconsideration.
                  And the devil in me crosses her fingers
                  for experience by example,
                  as elephants trample over logic
                  and the symbolic is simply symbolic.
                                             That’s too much reason for my taste.
                                             And I see that it was a waste
                                             Trying to impress with determination.

****** Ensnared has denied a nation of people their feelings,
                  listening, with unappealing resolution
                  satisfying herself with this conclusion:
                  “Let them eat Cake.”


--It’s true.
You can’t have your cake and eat it too.



III. ****** Verbalize

On a park bench it took me quite by surprise,
my eyes met with scripture
recognizable though not to my hand,
the band on my finger tightened and
yet the anger seized.
         -- How could I not have surmised ****** Verbalize to enlighten me?--


“Your Majesty;
         I owe you My Apology-
                  And I couldn’t be sorrier for my selfish self
                  has decided to rest after this long period.

For She was too busy
trying to make you feel safe and home
--She was too busy trying to suppress her ****** up
whipped cream so that you can have you cake and eat it too—
But She failed.

        You believe ****** is selfish,
then I’m afraid you never knew ******.
                  --****** loved you with wide arms open and she
                  Was pleased to meet you.

She hopes it was a useful transition for You.

.THE END.
The ******”
Kaitelka; Whale Mongolic down, first whale which said syndrome, evidenced by their presence, as didgeridoo, as spitting but more hypersonic, hyper cetacean moving his tail, Burguete funds, learned to swim faster than anything, but the Nautilus, not He paid attention to his mother in his care skills, but bad luck that can befall if not moderate their exalting and allergic omitted cases to obey.

So all blue, but little Kaitelka, seeking friendship among their peers, but he put  a tambourine limit gave him leftovers and liked more than a day a thousand years of perfect instincts. So step aside by the fire, and dodged the deafening roar of nymph Satinga; the most ancient senator of the headpiece, always full on its plateau of ******* hydrochloride that resistance, if they pass a thousand years and I do not understand these pairs, I adjusted my engine, but to no avail me, my instincts are diluted and slim as downpour edges left by the wayside in infants and solfa. That Jesus Light was said behind the screen rainbow arch, he takes her hand to Kaitelka, and back by the outer estuary, they attack by instinct ministry of evil.

Mildew petrified oaks, disorients the abject warty troughs the disordering of the genetic instinct, if I have to pause my essence, I leave in the hands of Joshua stone from beyond. Where the ticket is worth more to me, but I get the same. Where evil knows well, but tasteless well. Underground, underwater., Kaitelka take any more, wheels come and go, instinct taking shredding herbs near the sea, no longer separates me more. Bright the famous day that rebukes my dreams rather than a whole, plastering, or monument flash highborn of Mongolic loves whales, classless or inheritances acquired record. Kaitelka and in gratitude to accompany my walk, to the junction of Lisbon, walking from room to room, to begin the pilgrimage, his steps were Glup, Glup like a pretty varmint, over the hills she is beginning to the descritery of Satinga, or rather the descritery of Sapiens Hommo, rummaging instinct of love today, then unloved. Native forests make pairings, but separate links non-energy cataclysms, similar to the new alliance valley radial wave, tuned cetacean sonar power can be glimpsed.

The Ministry of Evil is no end to the retrospective marvel at Noe, Isaac or Abraham, or Luther King, is the delayed form of unsettled muscle primo Evo madding to neo Evo updated, and neither bells sound the same, as reboot gray phthisis diseases degenerate and synthetic. The instinct to put your hands into the fire will be lost ..., so more pace to the back of them cutting the seas in arithmetical divisions, if commend my antidepressants depressive relatives, caress the sea in each constipated solstice, I go every night with daisies in my hands defying every cliff, every cave turned into a tavern, killing instinct, when the brain is nothing, sprayed kerosene on stage, to see my beloved before he dies of a blowgun.  

Joshua Stone and Bernardolipus in a crossroad, spin the grazing, the black sheep, is barren, its classic label of Segregated debased soul, but defecated humanoid comment sing out of tune the territory themselves.  Three-step, three-way, Joshua embraces Bernardolipo. Welcome starts. Satinga you slice ferns and wild beast, vomits both diazepams swallowed, do not sleep, dreams transpose half orb. Halos, half halos, iridescent arcades, and warm breezes, must preamble Donated high liking. Soft and warm look, I do not lose my plate potato near my belly, warm adobe cellar. Nymph Satinga of reaction in reaction out of tune and the highlights midwife psoriasis for its reddish dermis by a fungus worming. The re instinct starts to chew his skull, dread end of the border. The cookies Lord is sending us on napkins.

