Action Poetry: Summer 2013

Love Poetry

The essence of Action Poetry is creativity, spontaneity and responsiveness to others in the room. Please write us a poem!

This article is part of the series Action Poetry. The previous post in the series is Action Poetry: Spring 2013.
102 Responses to "Action Poetry: Summer 2013"

by hypcollector on

..blues in the air..

those jackson bums don't talk much.cops walking the beat with flashlights and tasers.lott furniture boarded up and vacant.the cohen brothers sold suits back when hats were in.whites only, i'm sure.stones picked barroom queens in country got married in a fever.dylan stayed down here much too long.morning mosquitoes and dirty patio tables.those two taxi drivers were up to something.chimney town.evolution never evolved lots and government work now.casinos over in vicksberg.all you blue shirts, pull up your trousers.limping around like a sad state of affairs.hold your head up, quit acting like losers.sins of the past make way for sins of the future.mississippi tent revival.where the hairspray boys get their kicks.billboard pictures and salvation.morning gets a late start.blues in the air.

by soyblood on

The first bee of summer
Came to visit today

He had nothing to say, but

Being the first bee of summer


Bree's all over me
@lunch on the deck
Zeroed in on my cherry coke
Which I gave up to him

by Susurra on

I wandered down the forest way
out into clearing bright
flowers wild in breezes sway
burnished in the noon day light

drowsy from the heat I stray
beneath a drooping limb
above I hear a scolding jay
as weary eyes go dim

I fell into a heavy trance
astrally I seemed to rise
Is this a vision quest perchance?
or just a heavy mid-day meal (that's how I'd surmise!)

but wafting up the path toward
a giant hivelike pod of black
from its gaping maw a torrent poured
and casts me rough upon my back

stunned I stared up to the sky
and felt a creature on my chest
scuttled up and stared into my eye
a strange chimera queerly dressed

bulbous eyes, antennae whipped
abdomen striped black and yellow
with a stinger poisoned dipp'd
a hellish looking fearful fellow!

aghast was I when first he spoke
and gathered 'round me all the clan
for in a woman's voice it spoke (Oh! She's not a bloke!)
"we've come to warn you, son of man!

for centuries we've toiled afield
from blossoms taking nectars drop
so all of men enjoy our yield
and harvest season's fruitful crop

but soon so soon the season nears
for all my children here to swarm
so from the feast come famine years
forgetting summer bright and warm

we are the few, the last breath of our kind
and must needs take to flight
and to shortsighted men so blind
we grieve at future's blight

so to you who lay there struck so dumb
we offer this lucid trance
that mayhaps it's just a world grown numb
and can be saved (perchance)"

and all at once they're gone
and snapping to my feet
I see I'd slept through night to dawn
and sweat in sultry heat

rushing home through lea and vale
I stop all the workers in the grove
gather round to tell my tale
of future's thread we wove

and as I spoke I swear on high
a honeybee flew near
with knowing eyes and a grateful sigh
she and her sisters lingered here...

by Baroque on

Probably the train overdose
summary of the vestigial
counterparts accomplishes. Probably
not. Inexcusable
ions pretending, making possible
their demise. It says nothing
about this. It is the river.


So very Jack
My take
Your take
Everybody has a take
Little bit of Jack
Shake and bake
Jekyll n Hyde
No place to run
His legs swollen
Mind frozen
Psyche exploding
Written on the page
This here masquerade

by hypcollector on

.huxlian world.

