August 13, 2012

• old shit

  what follows is old shit from when I was mostly someone else

  you’re job is,??

  why did I fail way back when?  don’t worry I don’t care one fucking shit for your answer. – unless it’s relevant..

  -

  Why oh Why does which work?

  08.02.1985

  picture from: wacohistoryproject.org

  There, the altar Hope

  assends, spiraling

  two locomotive

  shells and five more souls

  purified from life

  Just before sunset

  one gravel mover

  close to clear sailing

  put tthe hammer down

  here comes hell’s sunshine

  This ain’t no special

  we are so scheduled

  We’re the ev’nin freight

  we’ll make our next break

  heaven equals three

  Is it worth one more?

  to be pencil pushed?

  one more wagged finger?

  toasted s’mores roadside?

  a trainer’s punchline?

  Wreck Survivable

  protocalls ignored

  coffee and doughnut

  Your lives tossed asside

  too few fucking died.

  You dropped the highway

  hospitalized some

  called for over-time

  made my biggest sound

  made rushing a sin

  Bet you’d rather life

  Guess what Blue Collars?

  You suspected knives

  “ain’t my fault!” hollers

  You made New York Times

  Sev’n fourty pee em

  Around a blind curve

  you said, “c’mon baby,

  grab hold, LOCK & SQUEAL”

  it took all you had.

   

  I’m a bit bummed this was daily news once- I heard the crash and saw the smoke, but i cant find any online documentation of a news article any more what follows is a map location- remember it was half that infrastructure existed….

  http://wikimapia.org/1745541/1985-Train-Wreck-location
  http://www.nytimes.com/1987/01/05/us/recent-us-train-wrecks.html
  http://www.ntsb.gov/recs/letters/1985/R85_13_15.pdf

  I can’t find their names. this saddens me.  so does the callous way it must be the dead’s fault. it takes over a mile to engage the brakes of one train and two we coming head on with less than 4 miles notice both speeding….whatever you can read for yourself the ntsb report.
  -
  this poem is quit simply from a prompt including a real life story – I saw that smoke of collision at 10.
  what do I get for crafting a story ? crickets.
  -
  here is one of the highest rated poems of that time or ever I put out-
  Monday, 09 May 2011

      You Old Pearl.

  it’s hard to admit that they’ve won

  Oh, it’s long since been decided on

  It’s you and I don’t mean maybe or

  some other suck me off, lied insult

  me running to your water’s trough

  am I happy with my choice?

  sure. I want you and need you

  of course, it’s about needs

  you can sing to me birdsong true

  vibrating within me what bleeds

  some are dying to compliment or complain

  love is a game for the vain

  but Pay attention to hows

  you took away my fantasies

  and inserted plain

  You wondered how you’d fit

  you don’t

  but your a glove

  comfortable and all around

  shut up about the metaphor leather

  so what if you are old

  so what if you are plain

  you glow in a way I can not explain

  the way a dawning day does within rain

  the way sunshine is a bright smear from behind a cloud

  you are whatever I said I wanted

  and perhaps more of a soul of worth

  I’m supposed to tell you these things

  yet I’m wont to smile sometimes like a curse

  I love you scenes of my words, Queen of my verse.

  and because you are older

  perhaps a little truer, bolder

  i can’t think of anything to offer but a shoulder

  And lets be honest now

  I’m but the field’s cow

  MOOO! what world did I move around?

  Should that matter – why, YES

  each of our caresses blesses

  and with luck there is a certain justice

  no no, I’m of legal age you fuckers

  too young yes but a prize ripe for you cougar pluckers

  but I’m well past legal age, suckers.

  but what honestly have I to offer past company

  that certain kind of somethingee

  a shined penny ciderella coloured pumpkiny

  “But even a poor taylor deserves some happiness”*

  maybe the inner critic would slap me less

  You, Sweetheart, make me a champ- nothing less.

  picture,…

  http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4035/4633456200_d1be8ac6a9_z.jpg

  * references the taylor after Topol’s Daughter in “Fiddler On The Roof”

  (highest rec’d poem to date at 9.)