Pre urbane figure born, they appear a hundred suns, so the crowd out who has the audacity to reveal the discrete enigma, the puzzle while the floor moves the seizure ... all stunned waiting for the flash Ritual to start the preliminary stage, the paradigm of unshelled trees, tough tables roll by the church at the foot of flowers crocuses scrolls flat estate. For the baptistery inscrutability warmth your network back double halo on the moon, scrub that level. Abyss where I fall near aspire to the coachman, I go away over time from heaven minute no second in hours where the avalanche of time lose my look to hold any deity that does not prevent the tendency to lose those not facing front, a day like this you do not walk any shadow, nor the Horcondising I would like to Santorini. The Borker wrongheaded, burning a cigar in rib Kaitelka, it provides a stunning scream as the end of the world, giving birth to the sky his beautiful breeding, as a good omen to present to the crowd in the Octagon and pleased transit day often fruity crestfallen fig.  

Adelimpia,  Strongly taken the and Thunder Aunt, washed in the backroom their aprons with Christmas, whose magical and enlightening sense, they were the Three Wise Princes, sons of the same kings of Israel. Sitting on some cobs, heritages from last wheel spikes. On warm evenings mantra Baba Nam Kevalam, I do not stay alone without others to see this magical high flood flow mention aversion in pontificates, necessary, pal meal with wine apocalyptic pale rider, Napoleonic soldier dethroned.

Thousands of hectares grassland in loving with heavenly muddy, as adhering to the force of Sorcery Camphor to move everything to the midnight launch eclipse. Thousands of hectares squirts do not possess any extension ratio, giddiness master eye, losing possession. What is Slice is Caren Lagoon, which is Alhué Village is Polulo mountain near the place, what Pichi of Barrancas... Out of my roles temple or regulators, as night plans still dating Jack, with overall equidistant to all orphan girl lost in the jungle inbenign . Cutting room of breath begins threshing., afar put the trays, and poor saint not to attend, this clever move, all atheists bruised, stiff and deprived of the worst failure smoothness, it´s the earth not plowed,                    
              
Dreams whistles hills ... Ghosts and spurs  ... Elegy opaque optical floors, all at Aunty Thunder dream the same...

If you can call night, inland sea waves have to educate infant’s tsunamis, they live among geological forces off the coast of scudding clouds of ... where she cuts through. Where our conscience, should play down a Machiavellian zero to roll it to the belly of the whale down. Their heavy udders milk, as long as a wild bird dueled, mounted in their beards, but the bird slips for his little body often and disadvantaged, to fall into the enzyme flash neuron meditatively; aspiring meditatively. While tsunamis grow, the mountains grow, decreases Hommo sapiens, conscience, he has left, minus zero exiled to the **** pony pens, to create their neighborhood over the eyes of a pupil of warty lameness. Reborn storm, stately power, Nymph Hetaira, who seduces the ringer smith, golden horseshoe, pal new millennium. His no longer harp, sewing lips ant, threading needles Grandma milking herbs get a grotto, families abandoned, shrill understatement by the echoes of the West, for you my Transients soliloquy turbid straightening of holistic aqueous molecules who want to sleep in my hands.

Good beverage, good consciousness nursery. Sleepily he walks by the barbed wire of stupid sort of busybody in thickness bolognese, or bandoneon, pilaster grandson male, to Vizcaya sailing or North Toscana, where after a barricade, Piedmont jumps to the south under Pichi.

They are falling water molecules on Maitén tree, or Tomato Adelimpia bow, and on the fibrous and head hair grass grandmamma Anna. Junks greet Bernardolipo, which was fishing with his wounded eyes, but the rub his mouth on the back of Kaitelka, calcium verve in carrousel turned. Line up the right hand, bottled lady Juana, he stretched to crush cilantro, but no ... or both...

Reigns for ?, to allocate a stop along the way, West Side Story Pichi. We are a few steps from misting dawn of propionate Stoics lash the oppressed people, clear water, singing  ... neuron in neuron, the cell last neuron, with the bow remained foul-mouthed, to shuffle, or Kawashkar Chilean Indian the slice of the leg, looking shoe children who roam the street without a blanket. They close their eyes, tears of shame. Here you are ecstatic stiffs arrows bows, feathers swaying in edgings shields tangled, hordes of haggard eyes flamed flames that no impudence and, which limp to a scoundrel that stuns resistant to fall on the sand. Show your dream, that dream bathe.

