Posts Tagged ‘poet’

Pleasure Dreamt

Posted: May 16, 2017 in poem, poet, poetry
Tags: , ,

There are no words
that float the sea
The waves of grace
that others see
There are no winds
that brush your hair
or paint your lips
your face so fair
Your nails your hands
your gentle prints
clasp thin wrists
of gold strand twists
Your touch your feel
around my waist
Soft finger tips
my muscles traced
Your taste your smell
your jasmine scent
I dream of you
My pleasure dreamt.

DSS

 

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
Tags: , , , ,
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.

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

Dogs of War

Posted: April 8, 2017 in poem, poet, poetry, politics, war, writing
Tags: , , , , ,

Along the way, to better lands
We pass places worthy of our living
We pick our stride, don’t look aside
We deny all the fruits they are giving

We map our route, we have no doubt
We use landmarks named by rhyme and reason
We trudge ahead, we spare the dead
looking for that perfect scene and season

We travel on, when stopped along,
Turning away, all things wild or human
Soon will be the day, I will say
kill them, burn and pillage to my crewman

Swords we hone with sharpening stone
We break bone, slash gut, red flesh and tendon
On knees they cry but life’s denied
Broken bone and bleeding wounds no mending

When we are done, the spoil is won
Women, food and prize are for our taking
We burn the rest, leave mud and mess
Only black smoke left of our cruel making

Pay us for, we are dogs of war
We sell our arm and sword for gold coin
The pain we give, so greed will live
And will deny it was of your doing

DSS

On My Mind

Posted: March 27, 2017 in free verse, poem, poet, poetry, writing
Tags: , , , ,

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

 

 

 

Old men feeling the foreplay of the sensuous tug of war
Old men that have forgotten or have never known the smell of the smoke of death
But with blustering words from their arm chairs and their long tables
they easily speak of sending the young Armies
who believe the words shouted from the podiums of these old casual heroes.
Casual heroes that now voyeur from hovering satellite views
and the green starlit 20,000 foot cameras of robot planes.
Old casual heroes with hard-ons and loose belts, craving their pornography of war.

DSS.

(Let’s keep our eyes on the ball, soon there could be a lot of unusual things happening outside of the U.S. to distract us from a lot of unusual things that will soon be revealed right here at home.)

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”