continuing writer's island #14 the journey

as if to persuade we move forward
ladle years with memories
currents run between us
absorbed with indecision
I’m proud
I have been foolish
in matters of love
with a skill I continue
on this road
holding on to the trident firmly
moving against the undertow
of life

in the summer big tent poetry #13 pop icons

incense and peppermints
who cares
long-legged hippie girls
in silk-upholstered chairs

lady godiva
I'd rather be in philadelphia
manic depression
manic depression

the wind cries mary
haven't had a good day since '69
haven't had a good day
my makeup's divine

old worn out carpet is tearing a hole
in the old worn out image of you
broken shoes bother my feet sometimes
Hey, mister. Can you spare a dime?

incense and peppermints
who cares
long-haired hippie boys
longings and images I can't forget
take another little piece of my heart
Another little piece of my heart

lovers poets united #8 sultry

the smell of you upon my skin
pheromones
whirling through my senses
of infinity


round and round
scents of you, pleasurable
hold me fixed, caress my skin
infinity


you touch my hair
kiss my lips
gaze into my eyes
infinity exists


trace my finger on your skin
the shape of the neverending
with no beginning, no end
sign of infinity


what happens next?
wait for a sign
till the morning comes
infinity finally leaves me

when I think we write poems #12 yesterday today tomorrow

yesterday carnage filled the vestibule
no way to navigate through it to theorize
as bitter feelings foster scorn
today envelopes hope that utters
serenity that may expunge
with well-crafted precision
tomorrow you will guess and keep
flurry hanging over appreciation
with replicated heat inside

virtuosity of mine POW #13 music

don’t surpass me
in this life
as you weave
your fingers through
me softly and take away
sorrow
breeze me
feel me
sing me
dance me
one last time
give me something to embrace
light the candles to show
a promise to cross

Joni Mitchell-Both Sides Now (The Johnny Cash Show)

love carry on tuesday # 63

Life without love is like a tree without
blossoms or fruit
it doesn’t scintillate
no triumphant promise
nothing is superb
it’s a struggle
frenetic feelings
straps it down to precipitate
like walking on stilts
high above the prehistoric carbon waste
that doesn’t circulate within
the unbeliever’s soul

an artist monday poetry train #90

the smell of turpentine fills the room
as the brush strokes hit the canvas
furious and morbid
a score of erratic strikes
arthritis has plagued the hands
liver spots worsen with
the sunlight as it comes in buckets
through the skylight
voices yap inside the brain
as creativity becomes its own utility

a letter held no more sunday scribblings #225 letter

I received the letter in the post
You proudly said that reduction
had to be put in place
What a bright person you are
Immediate as you postulate

As I held these words in my hands
A serenade began in my head
A spasm in my brain scurrying bright
A jumping warp about to rupture

I need to guard my feelings
Wrap them up in vinyl and hide them
Selfish is decidedly the best nurture
Vapid is an option of my own

Quizzically I read the words again
and your morbid sense of life
came across like a hark tripping
on the wire and I tore the letter up

little piglets

If you hear the cries
while being taken away
to a slaughter house
knowing what’s happening to
their brothers
If you watch with a careful eye
you can see them cry just like
you and me
They squeal and fight `cause it does
mean their life
they will never see their mothers again
Can you hear them cry?
and beg for just a little more time
as you do

Florence and The Machine - Kiss With a Fist (Late Show with David Letter...

I love this girl!

on an ocean liner writer's island #13 titles

on a pale september

he boarded the luxury liner

In a state of confusion thinking about Suzanne



his winter lady an infamous angel without wings

she now belonged to the sisters of mercy

all she wrote were earthling tales about a cowgirl’s prayer



living the poor man’s dream

no longer a slave to love

member of the village green preservation society



on his way to visit school boys in disgrace

he would tell tales about the working man’s café

It’s a west side story about misfits

that attend a beggar’s banquet

these are his stories of the street



knowing the end would only come

when doves cry

and release his rabbit heart that was

trapped between two lungs


process*
Leonard Cohen: Stories of the street
Suzanne,Winter lady,Sisters of mercy
West side story: Broadway musical
Florence and the machine: Between two lungs
Rabbit heart
Emmylou Harris: Cowgirl's prayer
Luxury liner
David Bowie: Earthling
The Rolling Stones: Beggar's banquet
Roxie music: Slave to love
Fiona Apple: Pale September
Pearl Jam: The end
Prince: When doves cry
Iris Dement: Infamous angel
Ray Davies and the Kinks: Poor mans dream
School boys in disgrace,Village green preservation society
State of confusion,Misfits,Working man's cafe
All she wrote