Continues the fierce Primor, falls brochures from red heaven fall prayers stammering to advance on this land saga, fall rustic donatives of grandmamma Mayor of coelum, Joshua insomniac in his tabernacle, defoliating his tome skip and jump down the estuary, before every misstep, holy water to step, a smile the Loica rural place Or a caress to the cheek moon in the arms of a blackbird, manacled to a rasp, stove teapot levitating top where grandmamma Adelimpia wheezes. Hail Mary ever ******, the other day, I heard that in September, flapping fall on Fiddler praise, perhaps mediate, for bad talking, founder of my undying love of life joined empty verbs on clovers where I to live forever, pre, pre paella prize moaning on my shoulder osteoarthritis crucifying collapsed tree. Nightmare builds a ship to reach Legion Mary. Centerfold, guns, howitzers, dissident’s ovaries ... final pages, declamatory winds ... perhaps agonizing leg expectantly... Or delusional feet of premature mortality, which brought pray to heaven, earth ... at soon I have to forget. The earth gives me the cheese, and bread sandwiching it goes...

Between him and earth coelum I doze my motive piece body, my shepherd Beetle Maximilian of Auschwitz sprayed me holy water the Vistula, I kneel down my hinges, and my hands for pray by pure attained effort, ***** great feat, who believes fall the abyss, and just below the earth tremulous, bell, first-throat yawning, loose cassock sounds a rainy morning, falling in the forest priority to see all morning, brimming with couplets of snow.

Continue to fall aqueous molecules, Kaitelka divides the estuary waters. Sheets of – Talami rural high lawns and wise water, South of  Pichi. Follow the dream, and just needed to uprighted the cabin, roaring gallop, wake up tomorrow morning sweaty dancing aqua, font of Lourdes, the four simultaneously open their headlights eyes, unblinking as echoes swimming duck feeding their young in the obsidian lagoon. Rock palafitte a piece of coal painted black each carriage serene, going from the Cantillana Mountain. Blasphemes morning fall roe bellowing wind annoyed tongue, windless striding through the window, thunderbirds mistress thousand flanks, now mount the besieged strands of colloidal solid. Elegy, opaque optical dreams, and drovers days nearsighted, soon saved our lives...

The never End.
hiperverb and imaginery poetry, based upon the eternal endless realistic living and non  logic  retoric literature.
copyrigth JOSE LUIS CT  2018
Coop Lee Jul 2015
the sea is cold,
but the sea contains the hottest blood of all.*

             killer transients.
             people and whales.

             he needed to see his son smile
             & he did.
             a blue-trucked boy, hometown hero.

             he loved to fight
             & he fought to love.

             died in afghanistan for the pentagon boys.
            
             blame them. bomb them.
             submerge your vestigial limbs in days and home
             & simple mammalian living.
             wage and pray.
             little hours.
             little sweet nothings.

             people and whales fall older.
             think. write. ferment.
             the good deep.

             the hottest blood of all.
recently published in The Bayou Review
Francie Lynch Jan 2019
There's movement afoot.
Occupants and sycophants
Are scattering
From the Rainbow Rooms
To the more concrete setting
Of the Oral Office,
Where the North and South Porticos
Admit the transients
Behind the secure cement walls
Of the Skinners.
2019 should prove rewarding. From White House to Big House. From Oval Office to Oral Orifice.
the criminal element is lost
have you fought with your boss
each day is fraught with challenges
but that's what makes you stronger
all along the water's edge
the waves break and connect
like threads of poetry
lines of beauty
curving at the moon
luminous intrusions
before we are fallen
dreams seethe
with colorful landscapes
and i am a blade of grass

threads of astral fire
aspire for the sun
my magic is beyond recognition
it ignites the silence
and burns bright as day
words are living
breathing entities
families of sounds
consonants and vowels
are relatively harmless
unless you dare
to speak them out loud
control your tone
and let aspiration resonate
this assonance is rather transient
so lets embrace our scansion
mansions of impermanence
lands of intransigent transients
its tragic really
how the lead of vehemence
can spread so rapidly

sentient powers stake their claim
in soil that remains dutiful
despite your shame
have we gone insane
its quite likely
or are we still the same
that remains to be questioned
better to drop this game
and keep up your crazy vision quest
Radwan Jun 2010
I made a new friend today. She's a devil, making a lair of the details.
Her first words bound me in her spell,
Her first gesture captivated my soul.
Turning my frown upside down was her first concern.
The sun shown above, hot and flirty, blinding me with her enthusiasm.
Stepping in her way, my friend gave me back my sight.
Gratefully, I smiled and looked her in the eye.

