"ziggy" poems
When I wear makeup
I feel unstoppable
courageous
beautiful.
so beautiful.
but I don't mean regular makeup,
mascara lipstick eyeliner blush etc,
I mean the kind that takes hours to apply,
transforming myself into hit characters
ghastly ghouls
alien creatures
minotaurs
ziggy stardust
I mean painting myself
with all the theatricality I can afford.
I feel like I can breath when I wear my makeup,
I feel okay and calm and like nothing can touch me
above all else I feel safe.
so safe
with that paint,
everybody's looking at the makeup
instead of me,
they admire and compliment the mask I've crafted
and it makes me happy to know
they can't see my plain pale face underneath,
the outrageous conception
has formed a shield
allowing me to step out in public
without being afraid to exist.
when I wear my makeup
I'm allowed to be whomever I please
and mingle-talk freely with all I want,
my makeup lets me be like everyone else.
The only downside is that not every week is spirit week,
my gentle skin is too irritated by even the most
hyper-allergenic makeup and acne protrudes
and at the end of it all I still have to wash it off,
watch my happy colors go down the sink drain,
the mask doesn't last forever,
and I'm left standing there the next day,
without my makeup
without my shield
and I feel so naked,
I feel incomplete and scared.
I wish every week was spirit week,
and that my skin was tough,
so that I could paint my face every day
so I wouldn't have to be afraid.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 7:37 PM UTC
May the devils have their due, and the angels get their share. Long live the home brewer of meads and brews and other godly delights that came from the yeast.
Here, here, to the dreamers that made the flavors of barley, hops, and malts.
Here, here, to the honey the fruits and maples that make the mead so sweet.
So raise your glass and tip your steines to the brewers that made life a lot more easier to shine.
Ziggy, zoggy, ziggy, zoggy, oy, oy, oy.
Oct 8, 2023
Oct 8, 2023 at 10:32 PM UTC
These are the songs I listen to while I cry and think about my beautiful sister and friend who I lost in July. What are your crying songs?
1. Consequence, The Notwist
2. Stuck on You, Lionel Richie
3. Hear You Me, Jimmy Eat World
4. Silence, Matisyahu
5. Drive, Ziggy Marley
6. Asleep, The Smiths
7. To Build a Home, The Cinematic Orchestra
8. Hallelujah, Jeff Buckley
9. Worry List, Blue October
10. Take a Little Time, Josh WaWa White
11. Ghost Towns, Radical Face
12. Kettering, The Antlers
13. Santa Monica Dream, Angus and Julia Stone
14. No One's Gonna Love You, Band of Horses
15. The Scientist, Coldplay
16. Fire and Rain, James Taylor
17. The District Sleeps Alone Tonight, Birdy
18. Yamaha, Delta Spirit
19. These Waters, Ben Howard
20. See You Soon, Coldplay
21. Unconditional Love, Tupac
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 3:01 PM UTC
here's to the glam rock messiah of outsiders and misfits,
the androgynous man of the stars with the music.
born in brixton,
he traveled the universe by spaceships and soundwaves
with wild hair and one eye dilated.
book-loving and queer,
in love with the thought of turning 50.
the world had never seen a man
living different lives at once,
but here the starman came reinventing himself:
ziggy stardust, thin white duke, aladdin sane, major tom—
all different selves tied together by his heart.
he lived his earthly mission, rightfully so
that even the gravity of the world could not keep him put.
so on and on he strummed his guitar and crawled on stage,
in spaceboots and dresses, in porcelain doll makeup,
reaching out to all the nobody and somebody people
but one day his cosmic vessel
was taken down by a secret sickness
and halted his mission here on earth,
and so the streets and little bars smelling of cigars
were flooded by the ones who mourned,
who looked up to the stars,
wondering where their starman went.
the world had never seen such an electric creature,
but here the star man came in music and dance,
saying it was alright to be weird—
to embrace strangeness
in a world where every earthling wanted to be the same.
and perhaps, he isn't really long gone:
his time here may have ended
but now he is out there, somewhere,
on some distant star,
watching over the Earth as he always has.