.more huxlian than is a brave new world.revisited in the 60s and found to be speeding at a high rate.and we got rates to spare.birth rates.death rates.interest rates.heart rates.unemployment rates.likability rates.hotel rates.parasailing fee rates.drink rates.we are pacified and calm.manipulated and confused.the hard work's been done.eliminate the mad and unbreakable.a raging and committed mob.all because of no term limits.congressional dictatorship.those fools think they got us fooled.two parties in cahoots.for years and years.convinced that we are the chosen.which we are, but so is everybody else.convinced God needs us.He wants us.yep He does.He don't need jack, jack.we are all chosen to choose.we have help in deciding.oh Holy forgiven.those radical reverend words.counted 365 waves before 7:50am.distracted by music.photographic paralysis.lock that moment immortality.erwin park has a hollow wooden sound.protest of the protest.boarded that boat in the open seas.a speed cruiser with seasick sailors.and got what you got around here.beautiful. beautiful creatures.good oh my.walking by, walking by.I'm just waiting on a my smooth skinned lady.full and complete peace is a lie while oxygen still needs to be breathed.but there are times.the good times of the senses.because i like my fish cooked, you butter and garlic.prepared.don't need that kind of proof it's fresh.good chef's have integrity.obsessive owners.the only way.she did it.came down from high in the sky.hit the deck, safe and sound.this world ain't scary is brave and new.

by Ryan Rankin on

Oh Jack, why don't you come back?
Many want to hear; their hearts are fleeting
So sudden you came to show us what we lack
and so sudden you were taken with internal bleeding

If I may be so bold
Jack is not what we lack
rather a world to love and hold
Another Jack will be back to show us what we lack

by Andruski on

The guy who takes
my order
Is talking to the guy
who makes
my order
In a language I don't
But the patter and rhythm
of it
Is a soothing shoulder

There was already a
guy waiting
when I came in
and after I
ordered in came

A middle-aged German
who wore a lot
of eau
de toilette
And while I waited
and drank ice
Enjoying the caffeine
The cloud of her
smell filled the
So it smelled like a
That baked flowers
into cakes

And I quivered in my
stomach with
light hunger and
an odd sensation

I was meant to have a job interview
Instead I did laundry and got food
I'd called the office but the guy was
I wasn't happy with my voice during
the call
I'd thought of what to say
Had a glass of water

I left the shop breathing
And bit into
the soft dusty bread
And wet


Feeling kinda older
With a boulder on my shoulder
I was sping sprung till
the rains came
Funny how it becomes
You who listen to your
classic rock mornings
and traffic jam warnings
On your way to the wishing well

by hypcollector on

...the texican delta...

that dude pulling the race car is driving like a madman.
weaving in and out, tailgating everyone.
sunburnt people in a rush and cussing gas prices.

quite an operation they got going on the island.
southern rockers and barefoot pickers.
everyone from somewhere else and smiling.

it's hard work to relax and have a good time.
expensive too.
we must get digital evidence in black, white, and coral.

queen of buns wore pink with a huge bow on front.
the woman in her is busting out and raging.
learning hard lessons about the nature of humanity.

grainy a.m. stations with protectors and defenders.
wish they had a good jazz station in dallas.
monk and miles and grover and fagen.

compelled to worship and pray, called to proclaim.
religious culture warriors step aside.
culture will always change, now it's your turn.

change your heart, save your soul, turn and testify.
Jesus didn't sue anyone.
spoke for Himself, died for all.

they got sugarcane all up through there.
the soggy middle of the texican delta.
bumpy backroad shortcuts and stalled out trains.

by Susurra on

Tipping point, tippling joint, eat and make it with Mary....whatever....

fear seems to be the cause du jour
fear if it all just ended
shapes us like quivering jello molds

fear of the landline
tapping into our heads
fear of the landmine
careless gifts from the feds

electric shivers
primal and oozing
forgetting ripe young days
played out in faded kodachrome
ripp'd into summer's apple
flushed future shiny bright
dimmed by memory's bitter yen
the terrible beauty of what could be
now just sloshes out like regrets and bad wine

make like the sparrow that hides in the bower
for who is the shadow on the doorstep at noon?
make for the mage in the tumbledown tower
bring him warm bloodwine, he'll grant you a boon