I made a new friend today.
She is everything that I am not.
Her eyes were red and her hair was too
Long and graceful, it flowed down her neck and spread over her bare shoulders.
Flirting with the winds, locks of her hair seemed to dance in the sun's light.
She cast no shadow and bore no weight on the earth's face.
Standing weightless she floated in place.

I made a new friend today, while resting from the day's labors.
In the shade of my favorite tree, I was sitting, breathing heavily with a death stick in my hand.
My gaze shifting madly while my mind was drifting steadily farther from the scene.
Another day was almost over...
Taking heed of the greenery
Taking my fill of the fresh air
Knowing that my concrete hive awaits my return.
Then she came, blocking out the setting sun.
Tall and slender she rose over me.
Her form redefined what I knew of elegance.
The beauty looked down to me, then came down to meet my gaze.
Her scent filled my head and brought it ever so slightly higher.
Her eyes laid claim to mine.
They glimmered like rubies and for a moment, her eyes were all I could see. Then the rest of her face caught my eye.

She was everything that I was not.
She was fair and smiling, I was dark and weary.
Light and loose, her dress spoke of her freedom,
while mine wreaked of aspesis and death.
Her face was smooth and clear,
while mine was wrinkled and rough.
Her eyes had clear whites and ruby red irides
Mine were the blood shot whites and the yellow irides.
Half a mind there, with the other blank and clear.
Below her I was sitting, receptive and calm.
She put her left hand on my right shoulder...
No words were yet uttered.
I thought; good things come to those who wait,
and wait I did, this opening line is hers.
Let her use it as she sees fit. I hope she would...
I only hope she is mindful of her words.
I only hope she speaks.
Her lips moved and her voice danced.
Into my skull her words raced.
"I came for you. I come bearing a light for your mind.
I come bearing knowledge for your longing.
I come in answer to your prayers."

I made a new friend today.
She is everything that I am not.
Her first words bound me in her spell.
Turning my frown upside down was her first concern.
and on she went with her opening line.
"Here only for you.
Our differences may be numerous,
But I size them up with no displeasure.
Our differences may be many,
But still I come to your aid.
Son of Adam, I am here to provide for you and only for you.
I provide comfort when none can be found.
I provide company when no one is around.
I provide wisdom when your wits scatter about."

"A rather lengthy opening line there." was the first thought that came to my mind.
"you speak in riddles and claim to bear subjects for my passion, and answers to my questions.
Claiming to have knowledge of my persona.
My dreams, you claim to know and understand.
Who are you ? or better yet, What are you ?
You bear in your hand only a single fruit, a glistening green apple.
Time's passing left no marks on your face or voice.
Your complexion tells me you live a life of luxury; elegant and powerful, your arrival caught me off guard.
You were kind enough to reveal the purpose of your visit to me in your first words.
I find your honesty appealing,
your voice comforting,
your sight mesmerizing,
but my eyes never fool me and they tell me that you're not human; nothing like myself."
My reply came swiftly, though not needed, as I came to know later on. Our conversing was but a formality, for her at least, I on the other hand knew of no other method of communication.
Though eloquent and infinitely flexible, my tongue's expressive potential was still limited.
Limited by my humanity; its actions were governed by a despot.
And limitation's despotism seemed to never waver.

Again her voice rose, tempting and dizzying me;
"Son of Adam, I am not of your species.
You asked what I am and I will provide you with an answer.
I am not human, not belonging to this plane of existence. I concede to none of the laws to which you concede.
I may be the first of my kind to cross paths with you, but be assured, you are not the first of your kind to cross paths with me.
I am essentially a being of the ethereal realm.
I come from a different world
Where reality and fantasy exist side to side
I have been called many names... Demoness, Devil, Temptress, Goddess.
A human's demise, Lust's incarnate.
You may use whichever you like of them."

I clung to silence for a second, then gave her my answer.
"The names you've provided me with all seem to hold no meaning for you.
They were all used by predecessors to myself, I am sure. And I suppose that's the reason you chose to suggest them to me."
Slowly and silently, she nodded; non of them held any meaning for her.
"I care not for formalities and I care not for my predecessors.
I will use whatever name you use.
If you would allow it."