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 11:31 AM UTC
it’s a god-awful small affair
to the girl with the mousy hair
10,000 hipsters stand in the square
with ***** makeup and ****** flare
prayers fly into the dim lit sky
as a generation asks god ‘why’
it’s a god-awful small affair
to the girl with the mousy hair
I sit here in despair
for a god of whom I did care
well, just a man with a master’s eye
for making all of the people sigh…
and now I sit here with my head in my hand
just trying to understand
what this world has come unto
can there ever again be skies of blue
and while swishy in her satin and tat
frock coat and bipperty-bopperty hat
there can never be another like that –
the morning news brought a cold chill
as the icon of us undesirables
came to be laid at rest
it’s on America’s tortured brow
leaving us to sit solemn
as old records spin
telling tales of space men
and life on mars
a little china girl
and one man who feel to earth
it’s on America’s tortured brow
the fashionista of glam rock
the birther of Ziggy
the man who sold the world
forever changing
chameleon
in smart shoes –
spinning grooves
and scattered cd’s
tears slipping away
as memories already start to fade
it’s the freakiest show
look at those cavemen go
will they ever know
just who left us
take a look at the lawman
beating up the wrong guy
it’s a god-awful small affair
to the girls with the mousy hair
now she walks with a sunken dream
and the cream that once rose so high
so too will come the time to die
and as all of us let him go
there can be a bit of hope for those
who carry a torchy flare
to the girl with the mousy hair
and will sing in the dead of night
with face paint and a big spot light
******* and the party boys
come out with their fancy toys
but it’s a god-awful small affair
if you find you’re too square to care
‘bout the goblin kings sad depart
from this earth and from hipster hearts
see these kids have no loyalty
to a man who helped define me
when the world gave me a frown
for kissing boys in a dainty gown
ole Davy gave me peace
with a confidence that never ceased
oh Mr. Jones I’m in debt to you
for turning my grey skies to blue
now I’ll forever carry this torch
from green valleys to my own front porch
but it’s a god-awful small affair
it’s nice to know some of us care…
about the earth and sun and stars
and yes
there is life
on
Mars –
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
Dylan got it first, as he often did,
That American youth were ignorant kids,
Betrayed by the things our parents hid.
And we were insulted just a little bit
But we listened and took the plunge,
Determined to expunge
The poison and let out the Id.
It was up to us not heed the call up
And as one voice we stood up,
Saying, shouting NO!
Twenty or so legendary years for some;
While others sold out, we beat the drum.
Our peers oddly died around us but….
Even as we ‘felt those cold hands’ touch our skin,
As The Capitalists were closing in—
& Some of them were us…
We sounded the drum.
Later on some hippie-punks or is it the other way(?)
Sang about extraordinary girls & then took a fall.
Sometimes begged for Novocain
Which wouldn’t relieve psychic pain,
Like being Ramonely sedated in a concert hall.
Nobody knew what to do with them.
Except to give them fame.
(It was just as bad for them as for the Clash)…
Hell, they almost invented the mash-up.
And too many anti-hippie punks
Loaded on cheap ****** or always drunk,
Claimed all those heroes had sold out.
But Ziggy would’ve known Ash from Ash.
Then came their Blood on the Tracks;
They finally saw what Dylan saw,
Or, if they saw it before,
They got some Real Emotion back.
Nothing has changed and everything has changed,
Said The Heathen…and he should know.
But how do we see, stuck here ‘so far below’,
Not remotely in the know;
They might be on an intergalactic trip
Or as in “A.I”, nothing more than a binary blip?
But encased in virtual ice, how can we live?
Until the end…and even then…
As John wrote, we only get the love we give.
Jul 14, 2018
Jul 14, 2018 at 1:28 PM UTC
Last night I ate broccoli and cheddar soup
from Panera
--in a breadbowl
which I gave to my mouse, Chai;
now I am at the typewriter,
we are listening to Ziggy.