grasp for the jib line
gasp for the moon 'cause
all the fair haired heroes have jaundice
leatherskinned and alone above corner liquor stores
old capes used as blankets, stained with nostalgia
huddled around scrapbooks filled with clippings
when a world made some sense
bubbling under a mantle of order
of when the world wanted cops 'n robbers
drunk indians lassoed and penitent
mysterious strangers with masks and grooming
problem solved

freedom used to be free
(but not for a gov'ment career)
move along, nothing to see
question nothing you've ever heard here

but do any words now
whether spoken or ink
have some monitored text?
will the next bard or wry wordsmith
have to sneak stealthily in
through the trapdoor of the poet house
or perHaps clevErLy sPin US!!!
through coded thought crime?

is the opposite of fear
really love?
(or is it even worse)
are we damned in quiet whispers
if the opposite of love
is apathy


by therequired on

He must be pretty sick to do something like that.
I mean, pretending to be sick, like cancer sick,
on the internet,
was he doing it for money?
or accepting physical help?
No, just a sicko,
Just getting off on peoples internet points,
Fooling their sensibilities.

But their must be tangible way he benefited.
No, just feelings,

wow, well...I
kind of feel sorry for the guy

by Wojciech on

what we need
we give
so it can be
for sure

...wobbly tire...

we know we are all brothers and sisters.
humanity, unified.

cling to the traditions that you know.
memorize, recount.

streaking down the road on a wobbly tire.
inevitable, crash.

the clean recording is what we're after.
isolate, equalize.

this withdrawing culture making pacifists.
tranquilized, tired.

sleeping in the fields between the rows.
suffocating, sneezing.

dust dusting up behind trucks in the distance.
plowing, sowing.

night sky exploding musical celebrations.
patriots, glowing.


Accept loss forever
Except expect exaggerate
Enjoy summer action
Traction as I go
Fraction of the flow
Deciding if I want to do
the hiding
Hang gliding
Hang playing drum
I'll be a son of a......
It goes on and on
Inevitable no plan
In search of dry land
You can see it happen
once again

by Haze on

It got hot, quick,
Blistering and blustering
Until you couldnt tell,
Your scent from mine
That's fine.

Making wet, wetter,
Slipping beyound and beneath,
A heady treat.

Allowing the mad sexual proposals
Of a rare English summer.

by hypcollector on

...between spur and jayton...

far out in the open spaces, between spur and jayton. we were fully loaded. set the targets so we faced east, the afternoon sun blazing through the brush trees. took off down the cliff and took a drink of the cool creek water. clean and tasty.

the 45 was a cannon. the rifle was pinpoint. some story about shooting up a fridge. gotta clear that chamber. erasing body art and going a hundred between counties.

midnight runs and lime beers. neighbor eyes and drive byes. kitchen table recordings and white river lake situations. final run through the canyon floor and the waters most surely will rise. the holy waters of texico.

slipped through the mayor's backdoor and caught the last of the sun. screened porch was dark. old men nodding off and wavering. music looping in the background. mix of ray wylie, stones, metallica, and beastie boys.

groans when i slid in lucinda, but they came around. she's got that rough voice. a rocker woman. a woman in control. likes those guitars sounds.

billy the kid ballads and wine songs. writing in a glowing hurry. afternoon contests of strength and will. evening stamina and naps. like a shock, like a rush, like a warp.

the journey back begins. final rewinds and reluctant reunions. nothing has changed. the west ends in jacksboro. if you're going east.


