you must have conversed with god
that blue like a summer sky with forever behind lighting it
the rose cheeks of a garden full of worlds red roses
on your smile the bright white of summer's
Daisies beautiful dancing in dancing out of view
that green what a sight over my fence does grow greener
as you alight on my metaphorical distance
can you light as well as colored  rainbows smiled
with me and the trees bowed when
on the distant horizon
you made a way
into being like
a painting by
God

tried to buy a little of  it
a new brain and new shoes
thought the name had meaning, like Good humor stood for
good treats my mamma never had a dollar for,
placed , after selecting a two dollar pair of Adidas and a fifty cents  pair of socks
on the counter, and a brain with street sense common, the
( tatooed brown girl, kinda hot)
smiling, chuckled when I tried to pay with my food stamps.

Where as I was serious she thought I was kidding as she said we don't take EBT's and I asked can I get you next week.
meaning, innocently , the balance.

She did give me her number,
but no credit. I walked out empty headed , handed,
skipping with a 555 ou812 written on my forehead.

what letters we write
so easily
mr meaning
my feeling
my trust

words friendly
mean
obtuse morose obscure
confound

they echo smells
touch
promote sell the
next big thing
paint scenes.

Words obstinate
obscene
immature still
describe something.

The world revolves
in languages but words
are universally
renowned.

They call all of us
near, if on the tongue
of Shakespeare
raise hairs
on necks

from here to everywhere
if writers write
the quatrains quite
quiet, secure
hear
all that
a
word
is.

i stand
alone
until when
I am healed and not broken
like a mountain on the horizon
crested by the beauty of the moon.
I wish to shine in mists of golden
hues shed upon me whole
others stand alone
watching
the moon on my
shoulder
wish they were,
here.

Dad was a cad
was my uncles brother
and not surprising was his
affinity for my mother.

It all came around full circle
when my dad quite apparently showed
affinity for my Aunt Martha.

They settled all of that quite
preposterously
by having a
family reunion on the
night before Thanksgiving.

I Imagine they all had fun.

It was on a quest we left Tupelo one night
about ten after midnight and made the coast of South Carolina
and her salty air at four carrying our backpacks loaded with Jack Daniels

We  shoveled with worried brows we were followed.We had honey hope and innocence and our quest would not be denied. We dug four million holes just in Alabama, no telling how many , as we slept many times in strange foreign lands and read of the locals and ate their bread with gladness.
Walked and swam in currents that pulled and tormented, as we continued following our heart and torment and a little harder we got and stronger in this deed until we discovered Atlantis.
A small way, or half between Spain and France and Alabama, we found her. Buried by Shakespeare and covered with the ***** words of humanity, we dug up and exposed, our muse. She was death , and bones and honored her. We spoke of her beauty, not once but now.
For she symbolized destiny and how nothing really matters.

Positively, absolutely
sunshiny
delicious
a clean
conscience
is.
A dreamy
existence
free
in spirit
in
believing
I do
not have
to hide a
thing.
Or  lie
again-
just say
what's
on my mind-
never
remembering
a
thing.

sans regret full of hope
then sleep reigns peaceful and deep
I close eyes thinking of
those things we as a human
might dream of
be it real
be it sane
be it but
a dream.
For without
our imagination our
seeing things
that are not
and positing our faith
above our reasoning
life would dully be
a hell on here ,
I get not all of our dreams
come true, so far
very few, but,
I take the optimists  
view,
that without
dreaming
life would be useless,
so I close my eyes
with a fair thought of someone
I hope to know,
and one of the lady
that glows always
when my eyes are closed ,
my lady dream imaginative beautiful
like sunsets and
the best stars glow.

somewhere between Nashville and the bayou,
the question, and the answer , are painted
on mile markers
along I-20
deep in once Cherokee country...