’shattered’ big tent poetry #12 favourite poem or poet

As I sit in my dark vacancy with no

remorse he visits me nightly

to torture me and remind of my

destiny

Engulfed in misery I wait for my

love to return but it never does

The cold air moves me in spasms

I choke as I cough up this putrid

decay I call life and once again he

visits me and calls out the names

of the ones I have lost

My pain is becoming unbearable

as he tortures me deeper

I wait for his return to suffer

I enjoy the visits just the same

He reminds me of where

I’ve been and what is coming

My destiny is in his thoughts

I want the cold air to leave me

brittle and frigid so that I may

shatter in my dark

vacancy with no remorse

'the only way round it' poets united #7 sound

You may pass for a shilling into the grotto

As intravenous superfluous desire

trembles inside you

An ebb tide comes back

Larceny is not extinct

Pugnacious with your poor query

Listen to this

Succumb

The trees

Noon dwarfs as you paddle

to be conventional with your art

Listen to this

as I obfuscate

An oval queen has become kingly

Can you hear it?

on the outside thursday poets rally #25

pandemonium has broken out

the cable has been released

a squelch

twist of trouble

is now finagled

hard to understand

observe the tribute

while the sky turns a pumpkin hue

hoopla in a sedentary form awaits

while we mandate urban power

trust is a ward

read when necessary it means survival

insulation is a gem or worse

corrected and refreshed

proud


thanks for the nomination for thursday poets rally #25 perfect poet
I would like to nominate Joanny go checkout her poetry!http://thedowsersdaughter.blogspot.com/2010/07/dance-of-fire-el-amor-brujo.html

ever we write poems #11 Nicole's prompt

flowers seize to exist anywhere with nothing of importance

ever occurring within a field of vision

recurring nightmares are normal

untied and broken rotten further complications

fall to pieces in my arms as I lie still in the green grass

on a shelf in a dark corridor

placed in sanctuary

ultimate challenge to yourself

failing by thinking this through

not asking why but continuing

undefined and everlasting in the seed that grows

forms within itself and blooms on the outside without

pain or interference resurfaces from time to tomb

ultimately it is a place to begin again

Marianne Faithfull - As Tears Go By (Hullabaloo London 1965)

groundhog day---to change POW #12 (1&2) what's on your mind?

He was sitting on my waterbed eating a turkey sandwich

I asked him what he was doing there

He said don't you know I am everywhere

I asked him how long he'd been there he said about an hour

I asked him his favorite song he said the wildwood flower

I was so happy

I was impressed

He turned away while I got undressed


Outside in the oak tree

Off there in the distance

I think I saw some angels shooting craps

Divinity a runabout

Nasty girls with piggy snouts

Unrequited love left in a hat

Circumcised lobotomies

Prayer that hits the ageless seas

Questions that have never been in doubt


Crippled spiders on the lawn danced around with top hats on

I wondered what that was

It’s revelations

He's sitting on my waterbed

He's bragging 'bout the books he's read

The room is getting cloudy

And it's stinky


The next time I walk up to you I'll ease right in that's what I'll do

That’s all I really want to do to you

The comforter is dirty now

He's left his nasty prints somehow

But who am I to judge him anyway


There's three more things I want to say

before the final judgement day

My cat has told me not to so I won't

I'll leave you to consider this

I'm not so thrilled with Jesus fish

Communion wine is not my cup of tea


My waterbed is boiling now

He's dining on a sacred cow

My privacy is goddamned interrupted

The angels still are shooting craps

He's looking at my soul perhaps

I'm eating Snickers worrying a bit

I'm tired of all this damn religious shit





to change #2

Reinvent myself as a starstruck lover
delicate with charming pomp
never to question
as I scamper in the field

Reinvent myself like a worthy adversary
strategic and ornery
now that would be a farce
we know you impregnate
with unclean thoughts

Reinvent myself as someone ordinary
now that would be sordid and silly
I have too much trill for that
precise and obscure to be
like a laminated seat cover

Reinvent myself what kind of a question is that
sounds like an ampersand with coins that stick

shadows fall carry on tuesday # 62.