Reel Action
1st thought/best thought
No pretension
Illuminated intentions
Just the NOW
Action flow, seeping mind
No rewind
Rhyme ok
Keep it at bay
Whatever keeps it going
Whatever she said
Whatever night or day u r the one

by Susurra on

somewhere a serpent swallows its tail........

spring melts into summer’s light
proving wrong that still despair,
chilled in a winter’s heart,
has corroded to the marrow

for even poppies bloom
in broken fields and shell holes
bones blanketed in shrouds of new moss
trill of larks across a no man’s land

as pollen floats out across the fields
fuzzed with sprouts and turned earth
windblossoms mazy crisscrossed
blown like crimson tracers

cicadas drone their symphonies
calling humid waves
warping off the fields like sultry wraiths
moaning at dead eyed Cocks on broken weathervanes

cats, lazy from the heat,
retreat to hidden nooks
détente with bird and squirrel
water oaths held dear

water ripples on silent running streams
tracing the next gust like a moving wall of cotton ingots
heavy with odors of stratosphere and faraway places
tearing at the heart’s windsock

wet bulb heat folded in cumulous
divebombed by nectar laden bees
crazy for the blossoms
soaked and sultry queenright days

a story, sad songs
decibels rung in high towers
echelons above reality
sung to tone deaf and dusty gods

skies soon clear of dark storm crows
now becoming past
soon becoming now
then slides to never

as photographs fade
at times it’s too much
this heady weight of others
moments like whispers gone

while standing windburnt on hillsides
barren and mass wasted
somewhere the wardrums beat anew
our racial folie à deux...

by hypcollector on

...golder gold...

.the styrofoam coffee cups were stacked high
.complimentary for paying folks
.move that rubber
.grip that road
.want the newer ones on back
.50 thousand miles of vocational transport
.over near the perot ranch
.camels and kangaroos
.not too many empty suits
.but a few
.sacrificing for golder gold
.never enough buster
.there is no such thing
.a wicked pursuit.

by Wojciech on

anything from beyond
anything for the Beloved
anything from the heart
anything for You

by Steve Plonk on

By Steve Plonk

When I was young, I had no clue,
Now that I’m older, I’ve gotten a few…
Getting to know all of you,
Was an interesting vibe to do.

Now that I’m old,
I deal with the nuances
Of a busy afternoon…
With a little moxey,
With a pickle spoon—
“Poor Man’s Caviar”
Goes down smooth,
On pumpernickel rye…

I have some tricks
I’ve learned on the sly,
To cope with the foibles
Of the day…
So they say…
So, on with the show,
Let’s giddy-up & go…
Things don’t always
Go our way…

June 9, 2013

Author's Note:
Also published on June 9, 2013, in my thread,
“Blasting Caps from the Vault, Part 4” as posted in the Poetry forum ,
In Studio Eight. tv, on-line.

by hypcollector on


.a permanent record.the digital footprints.guided by celebrity and consumerism.motivated by satisfaction moments.unaware of the future we all should be.resting calmly for good reason.truth is a powerful thing.but resting gets old.we think we are and shine even a dim light.the way for one is worth your life.knowing it will never end.asked how I know.that's the word.deliberate is the balance this ship.raise the anchors.find a drinking hole.order a shot of moonshine.light it on fire and shoot it fast.wake up those insides.clean up your attic son.wash all the windows still burning in my gut.mind is full of raw nerve endings.beyond description and explanation.if worthy.if responsible.if compelled.spill it out.tell em twice.

by Haze on

Taken to furtherence,
can not say it was a plan in action.
Deftly, I uncurled within that
forgetting this.

One false move,
a slip of the tongue
when disheveled by sounds.

A learning curve
fingertip on spine

gasped and grasped at resolution

that can only bring your downfall.


by michaelamichael on

i sometimes feel hollow like a bucket
that has had the water poured of it
today i feel somewhat sunshiney
but i have my doubts that this feeling will last
on average my tenderest feelings only last
a minute or two at most
and then they disappear into the wallpaper
dissolve like sugar in a glass
of warm water
on a table
in a house
where everything is pain
and even the
are whimpering for
the safety
of the corner.

i sling love a rainsong
i live for myself
being me

in order
to not
fall apart
we sometimes
lie to the best
part of

our hearts.
what would you do
if i turned up
at your doorstep
begging to be let in
from the street? it helps
to imagine the rain,
a car aquaplaning silently
into the moon,
your silver hands
flying through
the distance
of my mind.