  -(shush, it’s not great typing I know that’s I swear half of my charm)-  yes, wanting as maybe evident this is about someone resulted more in getting me DUMPED like a hot sack of bricks than a hug of thanks.
  -
  MIRED

  Originally Posted 8/17/2009 7:25 PM – 4 Views – 0 eProps – 0 comments

  a proper parody (complete) of “Fire” by Bruce Springsteen but popularized by the Pointer Sisters in 1978. bruce singing his own tune, the Pointer Sisters making his words famous

  the hiss as the lid pops off

  two scoops in the basket paper

  I connect the machine

  and wish it to “brew”

  oh it so healthy

  quintessential desire

  soon I’ll be wired

  MIRED

   
  Up all NIGHT

  I’m staring at an ashtray

  contemplatin’ a wasted day

  I swear I’ll quit tommorow

  I feel it with all my heart

  but on sight of sun’s fire

  those blued smoke rings

  MIRED

  I was sold on these

  right from the start

  vices so blighted

  I didn’t pay heed to my heart

  my nerves all calmed

  blissful synaptic fuel

  it so much a part of my life

  but its just got to GO

  Coffee, Tea & Cigarettes

  and my alcohol’s fire

  I know just the stuff to get

  but not how me to deny

  my health’ll be shit

  and we all know why

  but just one taste

  MIRED

  MIRED

  I say NO, LIAR

  get me a grab’n'go WIRED

  Suckin’ down my FIRE

  Woo! and am I feeling no pain

  MIRED

  killing me, I’m

  TIRED

  no pain, but killing me

  WIRED

  Who’s hooked on the stuff?

  (Mired)

  -

  (the ‘coffee, tea and cigarettes/mired” theme has plagued me now for about 14 years….somebody is just friggin’ slow to do his own honey do’ list of projects.)
  -

  selected for publication, christmas cancellation of that project.

  Saturday, 25 December 2010

      seppuku by cylinders
       
      gold-eyed goddess storms
      judgment day’s sinister turn
      our love now for worms
       
      cold, this hand pressing
      caressing this thread and its truth
      click. chances progressing
       
      wednesday night whiskey
      fiery courage torch-lit truth
      click. this life’s risky.
       
      whiskeyed words hang
      damning one in the balance
      believe, I love you
       
      daggered truths be known
      I shiver replaying ghosts
      our love on rocks shown
       
      click. echoes return
      time soon sums up sentiment
      salvation ‘s deferred
      –
      March 12th, 2010. js (a different way to rhyme)
  –
  powerful subject limited audience…
  2 December 2010

      bhadddd lines

  Onan ‘s Broken
  I can’t use my right hand
  cat fight gone wrong
  and I’m the loser, DAMN!
  I almost would have preferred
  sand in the Vaseline
  oh sure that ain’t keen
  but imagine this pain’s scream
  I have work
  a rare enough feat
  to carry about an old sheltie
  and I’m dripping tears
  I get to await but jeers
  what moron risk’s himself
  to avoid one mess
  only to incur fate
  no one handed heroing
  Wanh! for goodness sake!
  and I more Christmas misery
  oh us big brained humans?
  just guess who wants to be loved
  that hateful furry loser
  lost to a kitten half his size
  oh he ain’t powerless
  shake hands with me
  I’ll literally cry.
  defeat
  no sour cream soloing
  that little bastard
  chewed not just me
  but my week.
  he even tried to swallow his frustration
  oh these thoughts of his upcoming castration
  I lost to a feline
  let me hear those laughs  
  -those crimes
  that little fuzzball weeny
  done in my dignity
  laugh- seriously!
  it isn’t you
  that earned hisself
  a wrist full of teeth
  yes, a “boo boo”
   
  Onan’s broken
  laugh at my twice “withouts”
  no deed however good
  goes unpunished
  but seriously, it’s more like
  like good deeds pave the way to hell
  um, two cliches in a row-shhh  
  I’d tell on myself!
  yes, good deeds made it certain
  my week of shambles
  searing pain
  one more
  yes, as if I haven’t enough
  one more disability
  no, not jerking off
  boo hoo to a little enforced restraint
  but
  you try drawing insulin through ampules
  through needle to the syringe
  cringe
  I have to do it one handed
  and it ain’t no sinch
  yeah, merry Christmas crunch’n'munch
  the fuzzball thought me the dinner of his sorrows
  I lost, I was lunch
  –
  I still actually write lol