And with Chai sitting inside of it
the breadbowl looks like
a little mud hut in Mali
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
The dust has been lifted
Wise words from the man in the red truck
As he eluded provocative ants dancing ‘round cigarette ash
Pokemon never behaved like jackals
Or any other eighties hair metal bands for that matter
At least Pantera shredded their way out of that shtick
It allowed me to quench my thirst with neon Gatorade
And stomaching peninsulas
This is why starch as a way to mend secular viral videos
Was never a serious consideration
That right belongs to the intergalactic Prince Albert
Of the Ziggy Stardust federation
It’s what made me feel secure with crack and root beer
Can I get a signal out here,
Or did the waffle train miss me by a nano robot?
God save this illustrious choir of cephalopods and naval lint
Before they find their way into the haphazard way
I chop chicken under drunken stars
A wizard once led me to this concussion
But I cannot remember the first door he smashed with a crowbar
I know it had only been six years since Julia Roberts was in Erin Brockovich
The movie about the alien cyborg, who birthed Africanized
Native American bumble bees
Or was that merely a fan fiction continuation?
That’s when the itch in my head stopped….
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 4:38 PM UTC
~
There she was chasing a rabbit
with 1 am coffeecakes and weak tea
She didn’t notice I was watching
from the branches of an olive tree
A lone smile hidden amongst
swirling smoke rings in a foreign accent
To the gazebo she ran
with its straw grass tables
and pleated cushions in hibiscus
print fabric no one would sit on
My eyes followed her as she
darted around manicured boxwoods
and cherub statues spitting water
onto sleeping lily pads
She came upon a dandelion
and asked politely, “Pardon me,
but have you seen a…”
The **** interrupted,
“Didn’t, don’t do drama dreams
dancing deliriously down
donut distracted ditches”
“That’s dumb” she replied
with a giggle and a snort
This must be her fun, I think,
trying to catch a white ball of fur,
big, then small,
then smaller still like a
thimble seeking a thread,
when now she is stopped
in her ziggy zagging tracks
by a June bug singing,
“I see, I see, in front of me
Dessert, dessert, set out for free
A chocolate pie, a chocolate pie
in menus written on the sky”
Perplexed she climbed upon its back,
red leather shoulder pads
with black dots changing shapes,
ducking winged arches that
covered the vestibule they
soared through when a sharp turn
pitched her to the opposite side…
Landing with a thud,
her new dress now soiled
between the wrinkles in time
that had ticked away
on a clock faced sun named Ray
She cried carrot tears,
orange sherbet streams
on peach tone cheeks,
marmalade miseries
and mango miscues
piddling on her patent leather shoes,
ready to give up
When it appeared hopping happily,
jumping into her lap
and licking her face
She caressed its fur, removing
sticker burs and scratching
just the right spot, as its right rear leg
thumped with joy
Then lifting the bundled bunny
to her face, she kissed it tenderly
with wild cherry gloss lips,
or should I say…kissed me
for you see, all along, it was me
And you thought I was nothing more than a pretty smile…..
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 1:11 PM UTC
It's a space oddity
for all that this came too
for the man who sold the world
should have sold it all to you
Let's dance, for we are heroes
we know there's life on Mars
you our dear modern love
now dance amongst the stars
You were a rebel, rebel starman
without you our world changes
ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Your body, your soul exchanges
We know you're still alive
but where are we now?
Maybe next a china girl?
we'll meet again somehow
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 12:50 PM UTC
Ziggy was named
By his rock and roll dad
His Mama ran off right away.
Ziggy grew up
Almost on his own
Dad didn’t care what he’d say.
A lady next door
Took pity on Zig and his dad
And sometimes cooked them a meal.
All Ziggy knew
Was this was home life
The stuff on TV wasn’t real.
Ziggy, you’re really a half decent guy
If only you’d look with your heart.
Sometimes you have to say no if you’re asked.
