"trollies" poems
New mildew mania, oh man-of-war
Live by the letter, and **** for the car
The dreamers, constrained by the fog they can’t see
I uttered this song in Breakaway Alley
A wandering blonde in the restless air
Their kids, half-afraid that they’re halfway to nowhere
Think what you may, they are not in a trance
Wield what they say and you’ll find that you dance
Upon every row, lies a flag waving by
Apartment gravestones kissing up to the sky
Now, must we try so hard for fake jubilee?
The happy ones live in Breakaway Alley
In Breakaway Alley lies the sun
Breakaway Alley is on the run
All the country crows, they’ve committed a crime
Each of their wings, flapping mad out of time
To fly with such freedom yet stay so cloudbound
Cacophonous sounds fighting for our own ground
The buds only look up for leviathans
To take them to the realm they misunderstand
To pity the fool that does not try to flee
We sit on our stools in Breakaway Alley
In Breakaway Alley lies the sun
Breakaway Alley has emptied the guns
The youth do not stir at the visage of hell
There is no romance in the streets’ calling bells
And while we may treat such a threat to be shown
The dagger of a mind is dull while unknown
The ravaged pretender spoke of the Romans
His gauntlets of gold, earned from fate’s happenstance
To escape his blood, he would face down the sea
The velvet hands shook in Breakaway Alley
In Breakaway Alley lies the sun
Breakaway Alley is due to be shunned
The eye of childhood feared the forgotten paint
They lay, unencumbered, on secular saints
The falsified folly in full leopard print
The troops in their trollies with pockets of lint
The radio is silent in time’s aging vice
We hear and don’t listen, bats spliced with mice
But maybe, you will see this sweet harmony
Remember the words of Breakaway Alley
In Breakaway Alley lies the sun
Breakaway Alley has finally gone
When the baby screams for the first time, aged five
Will it lament the loss of its life?
When the kids rear for a solution wherever you go
How much will it take to say “God, I’ll never know”?
Remember the words of Breakaway Alley
It’s not all you see, it’s not simply me
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 8:31 PM UTC
A couple wuz beading up
for a chi chi day
She drunkenly laughed
**** stained her dress
A olive skin woman
in golden glitter pasties
Offered neon *** shots
near 10 in the morning
A chubby girl dressed
in a black fishnet body suit
selling face paintings
while her supple *******
Jiggled in your face
A black man occupied
A most different plain
Sat behind two chess boards
wasn't gettin paid
Two SAP cars parked
At Royal Sonesta curb
idling to taxi exec sappers
back to the friendly skies
****** whippin glitter girl
Shakin her money maker
Lookin hard at her wares
What the hell she sellin?
Across the street
miked up bible thumper
Doin his groove thing
Raged against the ***** show
Ca ching ca ching ca ching
I ducked a bity bee
Flying at my face
I'm walkin Bourbon
Full of mighty grace
Hard Rock Guys
selling cannabis lollis
crowded corners bumpin
Ain't no trollies
boom box blastin
back beat samples
Who Dat Jazz?
muskrat rambles
Three card monte
Obstructive beggers
Kids banging on
5 gallon drums
Gimme a dime mister
Louie Armstrong Park
Congo Square
Where it at?
Gotta get there
***** Glitter still barking
Mardi ****** Gras tees
Snapchat Me Your *****
Ducked another bee
Kid put his two pails
In mid of the rue
Gotta pay the toll
Whatcha gunna do?
Music:
Mardi Gras Music
From NOLA Notes
2/18/17
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC
From little dollies,
To sitting in trollies.
Sitting beneath trees,
In the summer breeze.
Not a care I felt,
Nor a worry to feel.
Just me and my friends,
Imaginary or real.
The delight of innocence,
In the simpler days,
As I ponder back to the simpler ways.
Apr 6, 2024
Apr 6, 2024 at 4:26 PM UTC
Blood pumps through the veins of a weary traveler,
Every pulse salivating the teetering skepticisms of reality;
flowing through the fragile doubts of terror-
an omen to suffering and constant lack of fervor
The burden of unsatisfactory and the tattered walls of a loose mind start,
Constantly creaking and promising to give way
and crumble unto the molded floorboards of a heavy heart.
a bullseye in happiness with a wandering dart.
The bones as broken hulls to a ship that’s lost sight,
Abandoned shores tempting her for haven
and taunting the starving crew with false delight
another block of cinder to give way and lose it’s might.
20/20 eyes yet blind in bitter harmonies of fowl follies,
Visions of future calls to dreams that were broken before pieced
and carried to better men on royal and despairing trollies.
remembrances of a body drenched in longing and wrapped in hollies.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 1:19 PM UTC
"What's your name?"
Rebekah Halle ***
"D.O.B?"
13 November 1XXX
"What are you here for today?:
Eye surgery
'Okay, you're going to feel a freeze go through your veins now --
and then start to feel very sleepy..."
.
.
.
I wake to....
Beep,
Beep, beep
Buzz the machines
Whee, whoosh, voo
Whirl goes the blood pressure machine.
.
.
.
Knock, knock, knock on the door
And a nurse peers into check,
then
Silence, for a sec.
.
.
Beep,
Beep, beep.
.
And then…
Knock, knock, knock,
"Your eyes are looking great,
I'll come back in the morning," Dr Kowal says.
.
.
.
Beep
Beep, Beep, Beep
I finally sleep...
.
And then…
Knock, knock, knock.
“Do you want your dinner now?!”
Inquires the hospitality staff.
.
.
Darkness strangles light —
Again nurses wheel in their trollies…
Volumous voices viscerate silence.
~
All In
a hospital room.
Jun 22, 2024
Jun 22, 2024 at 5:18 PM UTC
Shushshush. The black
steam train bellowed
white and grey smoke.
You and I watched it
rise up and push from
the engine.Waterloo Station.
Smell of smoke and bodies.
We sat on the metal seat
on the platform. People
passed us to get in carriages.
Voices called out. Porters
rushed past with trollies
of mail or cases. Your
mother had not been
pleased when I knocked
earlier to take you out.
She stood at the door,
arms folded, smoking.
She said you couldn't go
trapsing round the train
stations.I said we wouldn't
be trapsing, but walking.
A whistle blew; the guard
waved a green flag madly.
The train chuffed, spewed
steam and pulled out of
the station. We watched
it go, waving at hands waving
from windows on the train.
We'd wait for the next one
and watch all over again.
Dec 4, 2017
Dec 4, 2017 at 3:53 PM UTC
has mostly left the building.
one imagines packed
in sellophane, other
sundry packings, boxed
for transporation, waiting
a collection. alongside
the robes, trollies, and
coffee making services.
she is a small thing,
accompanied by other things.
sbm.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 2:00 AM UTC