Her voice came in a whisper.
"I will only agree if you vow never to share it with another. For unlike yours, mine was brought into existence with my creation. It is as much a part of me as I am a part of it, and it is mine and mine alone to dispense of or reveal."
For a moment, I considered my situation, it seems I am as much her destiny as she is mine... or at least part of it. I was tempted by her offer and pleased by her sincerity, her apparent decency.
"I agree to your terms, I vow never to speak of it. Now tell me!"

And tell me she did.
Speak of it I won't.
She revealed it as promised
So share it I can't.

"My name is my power, it holds my soul and my mind.
Son of Adam, I know of your longing.
I came in answer to your calling
I heard all your silent thoughts
I heard all your questions
They reached my ears wherever I roamed, and I have come to you."

I made a new friend today.
She is everything that I am not.
By her name I could call her when nobody else ever could.
She was desire in the flesh...
My solitude she wished to crush
My thirst she hoped to quench.

"Oh, but solitude is good for the soul, my friend. Solitude is my ground... my grind.
And though I long, you can never satisfy me, my friend.
I long not for answers or keys, but an end to the questions, the master key to this infernal maze of a world. For what is life if not a pensione? vacant rooms, all locked, or wishing not to be disturbed.
What are the people we know if not transients? They book, move in, stay, then leave... Like tourists, lazy, dumb and gullible idiots.
Do you wish to be one of said jokers and frauds?"

Her face was unchanged.. she seemed not to be bothered by my last ultimatum, and her voice again came to me, clear and calm, "Son of Adam, I wish not to devalue your dilemma, but it is you who is transient here, not me. Your likes never last, and to the next world you will soon undoubtedly be cast."

"Good point... that makes me the only candidate for such hypocrisy.... Then tell me, how do you intend to aid me? Out with your secrets my friend."
Friends, Solitude, Beauty
John F McCullagh Oct 2012
Tommorrow is on my calendar
as is every day next week.
I have interviews, appointments,
Dinners at which I'll speak.

I'll make some time for family
and writing ,I suppose.
I may find time to barbecue
and to launder my work clothes.

When evening comes I'll settle back
with a glass of Pinot noir.
I'm a transient immortal,
I'm on loan here from a star.

The future is a game;
against ourselves we play
We act as if we still have left
forever and a day.

In truth we all are transients
For just this moment free.
Self observing stardust
poised t'wixt two eternities
Another Birthday
Marcella Barnes Feb 2012
At 10:20pm on a Tuesday night
The number 14 bus is full
Bright, glistening, and fevered
These tired commuters expend vast energies
on wishing they lived here—so they’d be home by now.
Transients—the unhoused—talk in believable lies
About Portland’s oldest bridges
And salmon runs in the Willamette
And every time the bell signals a stop requested
Those of us remaining heave another sigh of delay.

At SE Cesar Chavez, which was 39th when I was growing up,
More people get off than on—
A man in a brutal cavity t-shirt,
A 30-something in a grey hoodie –
Both transferring, probably, to the line 75.
I get off around 47th,
Pass the long-closed and over-priced vintage furniture shop,
Cross the street at the fading crosswalk,
Pass a bar, a home cooking joint with and early bird special of $2.95,
Another bar, and a lonely busker playing guitar and singing Weezer.

In my building, on my floor, the hallway always smells like chicken
I’ve yet to cook, to even finish unpacking
But all of this already feels familiar
My first night’s commute home
And I am as practiced and nonchalant as a New Yorker in the City…
At least as much as a Portlander can be in Portland.
I’ll have wine, or tea,
Put on my lounging clothes
And settle into an evening alone
As if I’ve been doing this forever
As if we never were.
Oh old days of past lives lived -
West coast ridin’
Thumbin’ ‘bout the coast -
San Diego up to L.A. -
Zoomin’ through Big Sur with strange friends,
Stranger than strangeness itself.
Arrive Santa Cruz,
Cops called,
No transients allowed,
Caravan keep tumblin’ northbound -
San Francisco Bay,
Oh, that Oakland scene
With Park Prophets
And worn-out crack minds
Panhandling supermarkets
Begging coins for fire -
The Sun isn’t enough -
Old man needing dirt
Paid with by pity,
Smoking up the score
Singing little ditties
On Piano, beating keys
loud, Loud, LOUD
until Cops called
by neighbors afraid of God,
claiming Jesus freaks of being demons,
Oh old days of past lives lived -
Walking Telegraph to Berkeley
In the rain Rain RAIN,
Stolen bicycle,
Making friends, People’s Park
No more noise -
Just rain fallin’ fallin’ fallin’
And in the rain, I do miss those lives -
Those faces. And I know, forever I will. Forever I will. Forever I will.
Bless.
shyguypoetry Sep 2016
door slightly ajar,