you are like diamond colored
I look in your vision things
eyes
I guess they are
but to me are
aquamarine windows
touches of eternity
sparkles of life's fire
the way I see your you
in them
not like any other girl
they sparkle are alive
are my life now
my dreams I see them in
I talk to them while
driving
i see them on every bare wall
on trees
on billboards
on television
in my wafting cigarette smoke
in the shiny beer can surfaces
in my plate
clean
I see your eyes on every
sunrise
they gleam
sparkle
shine
forever

in the song
cool of the breeze
in the words of a painting
in the sky
of a dawn

until
my sight sings
tree branches dance
being mind
and spirit

where in
all that beats my soul
rocks back and forth
as the world
spins

takes me
a minute to catch breaths
to run loose
join in the
dance

I remain
just a small
piece of torn
fabric

tattered
old, insignificant

Days some endless
Go on towards that infinity
Approach happiness love
Joy
Become circled memories
In a love letter
Or a poem read  years forever
After alone

the Northern girl who
is not afraid to wade into the shallow
end of the pond with turtles
fishes ***** and ****

who is she this red haired
laureate who writes unafraid
of spiderwebs adorning her head.

Who is she , tell me true,
is she the lichens of my memory
the moss of my fallen side?

Who may she write of,
when the wolves bay at night
and her silvery visions
overcome me.

all of the favorites congregated around the altar
among them the lawyer, the car salesman,
the Preacher stood taller than the others
signifying if nothing else a good view of him
to all

there within this quorum of faithful men
among them  the banker, merchant, and undertaker,
the Preacher said "bow your heads"
and all did , along with those lower
ranked in the pews

And he incantated, or I seemed to hear
invoking a deity or superpower or god
might have been,  especially casting his
powers on those nearest
who, coincidentally had  begotten
the most money lately

from the gathering , the smoke
arose near and around , and the Preacher
rose his voice, the tension mounting
the cathedral held it's collective breath
the maiden hidden

behind the preacher in the Baptismal font,
awoke got up like life from death,
walked step by step to a box,
near about the Hypotenuse
of the arc of the cathedral

climbed in the box and her head
showed out one end her feet
the other, then the Preacher the
car salesman, and the Lawyer
took a long bow saw from the pulpit

handed it to the banker who in turn passed
it to the merchant who in turn passed it
to the undertaker who started to saw
right straight through the middle,
with eager thrusts, of that there box.

And when the show ended , after
all the gasps from the people in the pews,
had subsided, and the undertaker was greedily
covered in sweat, the girl got out of the box.

They declared it a miracle.

make millions?
it is rarely felt.
generosity.
so I give it you
freely.
I feel rich.

Calm and pleasant,
drifts on
the misty glow,
of our
hands holding
rocking
chairs squeaking a melody
together.

It was a long day ago
singling each other out,
when we sought, together,
this crimson sunset,
this inner
calm, this pleasant
plan.

Hand in hand,
believing in our
determination to be here this day,
this night together,
so long ago. Remember,
with me, as
we sit in these
old squeaking rockers
in night glows.

comes many times before the ultimate
******
proceeding that last gasp tiny spasms
are spent
working towards the best and brightest
we lift
our pajamas many times and let life in.
Memory
may recall that last second
but
will never tell. That moment will forever be
most private.

lit the dark of one lone
shone from some prosaic shine
turned on the sun
hung every star
brought near far
clothed the bare naked
thawed their cold
forgave the wrongs
praised the heroes
solved the mysteries
answered the question
asked the answers
colored the dawn
fought all battles
died with kin
lived in sin
fear never ever
the darkest nights
died on pyres
cloistered in slavery
alone in forests
saw in eyes
died in ecstasy
brought forth beauty
painted ugly
claimed a right
to be named
poetry.

who calls the dreams to play
which on her call
I strive to look inward at I

On the back of me eyelids
her visions play
I cry to see each night

her words captivating
entrance my days
encapsulate my nights

I interpretate her meanings
whittle statues to her
wisdoms cut myself doing

bleed to her wisdom die in
honor to my priestess
becoming dark in my vision

strive Still in night
her on a screen of pretending
I hear and feel her

near

causing all the spring to bud
the moon to shine golden
the farmers to get busy planting
she caused the bees to be buzzy
the birds to be flittering
the sun to lean farther east
the clouds to be more fluffy
the horizon to be closer
nightfall to be a joy
dark a parade in paradise
stars to glitter like her eyes
dancing to be easier