Sometimes you can’t let things start.
Ziggy, don’t run around with those girls
They aren’t a good kind of crowd
They only want you for money and drugs
They’re ****** and awfully loud.
Ziggy don’t go play cards with those guys
They’ll take you for all that you’ve got.
I know you think they are all your good friends.
But, I assure you they’re not.
Ziggy, the world can get to be big
Well before you can cope.
There are uncaring people all over the place
Ready with sweet words and dope.
Ziggy, the people who only like you
When you are not flat broke
Those kinds aren’t worth your concern
Not worth a dime from your poke.
Ziggy, you’re really a half decent guy
If only you’d look with your heart.
Sometimes you have to say no if you’re asked.
Sometimes you can’t let things start.
Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 9:14 PM UTC
Alone.
By September until who knows when, that is how I will start and end my days.
Calm mornings will no longer begin with the sound of your chatter.
Dead silence will fill the air as I eat my dinner all alone.
Every empty chair will be a reminder that you are not home.
From spending almost every waking hour together, we will only exchange brief messages each day.
Growing up has led us to this—one of you in Manila and the other one in Tokyo.
I’ll feel stuck in the four corners of my little room while you’re both someplace else.
Just the thought of not having both of you around makes me feel like a deer caught in the headlights.
Kisses, embraces, and affectionate teasing only older sisters could ever give will become less frequent…
Loneliness is something I have never known.
Mom and Dad will still be here, but they will be busy too, and I would not want to bother them.
Nothing will fill in the spaces of the house the way they’re occupied while you’re here—
One of you painting in watercolor by the windowsill, the other one listening to music until the wee hours of the morning.
Please always tell me about your day while you’re away, no matter how ordinary or great it may be.
Q¬uiet the noises that will shout in the head of a younger sister who is all alone.
Rise and live the way you have always wanted, but don’t forget about me.
Shine to the world the way you shine in my eyes.
Think of me as I think of you.
Ultimately, all I will do will come down to waiting for you to come back home.
Vinyls we share will rarely spin, the books we borrow from one another will be left to dust on the shelves.
What was once a house filled to the brim with voices and love only sisters could have will feel spacious and empty.
Xylophone clanging and the strumming of the guitar from the childhood we shared will seem so distant, but I will do all I can to make it feel like you are not far away—
Your favorite song will come up on the radio on some nights and I will sing along as we would sing together:
“Ziggy played guitar, jamming good with Weird and Gilly, and the spiders from Mars….”
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 10:20 AM UTC
Kicking and screaming children
With their troubles and complaints
Force words from minds of dreary states
Realizations some won't meet the date
A bitter taste enters the air
Cloudy grey **** tangerine
Brightening to the tune of the loon
A broken down *** with a gun
But faster then we are here we are gone
A fatalistic but hopeful parody
Cracking glass jars in the twilight moon
As my sister brunette watches the toons
Littering through the concrete sidewalks
As the grandma's sagging sit down to talk
These registers are filled with monopoly money
And I just watched a movie of ******* Bunnies
An eccentric with one hundred ways to love a woman
A man that gave the game plan
To a high hearted man glittering sands
Ziggy the man with the amazing hands
For we are on a high and mighty moving picture trip now
Caught in the lit lie of the illusion
Asking the nurse for another freebie transfusion
And a peek from the geek under her sheet
A silly break in the world is the only thing a mad man CAN do
Because sometimes the only sky I see is slightly hued blue
And the men that elude to hatters that are mad
Playing with words in rhyme just make me sad
Brought up as a back door man by my own accord
I caused mischief and terror like every other outlaw
A foreigner in a seemingly "comfortable" land
Nowadays everything seems to have a ****** plan
Where tomorrow is that day and the next will be that
And the guy who you get take out from is wearing the same hat
But the hate you feel deep and preach onto the electronic page
May drearily, hopefully, perhaps distastefully give you a wage
Oh where does the madness stop if it only ends with money!