footprints linger in the dust

doormat whispers, “wait”
Maha Mar 2021
do fires kiss my skin's senses not when I should be kept back at a spines distance
not when I solicit crimson splashes
from transients that gaze longingly
from a screens distance
but for the aftertaste of tenderness
I often wonder if the inferno that burns in a particular shade of loneliness
could be extinguished with nothing more
than what you call a "hug"
about me
Scarlet McCall Nov 2016
Margaret, are you grieving
over Hillary’s unseating?
The victory you expected
was denied, and you are dejected.
Fears and tears are your companions
as you grieve for undocumented transients.
But no tears you shed in years gone by
when bombs fell on children from drones on high.
Nor did you protest the stop and frisk
or needless deaths of black men at risk.
Slaughter in Gaza was no cause
for you to protest, or even to pause
from your Twitter feed or drink at Starbucks.
(The world knows you didn’t give two *****.)
I sit and watch the roosting chickens
who have returned from the wide world sickened.
Evil doesn't always come with crassness and insults. Sometimes it comes with a smile and a handshake.
Anton Snert May 2020
I heart Blackpool, engraved tankards
Little old men & full kit wankers.
Bracing wind with rain & sleet
******* blowing in the street.
In Blackpool.

Kiss me quick & squeeze me slow.
Madame Tussauds, pier-end show
Grubby track-suits, baseball caps
Homeless people search for scraps.
In Blackpool.

Sun and rain, blue & grey.
All four seasons in one day.
Drug ravaged transients dressed in rags.
Haggard old women smoke their ****.
In Blackpool.

Flashing lights & lots of noise
Flirty girls & drunken boys
Abba tributes, yesterday’s stars,
Rattling trams & clapped out cars.
In Blackpool.

Penny arcades & bingo halls.
Amusement rides & market stalls.
Drag Queens flaunt with macho men.
Stripper seduces drunken hen.
In Blackpool.

Rooms by the hour, rooms by the night.
A £1 burger & a £2 pint
Rolling sea & golden sand.
Lowest life expectancy in the land.
In Blackpool.
Jim Timonere Feb 2016
I live in the corners now where the light is a reflection
and the shadows are real:

The comforting shadows of what was and the
painful shadows of what was expected.

My corner is crowded with transients, like me, pulled
slowly or fast, into the farthest nooks where they are
finally lost to the ephemeral light of here and now.  

It's hard to remember some of them, glad they are gone in fact;
Others are seared in my consciousness, smiling there as when
we shared the light that seemed everlasting as the sun.

But not even the sun is forever.

So I look for something beyond the nooks where my friends
and loves and dreams have gone.

I will tell you, who are still in the light, truly from the shadows
of the corner: only love and hope and Love will mean anything
when you reach this place.

And you will be here too soon.
Abraham Esang Oct 2017
These kids were guaranteed a superior life. Some picked up this.

This is the narrative of the numerous who did not. It is told from a girl's perspective.

No bitterness filled our adolescence days, my folks did their best to raise

their posterity in a climate of care.

We knew they both were English conceived, transported from an existence miserable,

ousted into a halfway house stark.

A stage they'd needed to repudiate, so till this day we had not known

what they and different transients needed to endure.

A mission by some for reward implied ventures to conclusion could start,

with governments and individuals more mindful.

For tribulations of the past, 'Conciliatory sentiments' have come finally

to casualties whom society denied.

Overlooked once they'd left their field, this descendants of country's poor,

no follow up to perceive how they'd survived;

no enthusiasm for these adolescents' predicament – put out of mind when beyond anyone's ability to see –

the balm of greener fields very much plotted.

Two issues understood by their expel. To help grow, the English fashioned

an arrangement affirmed and shrewdly thought up.

For individuals attempting to survive – no aid to keep their young alive –

this offer appeared the solution to their supplication.

They marked their kids to the plan, surrendering to bait of dream,

"They'll 'ave a superior possibility at life down there."

One hundred thousand crossed the ocean, far from home and family

entangled into the predetermination they'd share:

for probably the first time they'd gone, at that point they were lost, quite recently throw away like deny hurled,

also, the individuals who endeavored to contact them confronted give up.

Survival turned out to be lifestyle, these kids compelled to endure strife

created codes of comradeship to bond.

The feeling of mate ship loaned relief, simply small solace to soothe

the weight of facade that each had wore:

for expulsion to south of Earth persuaded them that they had no worth,

conveyed questions and fears excessively crude, making it impossible to ascend past.