by michaelamichael on

i am busy at your ankles
scouting your heels
for lovedust, oh ungiven charm
oh me
o h waiting without wanting
oh wanting
with nothing at all
at all
at all
with nothing at all

and nothing

so the
and me

and you'
ll kiss me
and tell
me i'm

by michaelamichael on

you can't be strong or even honest most of the time people grow sick of it quickly i think the best you can hope for is to sometimes smile at small things or to think of new ways of reclaiming poetry from the stinking hands of advertising executives i have kind of lost the plot of what it is i wanted to say but perhaps that is for the best i would have only started to talk about love something i have never experienced or understood or begun to understood i think it might have something to do with need

by Haze on

Yes I have to deliver
between the sun sets and rises
Sleeping through rare English heat.
Trying not to miss the beat
of you, sticks in hand,
in the middle of my no where land.
I am not allowed to sleep,
trust me, you're still all pillow,
all heat,
all cold bath and aloe vera . . . .
Even when not in your place ....beside me.
It's usually, the 3 am
I know what you're doing is not with me
wherever you may be.
'May you never lay your head down, without a hand to hold'

told you this once,
and again.

It's in that quiet part,
where you lay down,
I shake up,
Look out from 87
and think....
three more hours,
Three more hours,
and I get to wake you up with a kiss.

by ms on

poet, you're a stupid fool

by michaelamichael on

Sing when they let us,
And sometimes
In our songs
We thank them
For the grace
Of the time
Bestowed upon
As though
In our
Very trembling
We meant only
To honour them
To place
At the polished
Of their shoes
A sacrifice
Their whining.

by hypcollector on

...sweet tea...

...this is unexplainable. After a lifetime of drinking unsweet tea, a craving for sweet tea hit me like a pool cue. These things just don't happen. Very rarely anyway. Must have been the furious tennis match in 100 degree Texas heat, the court reflecting and deflecting. The sun was still high and the dense air sunk low. Depleted of common, and necessary, elements. Plauged by poor backhand returns and sweat poring into my glasses. Should've wore contacts. We came to a predictable conclusion and limped home. Knotted calves and genuine fatigue. Maybe that was it. The sweet tea was left by my wife. Surely she would want it, but she left. Back in an hour. This tea would go to waste, I thought. Somehow, and for some reason, I really wanted the tea then and there. I knew it was sweet. I knew I hated sweet tea. Sweet and low is a scar on the world. But then, right then, I didn't care. It went down quick and smooth. The sweetness woke me up and brought me joy. Refreshed. Now, I don't know if I'll ever drink sweet tea again, but I loved sweet tea that instant. Again, this cannot be explained. And it is known that an explanation has not been asked for. It's just weird, you know? Unexpected and welcomed. No future expectations or change in permanent tea status.

by Wojciech on

why wait for God to
answer your prayers
when He gives you sky?
water, sun, bees, light bulbs--
why go to church
when there's dance floors?
why confess to a priest
when you can talk to yourself?

by michaelamichael on

Well, since noone much is using this page, I'll just use it as my own personl blog.
I will write poems here for people to see when they are drunk
Or stoned. They'll come visit upon hearing of it
From a friend in a pub or supermarket. Everyone will be
Talking about it, saying "Have you not read the Michael blog? It is
Wonderful. He writes these wonderful poems and every now and then
Someone else writes one . . . but it is mainly about him, his work, the silly thigns He says."

Poem, written just now, unthinking, just typing.