For these worries are from a sagging face watching bunnies
And eluding to grandeur nearing signs of a menstral manager
And a cosmopolitan back break with the blackening beauty of a snake
Lo,
Here I wait,
For sweet mornings embrace
Mar 2, 2011
Mar 2, 2011 at 8:57 PM UTC
Rock star jacket -
You know the one.
Cowhide in thirteen shades of black.
The fur on an orange collar -
Memories in multi-colored stains.
Back in the "Stardust" days
It was all over your face,
Fame.
In thirteen letters and hues.
F was for father.
A runaway train from society's desires,
Given only your cowhide
And your Stardust make-up.
F was the battle
Cause and effect,
I suppose.
Life in the doghouse
Never fared well for the adolescent,
Though it always had the best in mind.
M was for myopic.
"Liberation!"
You screamed.
Echoing in the empty cells
Of like minded believers.
M was the enemy.
Vowels are but a collection
Of open-mouthed vibrations,
Stirring the vocal chords
With minimal importance.
Show me a meaning
That began with you.
Consonants give
That sound
Of importance
To everything.
Ziggy.
Rock Star.
Fame.
Aug 15, 2012
Aug 15, 2012 at 6:13 AM UTC
R.I.P
David Bowie
If you should fall
Into my arms
And tremble
Like a flower
He sang about me
Through out my life
I was that
Young American
In those
Golden years
Going through
Changes
I'm never gonna
Fall for Modern Love
It walks beside me
It walks on by
Gets me to the church on time
No confession
No religion
I don't believe in modern love
His word told my story
We pass upon those stairs
Spoke of was and when
Although I wasn't there
He said I was his friend
Which came as a surprise
I spoke into his eyes
I thought you died alone
A long long time ago
This Man Who Sold The World
Rebel Rebel
How could they know
Hot ***** I love you so
Sitting in a tin can
Far above the worlds
Planet earth is blue
And this time it's you
My kindred spirit
Traveling on ahead
Ziggy played guitar
And drew my tears
As we sway through the crowd
To an empty space
Under the moon light
The beautiful moon light
I'll miss you friend...
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 9:10 AM UTC
C'est oui, paste away, we make do, duty calls
Le Bourgeois gentilhomme
(French pronunciation: [lə buʁʒwa ʒɑ̃tijɔm],
From the troves of our public domain,
what did you wish you had known,
when you had that chance
at Jeopardy, one chance,
if a wish were truly wished,
we occur to some as riverwise twisted
fibers from longer ago than local time science
allows, you suppose allowing belief with reason,
cause of pain is pain relief, loser role attained,
proof of past trauma drama as collect sets. Points.
Scoring. Exact.
Past out act/ Bam/slap play slips into Chris Hart,
o we all recall him, he did that slapping body music,
and did not comb his hair for a year or so,
-not him, the kid from Orm, the dean's kid.
so in your reader mind, you have a few clues, times
and seasons seen from distant bubbles still,
- Reagan's daughter attended Orm. Datafact.
time slips, mental lubricant for safe letting.
All forms go out be come standard, it is the object.
Like that, or this, to ways to sense make and so
many more point from which one may choose to see.
McLuhan bolted, as I learned the ropes and gears
years ago, a kind of ******** in and out,
with pressing walls, closing in and teeny, tiny holes,
shine so bright as day explodes camera obscura,
on the inner wall on the backside of our eyes,
mindtimespace stirred into a foam,
the old saying, put a head on it, meant something
to sailors in the beer commercials.
I got advice from Ziggy's therapist {that's amindscrew}
in the funny papers, we all saw the truth freeing
knowledge that everyone knows,
nobody is as happy as people in beer commercials.