Lightning first

then the thunder

and in between the two ...

desolation

respite

refuge

lightning strikes and thunder wails its furious breath

darkness shallows and diminishes thought

thunder follows

... and something else arrives

a garden monday poetry train #89

pricking fingers on rose bushes

herbs gathered at the edge

time accumulates with light

miners tunnel further downward

labels worn and discarded

souls look for comfort from the wind

never close

as figurines dance about in sync

proof is elongated as a moonbeam

a stop sign turns green

attachment can be supremely lighter

lazy prissy beehives circle in my head

as magnolias set down test tubes

can be felt sunday scribblings #224 source

power felt in return

It twists back from the end

coils round the opening

and pounces on its prey

power sees no end

It slides up from the shadows

covers the light

does not allow it to enter

power blinds them

at a sideways angle

It scatters filament

then it disappears

her reunion writer's island #12 reunion

with a twinkle in her eye and trying to be

pragmatic in approach

dressed in a purple sarong

with fuchia yarn entwined in her auburn hair

she entered into the herd of fobbing guests

a welcome sign hanging on the door

in the large hall a wishing well stood alone

a sojourn on the French Rivera

she walked into the ballroom saw the ice sculptures

and Persian rugs filling up the room

bubbles floating on the ceiling

grasshoppers were being served

on silver platters

the champagne flowed from glasses

a young man

asked her to join him in the freestyle dance

she declined and asked to be excused

went into the restroom

flinging her orange scarf upon the towel rack

feeling separated from life

she began to cry

a message to you from me big tent poetry #11 hidden code

darkness comes I see you watching me

electricity

ecstasy on a metallic hinge

a messenger flies carrying coins

a rebel yearn if you don’t stop

I may explode nine times

at hamster speed we move about

in the cages of Tripoli

paper lines the parsley

in an unseen drawer

I don’t want to call you nasty names

a snag in the exterior lining of life

I teeter on the edge right now

velocity of all things stick

do you see me watching you?

we live in a fishbowl on a tabletop

comfort is earnest

while crabs feed at the bottom

as flies die on the carpet

'wearing a ring' poets united #6 diamonds

placing the ice casing

round her turgid finger

longing to procrastinate

warlord union

haze formed before her eyes

trembling

worrying

feeling

unsatisfactory forecast

take a sip of wine in the Kremlin

as your atonement is percolated

filtered through crummy insights

reflecting images we write poems #10 an object poem

reflections scare me

It is that friggin` mirror

I don’t want to see

reflections

that disagree with me

why can’t they show

me things I want

it is all those damn mirrors

hanging

everywhere

I look

looking for me

round every corner

waiting . . .

sometimes shattered

breaking the connection

mirrors . . .

'la fille dans le parc' POW #11 Language Sprinkle Series-French

she sat on the bench

across from me

beautiful girl

golden eyed

oh je vous aime

la coutume vous

me parlez s'il vous plait

we fed the pigeons

each throwing crumbs

as birds walked about

and fed

s'il vous plaît me

reconnaître me

permets de sait que vous me voyez

she looked at me

and smiled

J'ai senti une hâte à mon Coeur

love is a stranger

the kind to leave me alone

j'espère vous rencontrer ici demain

if I am fortunate





translations:
(a bit loose)

oh I like you
the custom you
speak me please
please me
recognize me
I felt a haste to my heart
I hope to meet you here tomorrow

'once' carry on tuesday #61 I had a perfect dream

I had a perfect dream

           I dreamt I was on the sea
   
I had a perfect vision

           I saw light in the dust

I had a perfect thought

           I can’t remember now

I had a perfect dream

           I dreamt of peace

I had a perfect feeling

           It once held me tightly

But nothing is perfect

a show #88 monday poetry train

my guests sit round the living room

easy chairs and baseball caps

booze overflowing in their cups

notebooks and ballpoint pens

In front of the flat-screen tv

waiting for the Zap Girls to come on

they wear glitter eye-wear and fancy bracelets

barely anything else

It is one of the original peep shows

broadcast nationwide

porn with bubbles

the main star is Rascal

(I think she has big ears)

It is a trifling matter to my guests

they try not to get too philosophical

(mostly they are tubular and stupid)

I never fluster round them and

don’t show any sarcasm

though I secretly scorn their behavior

I’ll do my task today and serve them

sauerkraut and sausage platters

Is this what I was born for?

A good cook sunday scribblings #223 amazing

Please pull a rug up
Join me ‘round the campfire on this lovely winter evening
To listen to the tale of Janey Alison White
A blind girl from the Appalachian Trail

Living in a house made of wattle and daub, a red chimney atop
Maestra of marionette kiddy shows for a pence
Cocinar extraordinaire “consume de pansa” her speciality
Massages given for free (well if she liked you that is)

She collected pumice stones
which were stowed away in a pail out in the garage
She loved strumming her guitar under the stars by a torch
Wearing only a fringe leather jacket and a silly yellow hat with flaps

Laughter came from someone in the group
“Don’t laugh. She was a great talent in her time”
She made the finest pickle jam anyone in these parts had ever tasted
Someone in the group startled me and asked
“How did she come to be blind?”

