Archive for the ‘free verse’ Category

Among the tormented men of thought
Of the wrecking ball of what God has wrought
The confusing voices from men of vote
Scramble our minds by the words he spoke
They chew and spit and disagree
No thought left for just you and me
Only profit’s greed and rising stock
Big dividends exchanged for hardened locks
They lust for cash and Highest Office Space
The low of the lowest of our human race
Sells their soul for fortunes chance
Learns each waltz of the devil’s dance
Boast and lie, distort the facts
Pile the load on middle class backs
But to hear them rally rant and shout
Rich man scams those that must go without
As they go back to their little pink homes
He flies South as if it’s Nero’s Rome

E.

How can I not sing about rain
It is April
If only for a few more days
Cloudy skies
wet sidewalks, soaking grass
raise me.
Pull me up  from the trenches
Tickle my face and back of my neck
It may be the end of drought
the rising of small creeks
the flooding of rivers
The joy of the flight of birds
Roofs playing the rhythm and rhyme
of rain drops
Down spouts trickling maple seeds
Stay my April rain
If only for a few more days.

DSS

 

I’m not rockin’, really.
Just thinkin’
A question or two.
Not really.
You probably want to know
what thing would keep me up
awake, rustling the bed-sheets
fluffing and re-fluffing the pillow.
Not about a dollar gained or lost
a love lost or dreamt of.
An aching back or swollen knee,
a boner
none of these.
A red digital clock flashing a new number
every 60 seconds
every goddamn minute.
Maybe that is it,
the minutes silently ticking away
without a sound, a shout
or fond farewell
just a goddamn flash
of a sequential number.
Can’t live with them
can’t live without them
clocks
so many goddamn clocks
reminding us of the passage of time
passing at the speed of light
The only way to slow it down
is to keep moving
the faster the better.
Or live in the millisecond
ya, that might do it.
stretch it out to a thousand pieces.
Ok, I’ll meet you downtown
at 6:01:23.003
Don’t be late.
I have not a millisecond to waste.

OC

 

 

Hawking

Posted: April 18, 2017 in free verse, poem, poet, poetry, the mind, writing
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First Posted: April 17, 2014

Among the jumbling mumbling mode
the Racker Thatcher crumbs his creel.

his back’s crunched bent
– his chrome’s thrust spent,
fingers palms thick tough as heel.

upon the humbling rumbling ride
the Racker Thatcher moves his way.

his voice’s grunt gone
– now electron’s song,
teared eyes movewink what to say.

within the mightling thinkling mind
the Racker Thatcher spins his rhyme.

smiles gum and tooth
– speaks Universal truth,
of our, A Brief History of Time.

DSS.

Reposting a few from three years ago.

I approached a large green intersection sign and it said “Will Rogers Turnpike Next Right”. I have taken that tollway a few times and I have seen it on maps and I have just driven past it as I did last week. But I’ve never really thought about something. What I’ve never thought of but now seems so apparently ironic is this. Did the person that suggested Will Roger as the name for that tollway really know anything about him?

I have read a lot about Will Rogers and I have seen his films. His political satire is the best and very cutting. But he didn’t appear to give any politician a free ticket. Or a free pass or maybe you could call it a free toll ticket. He was the biggest promoter of a free public transportation system. But I now can’t help but think what Ol’ Will would have to say about having his name up in lights not at the movies theater but up in lights in the middle of a big 30 foot green tollway sign. And you may know some tollways in Oklahoma. You are stopped every 20 miles or so to pay another toll. Now I can’t help but think about how Mr. Rogers would be impatiently chewing his gum faster and faster searching for change before and after each one of those damn toll gates. Now that’s funny! I’m sure he would be writing about it in his daily newspaper columns.

Rest in peace Will, there are plenty of other things named after you, like airports. Oh my god! I never thought of that! What would he be writing about airports nowadays? Now that’s even funnier to imagine!

Such is the life of John

Today may be an appropriate time
to explore the thought
just a bit of a thought
to investigate the reason
of what we may be doing
wondering of our being
our forth-come and forth-went
actually the why and why not
of our crawl up from the slime
to this point
in time and space.
The is and the is not of
what we are doing here
and not there.
What orbital mechanics caused this,
this thing
we found ourselves on.
This machine of
heavy wash, soak, rinse and spin.
But at the same time
minding our delicates.
Our precious inner thoughts
and reasoning.
Trying to justify
our pertinent points
and explanations.
Without hurting the feelings
of the gathered groups
of the three or more.
This may be
the appropriate time
to send up this balloon
and see how high it rises.
As we believe in the
Mother of all bombs
and the
Sons of the Al-mighty.

DSS

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.

OC

 

 

 

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.

John

*  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.

OC

(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.

DSS

 

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