Their stoic activities planned to conceal feelings covered somewhere inside -

the requirement for affection, with nobody to react.

The injuries of the evenings alone, far from all that they had known,

apprehensive and detached, set apart,

while during that time of steady drudge at dairy tasks and working soil,

depleted youngsters combat from the begin.

What sins had brought deserting? No news from family or letters sent,

as mail was screened for wrongs it may confer.

Unpaid-for work, benefit based, saw fundamental tutoring soon deleted -

overlooked, similar to the torment inside the heart.

The stories that were never heard, mishandle by discipline and word,

the pole of iron used to keep control

by gatekeepers yet inadequately instructed, responding to their dread, troubled,

lost, and very unsuited to their part.

Cruel hardship ruled through ruthless measures unexplained

to kids deprived of poise. Some stole

the remainders of their confidence with acts more unsafe than disregard -

debased *** that wracked the very soul.

Too long kept secured, concealed ills, with fear and blame such wrongdoing imparts –

refusals, casualties frightened, staying stupid.

Presently at long last the quiet breaks, affirmation of past oversights

uncovering embarrassments unbelieved by a few.

Oh dear, my Father's not any more here. Those times of hardship and of dread

had made his psyche and body capitulate.

In any case, Mum is remaining close by, she's stood up, reestablished some pride,

she's demonstrated the valor that can overcome.

To state we're sad's only a begin to alleviate unsettling influence of the heart.

No word, or deed, or store can adjust

for absence of home and family rights, for work-filled days and dread filled evenings -

this token is too little come past the point of no return.

But my mom feels finally, through acknowledgment of the past

- contrition for the disgrace that was their destiny -

that injuries now cleansed and opened wide, not left to putrefy somewhere inside,

may mean her tormented bad dreams can subside.

Overlooked youngsters - youth lost, still scarred and hurt, awful cost,

spurned, banished, and by all scolded.

To push forward's their exclusive course, on past lament and profound regret,

the revulsion of their childhood should now be recorded.

Bad form has been exposed. My mom's petition is this may

keep the bitterness of some future kid.

Maybe remorse, cruelly earned, may imply that lessons have been educated -

also, with this expectation in heart, my mom grinned.
A B Perales Aug 2016
Cars, Diesel trucks Motor bikes and Transit Buses, rebar and structural steel beams, sounds like fading sirens in the distance. Freeways and black topped school yards, city streets without enough tress, jails without enough beds.

Tents blocking sidewalks, cardboard castles where the forgotten go to smoke their prize.

You got millionares next to transients all waiting to be served. 6th and San Julian on another friday that happend to land on the 1st of the month.

Cops killing everybody, not even the innocent stand a chance, courtrooms sit silent as judges all retire to go play golf in the desert. Another innocent man awaits his execution, it'll be a grey day in hell when the blood of the wrong man soaks its entry way.
Beautiful girls and I mean Beautiful girls, start dancing as soon as they learn to walk in heels.

They know what works those filthy ******* who own everything and don't mind if you know it.
They want it this way.
They want her that way and her and her and even him.

City full of *** shops and not a dam thing left to smoke.
Cops still bust down doors like looters in a riot.
No ones has told them Nancy and her War is dead.

Leave where you left off right where you left it.
Lies don't deserve another chance.
I got a new way for you, I got to take some time to fill you in while pulling you out.

We are'nt going anywhere, this place wasn't built to explore.
See the mountain, see that tree stump, giants once ruled our world.
mark fishbein Apr 2018
The muffled hum of a thousand voices
Fill the terminal; a child shrieks, a baby cries,
A drunk laughs and coughs, a glass drops;
The moving walkways are crammed
With the non-stop parade of transients.
We sit at the gate with tired eyes:  Delayed.  
Perhaps the plane will come by midnight.

Above us on a hundred silent screens
Ice skaters waltz to imaginary cantata.
“Salchows”, “toe loops” and “triple lutzes”
Fill the closed captioning;
The skaters with swan like bodies
Swirl in a high-speed pas de deux.

For a moment we glide in serenity,
Dizzy with joy from their spinning.  

A vengeful voice from the loud speakers
Reminds us to report suspicious persons-
Our eyes leave the safety of the ice
To pass judgement on each soul we see,
As the judges tally their points and deductions.
JLGM Jul 2017
The night falls so swiftly the darkness over comes
As the moonlights up the sky the transients begin there cry

The motor bikes soar as they are  looking to score.

Greed, theivery and dispair floats thru the night air.