Mar 26, 2023
Mar 26, 2023 at 5:48 PM UTC
parallel sympathy endeavor
peaceful and untroubled
achieve ballerina twists
comforting serenity
pull a fast one on
elixir sip sucker stiff
tiny hornswoggle mulct
grandfather clock rich rock
chimney chalk ziggy pop
sirius kid dolls cudi feet tall
artists whirl revolution vet
wolf convincing sheep curve
non believers starting flames
horrid instant ways even livid
fears queen fairy dust spiral
wick gladness warlock king
abide nostrum wake flesh
archangel passion feans
world web crack addicts
mankind teach nine
nail soundness round
raiden uppercut fortify illegitimate
swine heedless being being beaten
headless ***** eyes hub pivot
nerve endings eager enthusiasm hitch
pitch outermost central swain free gist
intrigue archbishop market black illicit
red hot chili peppers implicate explicit
inundating problematic seniority cast
systems hook boom haze tomb prune
embrace bravehearts impale in arms
side by side shield elastic coats grace
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 8:19 PM UTC
when i started to smoke marijuana aged 20
with this russian cupcake of falling asleep in a seashell entwined
i took to listening to: ***** & the maytals, culture,
israel vibration, damian marley, stephen marley, ziggy,
basil daley, brenton dowe, bunny wailer,
burning spear, cornel & the brentford rockers,
earl zero, freddie mckay, jackie mittoo,
keith hudson, king tubby, lloyd robinson & brentford disco,
lone ranger, peter tosh, soul vendors, sound dimension,
the heptones, the new establishment, wailing souls,
willie & the brentford rockers,
winston & the new establishment...
i sometimes wish i went into the stoner rock direction
to experience that side of the ethnic cultural exploitation
of a certain intoxication... anyway, whatever...
i forget to mention barrington levy, gregory isaac,
alpha blondy and sort of classify collie buddz as reggae’s eminem.
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 8:27 PM UTC
i didn't mourn your death
i didn't cry, didn't scream
didn't **** the world or any god for taking you away
and then i remember
english class, we all had to memorize Atticus's speech
you know, the one in the courtroom where he defended Tom Robinson
and then i remember
that you sang about leaving us before any of us knew you were gone
ziggy stardust, i miss you
and then i remember
i'm 7, maybe 8 years old
you taught me what imagination meant, what i could do, what alternate universes i could create
and then i remember
you loved so much you died with a secret
as i grew, i learned how to understand you
and then i remember
the day purple rain meant a nation mourning in unity
and then i remember
your song was in shrek and i'm sorry but that association from my childhood never left me
and then i remember
the amount of pain you endured
and then i remember
i was 11, my brother was singing along to hotel california, introduced me to your band and pointed you out to me
"that's glenn frey he's the guitarist"
and then i remember
why this year has been such a dark one
so much of the light has vanished with you
and then i remember
i never gave myself a chance to mourn your death
-z.z
Dec 12, 2016
Dec 12, 2016 at 6:52 PM UTC
I Think Ziggy’s playing guitar again.
And walking on the wild side.
I fancy a walk it’s a fine spring evening.
And I’ve kept my self busy with half arsed house cleaning.
Who knows what’s round the corner?
What tattered hymns are being hummed from the leopard skin trolley dollies?
Their kneeling for distraught drunken jockeys
Discussions which inevitably create fraught tension.
That which must be defused
Catch a break brother you’re casting successive **** storms.
Throw on the parker and thus to the shelter.
Thirty six and dour and positively *****
Few dollars in the bank.
Show patience and may receive what I deserve.
I lean and drool, the swagger of Liam Gallagher and clean my shiny Excalibur.
Indulge the kindness of strangers.
The merging of unstable behaviour.
Shake the snow globe and set tasers to stun
I talk to the luscious Lucia. Tell her to skip the small talk and let’s get to marinating the pork
Another dumb quirk, dumb dirt that comes from my cracked beak.
She considerers me flippant and freakish.
I am truly scrooge macduffed
She returns to her posh rugby fan with blonde locks and a chin that could hold six pints.
I lay this dog to die and meet some more familiar faces.
All the venues are familiar.
Avast the putrid fog of masculine sweat, the desperate air of ****** puns that drag and caress us in the arm pit of jacks sick giant.