  Sunday, 17 July 2011

      saw. NSFW

       

      saw.

      attired in only truth
      I stand before you honestly
      With all the storms that rage within
      eyes flashing lightning offers for the future
      if only the light reflects that offer within your eyes.

      you ask for directions
      as to answer I plainly point
      follow with my eyes to my desire
      they’re alight upon your magic fires

      The truth can touch
      both with that of a gentleness-
      how a fingertip caressing your creases
      or perhaps the lips kisses whispering pleases

      The truth can touch
      also with a clenched grasp
      a need of some desperation
      afraid to accept the secret why
      as hinted knives drop upon your ears

      The breezes mingle
      the red sweat of fears
      oranged regrets borne
      the white obvious of truth
      the blue of lingering years
      the yellow beauty friendship
      and the green solace soothing
      with purple’s chance of enlightenment

      each color shimmers
      across the moments of you
      how lavendered hair dances it’s shrug
      how your small of your back aches to display
      forward your saucy smile catching who’s caught looking
      you know, all of what you got going on below your beltline?

      to gently encircle
      to move within you passion
      of how I’d like to explore desire’s fashion
      of how you can breathe out your need in a gasp

      as I grasp a hold of you
      how you squirm not away but closer
      to be explore with each and every touch
      to shout silently I too have hold of you at last

      a gentle nibble
      tasting the nape of your neck
      where desire’s pools just moments below
      arch closer closer exposing your lusting needs
      I can’t help but here the gasp you let the secret escape

      it is time to question
      the answers of your eyes
      I’m looking for hope’s brightness
      I’m trying not to steal your secret sighs
      I see room to steal a kiss hello not goodbye

      shining and cool
      with a moisture sweet
      the promises continue
      please need me as if whispered
      and don’t ask how what where when and why

      the trailing lips glide
      just down your jaw line
      a breath pulled in from your chin
      seems to shudder within you a truth
      is your ears need for a nibble from my tooth

      gone for now is the need
      the need to speak of love
      but of exploring your treasure
      no asked why but of yes or no in your eye

      closer still I press
      testing for meanings
      within each stroked caress
      one of how gently flowing and fine -
      your hair flowing like a rive through these hands

      or how my hand promises
      to stir your pools of desires
      gently circling and kneading
      with a tongue tracing nipple medallions.

      a kiss upon the zenith
      of your solar plexus arched
      gently jiggling desires above
      tracing again  just why you move around

      a kis now for your heart
      how it must beat in it’s cage
      the glistening of your skin glowing
      and how you rise and fall within each breath
      how each should without finger seek s to hold on tight

      a kiss  as I trace
      the similarity of symmetry
      of two hills and a valley deep
      of how smooth your landscape is
      found again a fountain head on which to drink

      how you back ungulates
      to accommodates waves of air
      and also of the needs there

      time drifts
      slowly away

  –
  least favorite poem ever and thee highest  appreciated one.

  it is /was a colored concrete poem most often this mens I wrote it center justified.

  Tuesday, 08 March 2011

  but of

  course

  it’s al-

  the last

  pack &

  It’s um

  donated

  who is in

  this uni-

  versal sc

  am? I

  sending

  out mind

  waves &

  thought

  rays???

  It’s ev

  en more

  joyous

  seeing

  the last

  one left

  bur

  nt to

  ash

  so it turn

  see my

  eems it’s

  to need to go when

  good god damn morning

  may you fall through heating vents

  and your car not start

   

  upturned knife, haiku underneath.  not as cool looking as another knife poem I did stabbing down

   

  yes, this is a mixed of my best and what I liked the best. yes I hate half of this,  and most of you read it all.  can you guess what is which.

  .

  • 1:03 am
  • 15 Comments