Archive for March, 2017

On My Mind

Posted: March 27, 2017 in free verse, poem, poet, poetry, writing
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I have more to say than a verse to hold
A few short lines
of verse of old
A few letter words that slide and play
As the wet tongue
curls up that way
Just as line or two abruptly stopped
echoes right back
from high mountain tops
I will hear inside my head the word
As I ponder that
that I’ve just heard
I hurry to write down just what I said
So someday they
will be loudly read
Not forgot but shouted echoed wide
on the paths and hills
of our country side
The few short words of verse and line
that twist and turn
but so nearly rhyme
Those few words that were only mine
Are now released
to bend other minds.





Deep down in Louisiana  *
close to New Orleans,
Way back up in the woods
among the evergreens
There stood a log cabin
made of earth and wood,
Where lived a country boy
named Johnny B. Goode
Who never ever learned
to read or write so well,
But he could play a guitar
just like a ringing a bell. *

“Johnny B. Goode” by Chuck Berry


My name is John. I grew up in the 50’s and 60’s. So when the music “Johnny B. Goode” came out, I instantly had a new name.

February third ’59 may have been the day the music died in Clear Lake, Iowa but in St. Louis, MO, they were still singing about “Memphis” Tennessee  and still playin’ “Rock and Roll Music”. And things were just fine “Back in the USA”.

If there is a Heaven, Roll Over Beethoven” and listen, you’re going to meet one hell  of a Rock ‘n Roll Man!     And Ludwig, I guess even if you aren’t ready for this yet, your kids are gonna love it. **

We are going to miss you Chuck.


*  Lyrics from the Music  “Johnny B. Goode” by Chuck Berry
** Words roughly quoted from movie “Back to the Future”

The Foulness

Posted: March 18, 2017 in free verse, poem, poet, poetry, writing
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The foulness that proceeds us,
the stench, the smoke, the half life
the static noise of mistuned radios and burnt out street lights
blown out streets and broken water mains.

lost shoes line the paths
broken wheels and blown out tires
bent and burnt cars with missing hoods and cracked blocks
and children playing with discarded green cans and skinny dogs

The foulness that proceeds us,
the wailing mothers and lost brothers
uncles and aunts now without nephews or nieces
no walls or roofs for their dirt floor gated homes

their minds without freedom left in them
without bread, meal or ovens to bake.
just to be left alone to make the new shoes and robes
and to pound tools from their new found scrap metal.

The foulness that proceeds us,
the despair and unleashed sorrow
and cautious walk of digital camo soldiers without cause or blame
only yearning to get home to a land more understood.

As the wind blown sand settles into drifts
across arched doorways and blocked exit roads
we hear distant sounds of flying war iron always overhead
we hear the sounds of lost hope, life and future
the sound of the sad foulness that proceeds us.


(This is rewind week, just blowing off the stench, John) 


As the street lights hum to life
roads reflect with orange flavored sheen
car lights bright of red and white
leave trails behind the wiper blades
Mercury vapor parking lots,
piled high with snows remains,
white hot stains of rocker salt
are washed away by the winter rain

many nights of snow and skidding ice
with no hope of warmer days
we bundled up in down feather coats
and followed the orange plowers sand and blade.
we slowly walked in our winter boots
our minds wandered to nicer days
when winds would change from north to south
and blow in the warm winter rain.



Today is a rewind to dust off something that DSS likes. He is thinking of those back east this week.

Captain! Sometimes the most important person is you!
You!….. you dizzled drapes dropper
You! …. you measly mound of moose melt
Get up and fight the sons of bitches!
Hit ’em in the face!
Kick ’em in the balls!
Fuck’em up!

Now wait a minute……..
Think about this
The last skull you cracked still isn’t healed.
And you lost your Secret Society of Greenwich Ring.
Oh! Those were the days!
There was beer, blood and Brylcreem
smeared all over everything.
Royal Fly-boys!…. the Bastards!

Wake Up!!

Whew! That reoccurring WWI dream again!
What time is it?
6 O’clock already!

I HATE Daylight Saving Time!!!


(DST has that affect on some people. This is OC’s  twice annually modified rant about it. Brylcreem??  John   )

Future or Past

Posted: March 11, 2017 in free verse, poem, poet, poetry, writing
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Oh, I fondly remember the past and my won and lost opportunities
I remember the feelings of pride and joy and lust and regret.
The night of sensual conversation but saying the wrong words at closing time.
I regret nothing else, only the missed chance of what that night could have been..
Oh, I think of the aircraft I have yet to fly, the buildings I have yet laid blueprints to.
The coffee and whiskeys I have yet to taste.
But none of these I dwell on.
They are mere thoughts and digested brews
None are a vision, none like the vision I still see of you.
And saying the wrong words at closing time.


One of those outer space things
visited me last night.
It had three eyes and a wide thin-lipped mouth,
It walked sort of sideways like
Because it had two right feet and untied shoes.
Ankles that looked like green and yellow Argyle socks.
Five foot nine, average size space creature,
You know the type
A real pain in the Galactic ass non-citizen
It had jumped our orbital border
looking for work no doubt.
And a free lunch.
It wanted to threaten our security,
and poison the minds of our young.
Burn and pillage our villages.
Steal our nuclear secrets, a real pest.
Didn’t mention anything about raping our women,
Probably looking for girls much greener
and ours have too few eyes.
But otherwise it looked real dangerous,
It would have been another real good enemy.
But it sideways hopped back into its space pod
and exited our Universe.
Must have been something we said.
I think it said we were weird.