I can't dance, too
but

I did, then.

i wished for a
four octave voice
riches fame
abilities to make my
guitar cry and sing
the words to touch
the whole world
money and a beautiful wife

traded it for my happiness
so where the **** did I end up
on the end of a rubber noose
two ativan
in a
locked hotel bathroom
you never know

what you are trading your
soul for when you deal

with the devil

better check those
wishes

very

very

carefully

once seven pm
in this neck of the woods comes
'round
it's blues and gin time
a bit of eight ball
on the table
the dice in the corner
girls in short dresses
and perfume
Floyd Dixon making the women wet
a bonfire outside
a sip of moonshine
her looking
red lipped
licking
me trying to remember her name
beats turned up and the cue ball slams
into the rack and vicious
I stare seductive as ten grenadine bottles in the window
back at her svelte high hair  load of makeup
smiles tight assed hips posed just right there
hell its past 7 now
give yo a ride home Mabel?
she smiles

With the certainties put in my head
by prophets so knowing
that a heaven of eighteen virgins
awaits me
I am glad, and certain

To crash this Boeing 737
into your ******* head.

Red, distant rose
over the sleepy
miles kissed
emotionally proposed
pure endless telling
blossoms reflecting
someday, Christmas
will come and
my present you will tear
with fingertips ripping
my precious promises
open.

just lit out of my pocket are
philosophies like a cigarette puff
on its essence I get swimmy headed,
on Frost's or *******'s,
or Whitman's, ways
and trip away giddy,
a varied revelation inspired by
what they so knew so well,
100's of years ago.
I will light
another.

I never met.
So beautiful her eyes
A smile like a rose.
I heard described
By one that loved
You, just like you loved.
Unconditional.
As the sun continues to rise
To fall
Days are counted since
You died.
I count on meeting you in
Heaven.
I heard your mum cry.
I know you were there.
I love your mum like you do.
Sweet Lilly.
I'll remember.
I will make sure mum
Gets there in heaven
To hold you
Again.

boy passes ghost-like through a curtain of weeping willow.
In rainbow-stained apparel, birds are singing a cappella.
Suddenly I sense it, in the birds and in the child:
The world is a poem growing wild.

A dewdrop on a blade of grass soon slips from where it clung
Like a perfect word that gathers on the tip of a poet's tongue.
And men are merely characters to love and be defiled.
God is a poem growing wild.

I can't afford  a doctor so
I put my tail between my legs
licked my *** and went to the vet.

She said,
I may have distemper.
I need my shots, I was vaccinated.

After the de-licing
they fed me a bowl of brown stuff,
Oh, I needed de-worming.
Not very de-licious, grrrlll.

When they were all done,
they put my collar back on,
Put me a red and white and blue bandana
on.

Petted me politely and said,
I was done. Glad, Thank God,
I was already neutered.

And, then the gray of vessels vast
cruised stealthily amongst daybreak calm,
wistful winds, aridly
asleep, blue, stolid
waters holding  salty thirst
for the mermaids, and sip yellow hazes, with
the smells of dead fish.

Or boiled legs, weary, seemed
on boardwalks brown,
splintered, to never sting the sting
of sun baked grit, nor harbor a signal sheltered
or captain heresies light religions
weathered boil itch,
unfeathered, tethered here and now.

'til the sun rose beautiful,
        I said,
God, take me.

Then, like at 4:30 this
        sweet
redhead, smiled at me.

Until our eyes, mine and hers,
           met
at like 4:30 I said , God,
           take me.

You realize I wasn't serious, eh?
             I  said,
that euphemistically, hey?

Now that the sun rose red ,
            my luck,
turned for the better, Sir!

I admit blasphemy. I admit
       I might
have been hasty, in my request.