They are watched from a  distance Indulging  in sinfull  ways
with  begging  brings a penny or two to get them thru the day.
asking for
assistance as they are watching your every move.
We close our eyes and turn away.

Life is starving with dispair Is their no repair

The streets are  lonely and ***** no where to sleep pushing and pulling carts full of stuff we throw away.
Everyday struggling to survive.

Lost souls walking ,waiting for a chance to excape
People have no refuge besides a high they will sure see.

This place keeps you in no matter who you are.
You will Surely be  changed living life in the dark,smelting heat ,dusty wind  ,darkness is here and is all they have now.

Once you land your feet here you will never get out. Dont even try to be a scout.

So forget who you were and rest assure.
The heat will melt your soul
Always watching behind you and nothing's ever there.

Is this what the future fortells ? hold on to your shirt tails.
Hell on earth is what they say
No one lends a hand and no one cares as they are only thinking of themselves
Warp sense of morals all for a buck
What a ***** horrible place is this city in  AZ
Poor you poor me its not the place to be.
Guess what city in AZ.
John F McCullagh Oct 2017
Tomorrow is on my calendar
as is every day next week.
I have interviews, appointments,
Dinners at which I'll speak.

I'll make some time for family
and writing, I suppose.
I must buy steaks to barbecue
and must purchase new  work clothes.

When evening comes I'll settle back
with a glass of Pinot noir.
I'm a transient immortal,
I'm on loan here from a star.

The future is a game
against ourselves we play.
We plan as if we still have left
forever and a day.

In truth we all are transients
For just this moment free.
Self observing stardust
poised twixt two eternities
Carpe Diem
Kurt Philip Behm May 2017
“Messages,
   trapped in the wind

Words,
   burrow deeply within

Voices,
  emerge from the past

Memories,
  and dreams overcast”

Leaves fall,
  branches reach for the sky

Winter clouds gather,
  snow starts to fly

Furloughed—the seeds
  march distant and free

The season long,
  its transients flee

Vision impaired,
  past futures to fade

Acceptance—rejection,
  a choice to be made

The first Nightingale sings,
  its call from beyond

A feeling unfreezes,
  old words to a song

The hills begin thawing,
  new tracks to reveal

Salvation once promised,
  no longer concealed

Winds from the west,
   bring rebirth and enthrall

The sun melting lies,
  —and winter recalled

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2017)
Elijah Bowen Apr 2019
the ******* claw at the bone-
their skull cap bastille,  
domed in like ants under a bowl,
whispering and itching,
searching for any crack or hole...
They are possessed.
and so they pulse like an enemy drum
Hostile and sonorous,
Pounding the mind with a beat.
Release, release, release...
My myriad, my
beautiful collection  
of muddled madmen, transients every one,
How clumsily they lust,  
and with sweet earnest,
for the lines of my notebook
or the empty air around my lips.
Some I swallow deep to still the frenzy,
Suffocating language in my stomach.
Others I concede to spill out into life,
I am indiscriminate.
watch the lucky ones stumble and run like blood,  
towards liberation by bated breath.
Onoma Jun 2023
the interiorized slow dance

of a crystal ball--lays curves

over the feathers of winged

serpents.

who are shaken into place

through high grass--the

directional pause of full flight.

a beating back ingestion.

their eyes melt into their skulls--

so the incense of ouroboros

may issue.

poor wretches of hallowed staffs--

transients of Edenic boughs.
poetryaccident Aug 2017
In waking life I have a dream
of three slugs put to skull
this is a fantasy I'll admit
because only one would do the trick

in my dreams I find escape
calm is found with visitors
transients blurred by shifting scenes
seeming normal in nightly realms

then I wake from torpid bliss
find myself within the chains
ternary dreads await the soul
that drifts among the lucky ones

the sleeping hours ignore this theme
the trilogies are heavenly
with no taint of deepest angst
asking balm by three times fired.

© 2017. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170731.
“Three Slugs” is a very dark poem contrasting the struggle of waking life with that of calming sleep.
Bobby Copeland Dec 2019
Such elegance and opulence
Beneath this highway overpass,
Where rocks provide the sustenance,
As winter culls the underclass;
Gimcrackery of transients,
Guitars and spoons and mattresses.
Police come charged with striking tents.
You can't live here, the city says.
One level up, on 2nd Street,
Old cars and vans make living space
For down-and-outs who still compete,
And teach their kids to ask God's grace.
This kingdom come, of what's been done--
Earth daughter, mother, father, son.

— The End —