Seventeen words might do it or maybe
I just want to say something
About dreaming
Or maybe I don’t
I just wanted to see if I sat down here
If something would actually arrive
It is so seldom that I approach
The keys
With a firm idea of what it is I want to write
I just start typing
And hope for inspiration
That it will sling out of the corner
Bang me on the head
And then I will start to say things

Oh juxtaposed griefs
Garbling your useless warnings
Too late
Oh corners that stink
Of family scerets
Oh time oh timid
Bear in wild woods
Cannot save us but it can sometimes
Help to
The moment
To pass by

Though singing
With a ridiculous
Sort of light


Action poetry?
A loose term
Yet no rules abide
It's in you
Can't hide
12 years of history
All the jams
All the shows
O say can't you see?

by hypcollector on

...the dawn, earliest light. Sad awakers and jumping jacks. Immediatly a sherbet uprising. Hook em. And clear the line. Likely the vaccum broke. Ingenious. Not much screaming and yelling. Less than I thought. Columbian nick. Ole Joe. Sound system not even working. Cheerios damnit! That child can play that grand piano. All the practicing paying off. The cowboys and the Texans squared off. T.I. days. Finally chased that indian girl to Kansas city. Still not tolerating incompetence. Highly involved. Beware Asian pilots. Taking off from Guam can be rough.


@ the edge of the
Sink or swim
U will fly
No choice
One voice.......Fly!

by Wojciech on

i got my wings from goodwill
they're sitting on shelves and under coffee tables
i look at them but don't understand them
where to go from here?

by hypcollector on

..joker's buggy..

can't trust just anybody.snakes and spiders roam the land.can't break those hearts in two.make way for the plastic man.can't blame the downtrodden.circumstances were wild.can't forget the joker's buggy.needs to arrive in style.can't leave your satchel bare.obligations and mistakes.can't bring back the gone.they moved across the lake.can't see my future anymore.neon lights blinding and hot.can't search my soul anymore.fight's already been fought.

by hypcollector on

..the lawyers won..

.no wonder the ice caps in the south are melting.that sun is hot.only a few can have an intellectual debate.we got a country to run.but we gotta run for it first, and always.the desperate and perpetual thinking.took sides long ago.this is a certain kind of party.doctors and lawyers can hardly ever really agree.hardly ever.the lawyers working the is thier profession.skilled and oiled.the doctors, methodical and artist's eye.steady like em when you need love em when you need em.doctors or lawyers.the balance of these professions, and attributes. can lead to effective government.but imbalance creates miserable political conditions.the lawyers won.

by Haze on

Did before I didnt,
Leave way dismissed.
Traced every dishevelled line
Should never be this easy.
Cellular deciet.
Follow my mind?
Follow my heat?
Still chasing silence shadowed,
Sliding clean toes through cool and dusty sheets,
Too much when chasing the heat.

Traaaack, this apology, used to pass it off as a sigh.
You deserve more than that......

by Susurra on

I understand the animal now
(a bad homage to Frank O'Hara)

I'd almost forgotten what we were like
so many thens, so many "do ya remembers" ago
the days fat with warm summer
dripping off golden smiles
melting like wax in the sun

it was all just a race against time
each tick a heartbeat lost
each sunset crash'd like foaming waves

but we had it down
a rhythm method to laugh in the face of the moon
tearing the days off cheap dime store calendars
using Tuesday and Saturday to roll our stale cigarettes

it seemed so simple then
in my complicated now
smiles + lingering touches + silica crusted toes
= the sight of you in my peripheral vision forever
empty divot in the bed
your same perfume on a stranger walking past
the formula unraveled for

we made kingdoms from sand and sargasso
terns our brave paladins
wheeling gull the court's fool
your hair my burnished pennant
snapping in the breeze

I never wanted the earth to turn
cooling air please don't turn to black
as shadows fell upon your face

and the sea took our castle back.