(I have been waiting for the train to come).
sitting in the terminal ... heard no whistle blow
but my expectations and reservations
are that the train is (going away)
and again...
I'm not on, now....
I look back and see empty (tracks disappearing)
a steamed train chugs away.
I sit on the wrong track again
I guess (I will stay)
my reservation always
a terminal destination.....
(sitting waiting).

of a song that existed
was written
before we lived

a raspberry
butterfly
blue sky

out there
on a key of
nature fluttering

golden sung
snug in the fold
of composed

sunrises, setting glows
tall trees sway little
creatures

noble, so carrying
on the purpose,
without

worrying

A minute before noon on June 28th, Saturn and Neptune,
left their positions flew away
into heaven:
    They decided to elope and leaped into a Universe
of vastness solving, ellipsis, loneliness.
       There came more revolving as they spun and crept
into the vacuum's dancing together,
   playing the solar system, only remembering their duties and vows to each other.
Laughing and leaping gravity they spin the solar system ,
            unbalanced, flowing swishing and watching
the stars, the nebulae glowing for them.

by an old poet
migrate north
to between the ears
from years ago
when all I felt was between my legs

memory makes
a false verve
thinking still hot I can
and remembering
sweet flavors
when all was felt was passion begging.

through the paths of small animals
the clearings  the foxes and the deer use
she walks with her ivory harp
at times plays a flute
and closes the distances between the wild
animals
and the forests limbs
the undergrowth
her bed for a life
dedicated to
nature
she is a resolve
purity and truth
and no man has
touched her soul
yet

on my stoop thanking whatever the power is
(I call her my Fairy crack Mother)
for just the other night I had 200 superfluous dollars
(and a white wild hair up my ***, a demon from my past
calling, calling loud)
I called Rof, and Tyrone; J-rock, Sam, T-bone; Jeremy,
Cadillac, Tiger,
( no no one answered, I even drove to Tar-hill where all the time ,
three or four options are available and never before did I come home empty)  this night: I did!
I let the bitterness intrude as I slept instead of peeping out the window and hearing strange heart beat sounds thumping all night
( but...I slept uncomfortable and once or twice cursed, her (my fairy crack mother))
then today, like a plan had come for my two hundred dollars.
And I gave it to someone who needed it for food,
and surviving. And I got a high, so much more that I went out and
sat on my porch and watched the dark- the evening come-
and my fairy crack mother, I thanked- cried finally seeing,
She has always
taken care of me.
And gave me this chance to feel how it feels
to feel a good thing, for once.
I guess I do believe,
in Fairy Crack Mothers!

you ever had one that kept haunting you
I saw llamas today in a field
I saw balloons again
to construct my urge
sanely you would have to share my head
When the llamas looked up at me
on the edge of their field
where they were minding their business
munching
flowers and grass and greens
I felt like an intruder
an alien
in their world
and the balloon thing again,
I watched the car dealers early today,
a  man walked with what seemed like a hundred
of them helium filled colorful things, tieing
them to antennas, when one did
escape, a white one, that wafted and floated
into the sky like freedom and relief,
I felt for it. I felt for the llamas.
You would have to
share my head to
see.

spirits look out for me
    a community of ghosts
and fairy crack mothers
  with sores and broken teeth
they mostly
    create a sky brighter
a vision more beautiful
  than i can describe
they conspire to shelter my *******
against all the stupid acts I do
   getting drunk on Olde English 800
until 3 am when I gots to work at 7
  or hitting the pipe with my last twenty
planning on a payday that doesn't come
   then I find paper blowing free on the side
of a highway as I walk
picking up aluminum,
   sprites and good witches and goddesses
see I am actually good,
   just a little faded
innocently deranged
  ****** up.

we partied in a Chevrolet station wagon
the night we graduated went fast around the devil curves that
uphill gravel laiden course
to the top like we were the best
to the hill west of Rochester
where those acid drop rainfalls fell
into our open eyes
made rainbows kaleidoscopes
out of evergreens and
telephone poles
flashes shone in brief aware
and dreams they spoke out echoing
no one sane was here
found our way safely back
across the street from my house and parked behind the garage where
Hope came up in a tight dress
drunk and quite acting
nervy knowing she had
made all both our heads turn
or all ten of em
and only having one
Chevrolet
the backseat turned down
into almost a bed
we gave the pulsing energy
the flashes a go
a right groovy we
said at the time
one at the time impulse
the stars
the moon
the rocking
Chevrolet
all night
half the next day
I don't think it was
just my
imagination

the world does
into color, green
vegetables,
brown bark
golden fields,
red sunsets,
white snow,
black nights,
brown dirt covering
me.
There are,
through colors many
realities.
small birds,
fiercest Tigers,
is my mind a reflection?

