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.

once a day I spend ten seconds sorry for me
then ten hours on those worse off
I think about my problems too long
and not enough on what I can do to help others
after all what good is pity for me I don't like it
nor do I pity others I empathize
try to put my foot in their shoe
and it makes my problems dematerialize
and one day I will wittle it down to ten seconds a year
and hope I made a difference
before I go
on to whereever
it is old hippies go to
then

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.

when I carriage returns too soon
and my fingers get numb   oh well
and I don't realize MY CAPS LOCK IS ON
or I try to figure my debts up and the num lock ain't on
or I tab when I should not indent
or mmy keyboard
the m locks up
cause I mmighta spilt beer on it again
and mmy mmouse goes crazy for another window
and I type half this there
I think
it might be timme for bed

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.

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

Thy beard
        thy hairy chest
whence once
         waxed I loved
thy forehead now
          one eyebrow dense.
Thy woven nest
          so thick a moss a forest
so numerous, I can not
          see the trees.
Thy scisssors and razor broke
          No Nair nor candle left,
I can no longer tend you.
      
I have weaved those armpits for
the last time,
you need
a riding mower.

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

(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).

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.

deftly I wrang them
my own two hands to best an adversary
I fought for years that was way bigger
more strategic then me but,
had one weakness, it was inside me,
and so I put those hands together
and crafted wisely a way to wring out ***** laundry,
twist the bad's arm
snap the chicken's neck, yes,

it does flop around a bit refusing to die,
in death throes it jumps to the fence down it around headless, no sense in that, but,
things,
even addictions refuse to die.
The poverty of a country existence
helped. Unless I wanted to sling **** there was really little work.
And the economic driver here is corn fields and **** heads the rich farmers have grown.
I don't get into staying awake walking up and down the street for weeks looking like death with his baggy eyes sans the scythe.
Hearing machine gun fire in my ears.

I used myself to get high. My hidden weaknesses. A hit of crack and a beer some ***** had me hiding from it.
I got away. Now with these hands, I am going to make a life for someone I want to spend the rest of my life loving.
I will with these hands build us a castle a small piece of paradise.
Our own heaven on earth.
And there, I will, with these hands hold and protect her and love her forever. In our small castle, that with these two hands, built.

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

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.

'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 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.

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?

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.

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!

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.

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

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.

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.

among all the virtues I believe honesty is paramount
the utmost top rung fruit on the sundae cherry topping
lie to me and say you do, I will give a benefit of a doubt for you,
until you bleed me dry

i cherish honesty, in that benefit i will call your dealer
pay him , give you money for food,
sit by watching while you **** him off
call your boss with your excuses

But I will believe    in you
up to the point you stabbed me
in the back for the fortieth time
then I will die bleeding

worshipping the ground
you walked all over me on.
I am stupid.
Gotta give it to relentlessly
stupid though.

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.

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

She  
Stands for me!

Dressed up
All Pink and white
Glowing from tip to
Outspread reach

Hummingbird
Wings
Decorated

Both in sun in
Moon
A buzz

The chorus of nature
Majestic ingeniously
Being the freshest
Breath of
Spring

Of hope and
Beauty
Fair

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.

T'was a night before christmas
and all through my heart
was a glistening
knowing I had done all
I could to brighten
one soul, maybe two
and slept peaceful.


Now it is Christmas,
the day of our saviors birth.
We have lights arranged to celebrate
and toys for every boy and girl
but, you are so far away, and
I would ask Santa for just one real kiss,
on Christmas, from Vicki, my only babay!

Merry Christmas, Babay!
I do love you!

flesh concious since
my mom caught me and my cousin Anne naked in that old beat up rusty hulk of a truck right next to the outhouse
playing show me yours
at five years old and scolded us like satan's spawn
several psyches through my tale
I decided to live with it
got naked one day
ran through the ******* middle of town
plucking flowers from gardens and graves
had several pinned in my hair by
the time the constables caught me trying to
steal a shrubbery from the
garden center at Wal-Mart

Been a
Small player a
Bit part actor
One of the cast
In an off Broadway play

Been a
Smart *** a
wit less loser
One of the bell
bottomed long hairs

Been a
Lover cast
Aside useless
broken a piece of
worthlessness

Been a
Powerless
Where is
my next meal
Coming from beggar

And I've
Made it here
Where I grasped
saw seen realized
it's never been
About me

So I have
Been a
lifter up a positive
Force in this seemingly
hopeless universe

Since.

seems I must write of star beams
and moon glow
when i want to write
of your elbow
your nails
how feminine and gorgeous
the turn of your thigh inward to
the place the space sacred
our place
shared alone
your neck arched
your earlobe in  my mouth
my chest on your breast my hand upon your sigh
our arches met
with cries

I cave in to
spelunking away in the dark
I dive under the tall waves to find the bottom
and let  the rollers pass
build a refuge of sticks and grass
so far from humanity reality contact
of anyone forcing me to see
anything but my make believe
world  its fantasia
ostrich like creatures that inhabit me
a mile of mole hills make for a way out
an escape in case the world crashes around my
veil of saran wrap coverings yellowed
translucent cataracts and vein popping
retinas.

a drinking duel to George Bush I lost once
a woman to George Clooney
I spent many George Washington's
foolishly

Listened to George Harrison sing about
My Sweet Lord,
and related more to Thorogood
One scotch , bourbon, beer

I wish I was funny
as George Carlin,
or had the clarity
of George Orwell

But my name is not George.
I am not Patton.
Can't sing like Jones.
Or compose , like
Gershwin.

I tried to change my name.
It did not help.
so , don't
call me George.