None of our jokes make any sense and were ducking and diving into primitive offence.
The next few hours are unacceptable and the horror must have me in chained.
If I could describe the rest Charlie Bronson would light my ***
Woke up next day lying on the wing of a Heathrow aeroplane.
Without my trousers.
And several tubes in the near regions.
And now it come to this.
Prison showers and a Glaswegian mans kiss.
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC
.
Nothing more than a pretty smile
There she was chasing a rabbit
with 1 am coffeecakes and weak tea
She didn’t notice I was watching
from the branches of an olive tree
A lone smile hidden amongst
swirling smoke rings in a foreign accent
To the gazebo she ran
with its straw grass tables
and pleated cushions in hibiscus
print fabric no one would sit on
My eyes followed her as she
darted around manicured boxwoods
and cherub statues spitting water
onto sleeping lily pads,
following the same schedule
as the other…identical
She came upon a dandelion
and asked politely, “Pardon me,
but have you seen a…”
The **** interrupted,
“Didn’t…don’t do drama dreams
dancing deliriously down
donut distracted ditches”
“That’s dumb” she replied
with a giggle and a snort
This must be her fun, I think,
trying to catch a white ball of fur,
big, then small,
then smaller still like a
thimble seeking a thread,
when now she is stopped
in her ziggy zagging tracks
by a June bug singing,
“I see, I see, in front of me
Dessert, dessert, set out for free
A chocolate pie, a chocolate pie
in menus written on the sky”
Perplexed she climbed upon its back
and flew, holding onto
red leather shoulder pads
with black dots changing shapes,
ducking winged arches that
covered the vestibule they
soared through when a sharp turn
pitched her to the opposite side…
Landing with a thud,
her new dress now soiled
between the wrinkles in time
that had ticked away
on a clock faced sun named Ray
She cried carrot tears,
orange sherbet streams
on peach tone cheeks,
marmalade miseries
and mango miscues
piddling on her patent leather shoes,
ready to give up
When it appeared, hopping happily
Jumping into her lap
and licking her face
She caressed its fur, removing
sticker burs and scratching
just the right spot, as its right rear leg
thumped with joy
Then lifting the bundled bunny
to her face, she kissed it tenderly
with wild cherry gloss lips,
or should I say…kissed me
for you see, all along, it was me
And you thought I was nothing more than a pretty smile…..
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 9:17 AM UTC
You're such a beauty with your powder blue eyes,
Like specs of loveliness.
Why can't he see it?
Why doesn't he know it?
They all talk about your flaxen hair;
Your legs that stretch from here to there,
But he outruns you
Without nary a strain.
You've got a long way to catch up to him
Cause you know that he's out of your league.
But you don't care how far you'll go,
Someday you'll have him on his knees.
Begging for mercy, please.
You got no reason for to doubt yourself
And what you bring to the game of love.
But he wont play it,
Won't even say it.
They all know you got the strategy.
It's so frustrating that he leaves you be.
Won't look your way,
Though he's not gay.
You've got a long way to catch up to him
Cause you know that he's out of your league.
But you don't care how far you'll go,
Someday you'll have him on his knees.
Begging for mercy, please.
You've run the cycle,
You've toured the maze.
You've carved a path.
You got it figured out.
Just at the time
You reach for prize
He does a zig-zag-ziggy-zag
Swill-still swanson sidelong swag.
You're such a stinger with your tight, ruby lips.
And he should be your own.
Why don't he see it?
Why don't he know it?
All can see the assets you could bring to romance.
But he seems numb to your signs.
What's wrong with him?
Not that he's dim.
But he keeps getting away
You've got a long way to catch up to him
Cause you know that he's out of your league.
But you don't care how far you'll go,
Someday you'll have him on his knees.
Begging for mercy, please.
Someday you'll have your way.
So you'll keep chipping away.
And someday your baby
Will come around to your way.
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 3:00 AM UTC