the train came into the station a loud rush
people hurried again
getting off and on
luggage and people scurried
a roar

the bus rushed to the bus stop
air brakes hissing
one lady got on
two got off in a
rush to go where

seems travelling is our ambition
go from here to there
ethereal maybe
how I just sit and watch

no rush
I hate the pressure of air brakes and train
whistles
I like sitting and
watching it all

the lovebirds coo
on the wire overhead
the trees swish in the breeze
like a cymbal swooshing in
the greatest song ever

I get where I want to
eventually
and the train has a schedule
the bus too,
I am more like the
lovebirds

just on time forever

a C. Bukowski poem and bean with bacon soup with regular crackers
I dipped in and burned every bit of my mouth swallowed the reactive mess fast, like a nuclear thing it burnt all the way down.
I felt the way I did when I kissed last Sunday, that twenty dollar *****
on her nether lips, I dipped my cadmium rod into a beer, after
stopping what may react just like Fermi did.
Satisfied, I cooled off, and farted away bubbly drinking
the rest of the night.

sun and light like hope on
over hills so far away, yet yes,      
make me trudge again forwards,
try, try so hard to stay the course,
continue wanting to breathe,
seek the real world where  man
loves his self as much as his sister
or wife or mother, thinking maybe I
might find that world, here.

Blood thudded in my ears. I scuffed,
Steps stubborn, to the telltale booth
Beyond whose curtained portal coughed
The robed repositor of truth.

The slat shot back. The universe
Bowed down his cratered dome to hear
Enumerated my each curse,
The sip snitched from my old man's beer,

My sloth pride envy lechery,
The dime held back from Peter's Pence
with which I'd bribed my girl to ***
That I might spy her instruments.

Hovering scale-pans when I'd done
Settled their balance slow as silt
While in the restless dark I burned
Bright as a brimstone in my guilt

Until as one feeds birds he doled
Seven our Fathers and a Hail
Which I to double-scrub my soul
Intoned twice at the altar rail

Where Sunday in seraphic light
I knelt, as full of grace as most,
And stuck my tongue out at the priest:
A fresh roost for the Holy Ghost.

dabnagit  Travel back to before the nation began
and see Crispus Attucks killed — the
first American to die for American freedom, a freedom denied to his African and Native American forebears. Take a knee to honor his sacrifice and the other four dead.

Take a knee in grief that he who would become president minimized these first martyrs as "a motley rabble of saucy boys, negros and molattoes, Irish teagues and outlandish Jack Tarrs.”

Stand at Morris Island, South Carolina, where American soldiers fought to keep a young nation whole, a field of blue with 35 stars, not 22. Take a knee for the 54th Massachusetts Voluntary Infantry and its score killed at Fort Wagner, a hundred more presumed dead.

Take a knee in grief that the U.S. Army rescinded its promise of equality and paid the 54th little more than half a white soldier's monthly pay. Take a knee in awe at those who refused any pay that was less, yet died with "Massachusetts and Seven Dollars a Month!" on their lips, defending their white comrsdes' retreat.

Take a knee for Sgt. Medgar Evers, who defeated fascists at Normandy only to be killed by them once he was back home.

Take a knee from the suckerpunch by a U.S. senator from Mississippi in 1917, who said the return of black veterans would “inevitably lead to disaster.” Once you “impress the ***** with the fact that he is defending the flag” and “inflate his untutored soul with military airs,” it would be easy for him to conclude “his political rights must be respected.” Take a knee to honor those who died defending freedom. Take a knee to weep for the sharp rise in lynchings after both world wars — following the return of those impressed, untutored ***** souls inflated with military airs for having served.