Sad story really: the husband tore out her eyes with his long talons
He was jealous
She was a much better poet than him

Listen everybody I am getting tired I need to head back home
I think my behind is bruised from sitting too long
“Could someone pass me my jug of octopus wine?”

Oh I have forgotten my walker this evening
This limp is bad tonight good thing I always have my cane with me
It is hell trying to get around when you can’t see

'Sisters' writer's island #11 treasure

The introverted sister had arrived at the hospital

with her rambunctious brood in tow

Just in time to say goodbye

Her sister lay there in the bed

Her skin had turned an ashen colour

A corpulent body overflowing in the sheets

It had been a month since she had seen her

Long ago she had been a magnificent movie star

Supercilious and wrinkle-free

She had starred in fascinating torrid love scenes

Overbearing as she was she did leave

an impression on the introverted sister

(she had no scruples and lived through a filter)

The introverted sister was there to pick up

The memorabilia of her sister's life

A box overflowing with souvenirs, yarn, feathers

and turtle statuettes

Reporters were outside the door

To glean anything they could

So sad her life had to end this way

Out in the street the race wars had just begun

and they were taking people to jail

The two sisters looked at each other

deciding to eat some kumquats

To pass the final moments away

I love shoes big tent poetry #10

I love shoes

dirty, filthy, festering shoes

they tell the story ...

of those who wore them



slavering miscreants

some of them boring

philandering scumbags

telling their stories



where they walked

and who they walked on

that's a sermon

the end of a psalm



barefooted jesus's

dancing in the closet

never failing

to take my money



I went to the airport the other day

I had a green shirt ... in my way

I pulled out my shoe

it went away

its ugly shoes

its ugly shoes

Instant Karma - John lennon

reverse to go foward we write poems #9 line by line

Sadness melancholy

Peace and quiet - sun is setting

So much to be seen in this photo

the angel’s eyes are following me everywhere I go

Light like crystals in my eyes

Watching you cry as I walked upon an aisle

Wondering how much pain I caused

You didn’t understand

All looked like big fancy flowers ready to wilt

In a vase too fragile to contain them

Rain - I love you

Sand - sun and saltwater sting my skin

Completely lost, frustrated and brilliant but unseen

Sitting in a vase just like flowers for everyone to touch

Despise you and annoy you

Sitting on a shore by myself with no one around me

A beautiful beach in this universe

Could be the moon

Click! POW #10

The shutter clicks and dust is encased

What do you capture in the lens?

A tunnel to my brain awaits

The pupil contracts from light

My iris changes colour from one point. . .

to the next

My pupil enlarges the light escapes

I stare at nothing you imprison my soul

Monday #87 monday poetry train

Dark skies cold air

Rain

Hail

Make it impossible to move gracefully

Once I was a fluid being floating on a zephyr

Now I am cold

Desolate feeling

Nowhere to escape

Shelter is needed from this assault of fury . . .

Roxy Music - More than this

all about me sunday scribblings #222 me

when I was a sophomore in high school

I searched for meaning

but just found it yesterday while searching

the trash in the stifling heat



I am credulous though you may think me

insane- I do warble from time to time

I sometimes see frogs eating cake

can you picture that ?

some say my judgment is questionable



I studied zoology in university

I know everything about animals

I am a maven and most times irresistible

I love being carnivorous

I don’t understand vegans



I love to sip tea with mint leaves

I like to collect diamond-studded dog collars

actually I hoard them

but don’t tell my partner

he might want them



these days he has been looking at me quizzically

though I am not concerned

I am much more clever than he

he wears edible panties

so what does that tell you?



I don’t like xenophobic people

they are troublesome just like misplaced sprockets

I think I may move to Uruguay

learn to play soccer and become

transcendant and grow a beet root garden

now there’s a life I want

Headed south writers island #10 fork in the road

Never should have taken

that bus ride south

Knowing the markets were full of

Junkies and thieves waiting to take

Advantage of one so young

You thought that you were protected

By some invisible force

Called it the spirit of your deceased father

Though none of us could see him

You claimed he walked at your side

Guided and counseled on issues in your life

Depraved lecherous humans don’t know

Of such things … oh why did you take the bus ride?

Why did you head south?

How does it feel ... Big Tent Poetry #9 conversation

Which is stronger love or hate?

I believe love of course

If someone hurt you would feel the same?

We sit on the edge always ready to fall over

Will someone catch you as the descent comes?

Why do you ask?

If a person you loved had you by the throat

While your veins popped out in horrid lines

Forming on your neck

As tears formed in your eyes

Asking for respite

Breath barely escaping your lips

What happens when you love?

At that moment hate becomes evident