Look at the lists, look at the videos, look at the witness testimony, look at the double standard: Amadou Diallo. Manuel Loggins Jr. Ronald Madison. Kendra James. Sean Bell. Eric Garner. Michael Brown. Alton Sterling. Philando Castile. (Take a knee; this could take awhile.) Akiel Denkins. Gregory Gunn. Samuel DuBose. Brendon Glenn. Freddie Gray. Natasha McKenna. Walter Scott. Christian Taylor. Ezell Ford. Akai Gurley. Laquan McDonald. (Take a breath.) Tamir Rice. Yvette Smith. Jamar Clark. Rekia Boyd. Shereese Francis. Ramarley Graham. LaTanya Haggerty. Margaret LaVerne Mitchell. And on and on. And on.

Take a knee for the unarmed, or subdued, or even fleeing men and women killed by officers pledged to protect and serve. Take a knee too for the officers killed by gun-toting gangsters…or by homeowners fearing a home invasion. While you're at it, take a knee for the more than 50 people killed every year by toddlers exercising their Second Amendment rights.

And take a knee for the soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines who died so that a football player can take a knee as long as some people are shot by police in the back, or even when down, or even after they're on their knees…while others for some reason are far less likely to be shot in the same circumstances. Take a knee, Rodin-like, and ponder why.

Take a knee and join those who are taking a knee out of respect not only for the flag, but for the republic for which it stands, one nation…

(Striving to be a more perfect union)

…under God…

(Who "created all men equal"; "male and female he created them.")

…indivisible…

("Build that wall!" "Lock her up!" "Fire the sons of ******* if they won't stand for this flag but run them over if they protest a rebel flag!")

…with liberty and justice for all lives can't matter unless black lives matter.

So for these all, and many more, take a knee. Take your time, but take some heart. Then lift each other up and lock your arms. Play ball.

Atom open born energy fragrance
atmosphere bay embraces pactis'd origin heard
youth procreant *** uprights
soul proof vexes familiar stealthy fancied wondering
Backward
abased loose plunged
scabs full flags, handkerchiefs
babe Sprouting hair Tenderly,
faint perceive hints old somewhere collapses
die manifold companion lips Undrape!
silently red-faced sprawls clinking doors atop
mountains settle round luxuriant
slave friendly handsome owns I laughing
wet bodies spray sharpens lithe
steady giant for Oxen tread
consider wild sharp-hoof'd foot growing
easiest pure I resist cannot riddle grass
music battles dead fail'd set press.

To all on Hello poetry, I wish to see, once again, what may be created, by the visions of many. Help create a poem. If you wish to add lines to this poem, which I will start with one line, comment and put your addition in parentheses. Let us grow a majesty!


Community Poem

For every man has visions
And holds greatness within his heart
For the world would rather imprison,
The dreams a visionary imparts
than to envision his visions
and feel his pain filled dreams
He loves to sing his poems, pleasing
his visions, knowing they are lyrical.
A fantasy it seems but
awake he dreams, weaving
you and me in his vision divine.
Seamless a dreamless world,
no rhythm, reason or rhyme.
Let fly the dreams unfurled
to changing winds through time.

the mezcal incident, now
that was surely one doozy/
started out with a shot of Patrone
no lime or salt at ten in the morn'/
at this strip joint in Wicksburg
where they advertise
two hot babes three skinny one's
and one big mama,
on their marquee, which is one of
those lighted portable signs plastic letters things
the kids like to vandalize by
like on the Natural Light Deliverance Tabernacle
I minister at occasionaly, we have one of those ,
had In God We Trust , lettered on it on saturday.
Sunday, at eleven, when we arrived for worship ,
it said in dogs  we gust,
limited letters to arrange so,
I got the teen hoodlum gyst/
I ramble on so much, wouldn't
blame you
if you lost interest,
but anyways/
this day, what I mentioned early in this,
started out fairly innocent, a drink
a gander at female utilitarianism,
and a shot,
thing about tequila
sitting down you don' t know how ****** up you are
get up, try to stand and wow!
I keep digressing,
that day
hell I ******* forgot/
Sorry to lead you on.

dreamed I was dreaming
of being in a dream,
Pinch me three times please

songs will sing
of realism our
   song will rhyme
realistically
            time will
serenade us colliding
    moons align with
eclipses
        blessings
be given us
       really.