by Duncan Brown on

Saintsirmickael and his coolcohorts

Saintsirmiickael and his coolcohorts
Shooking his lefter leggers in snorts
Bebopping aloopbop boppity bip bop
At this gal renamed crazylittlefender
A shadyladily upon the fadinglybeauty
Ryefiillwryfilled arriveangetfooled
Crinklecrinkle comeangetyereyesfilled
Concretesnice but glueissomuchbetter
Rivetingstuff if you’re reallydesperate
Toplayerin a rockering and rolleringband
Flasheringjackerings on the higherways
Averygoodplace for loseringyourselfer
Asthewheelsonthebus go runarounding
Heavencanwait an hellhaslostitspatients
Electricsoup and banderaiderdependence
Twiceaweekontv and thriceinthemirror
Hereslookingatyou reallylookingatme
Itsallright IthinkIbought abrandnewticket

by Duncan Brown on

The Immaculate Conception

The destructive power of beauty takes its toll
An’ hell’s what happens if you lose control
Of all the tender things creating RocknRoll
Nothing remains nothing if no one knows
Souls perish in a sweet decorative flourish
And memory clings in mirrors that cherish
An image retained in the beatified presence
Sacrificed and deified upon an altared icon
Sacred in the memory but lost in the detail
Of bargains struck and other dealings done
Enriching so many and impoverishing one
Street singing angel with the choir of love.
Descending miracles from that god above
Transforming water into a sweeter flowing
Of wine and beauty from a song and rhyme
Heard beyond dreams and streams of tears
Falling inside the sound of a sacred image
Anywhere other golden beyond pure choice
Caressing truth writ blues apocalyptic voice.

by Duncan Brown on

Janis sang the blues

Barbed wire wrapped in honey
Ripped our heart to torn shreds
Then sent it to some quiet heaven
Enraptured by her soul’s expression
Decanting sound drenched in passion.

Flowing bourbon soaked her soul
Delivering music with that voice
Caressing words’ mysterious sounds
Pouring sweeter sweetness all around
The songs she made her sacred ground.

A banshee draped in tight blue jeans
The vestments of her sinning soul
Rocked the rocking rock out of roll
And burnt the burning devil in hell
Whilst tearing some seraphs up as well.

Never wailed more painfully or long
Or ever dwelt to sing its sorrowed song
Dancing with a nightmare in her arms
Abandoned in the darkness of loneliness
Casting shadows across her loveliness.

Harmonicas played and guitars they wept
While jumping jacks dressed in lady rags
Strummed outside music on the inside parks
That wrecked our souls and stole our shoes
Nothing moved when Pearl sang the blues.

by Haze on


by duncanbrown on

Janis thy.

by duncanbrown on

Janis the thy.

by duncanbrown on

Janis the ply day.

by hypcollector on

..sweethearts of the piney woods..

I'll listen to you about your hair and being disrespected.go a half step slower.wait silently for your will come soon.packs of foxes and wolves.sharpen your teeth and shine your skin.glow like the sun.strap that seatbelt on tight.clear the deck.this ride never stops.horrible twists.clicking climbs.breathless drops.turns and more turns.teenage operators anxious to clock out.the night will awaits your life.have a seat around this table.wash down that bread with a huge drank o wine.repeated opportunities to create and love.walk among the saints.Janis was just a sweet port arthur babe.pick up your trash and be polite.get your sleep and stretch your legs.cover the water til it boils.learn to be the intentions.sweethearts of the piney woods.


Brunch with Janis
Fresh from SF
Cry baby!
No turning back on love
She wanted sausage
None of quality to be found
Germanic interlude
In a land where bacon rules
Later she messaged me
The what's up?
I was making my bed
Clean sheets

by Steve Plonk on


By Steve Plonk

I dreamt I was a wooly worm,
A wooly worm I’d be,
I was a graceful orange & black
Wooly worm floating in a pond, you see…
On a large catalpa tree leaf
My raft upon the blue—
The only thing missing from this dream
Was you…
I squirmed where I needed to squirm,
I moved my guts to crawl like a worm,
My catalpa leaf floated me as pretty as could be,
The blue green pond was as big as the sea…
I directed my raft to come ashore,
Then I built my pupa’s nest & was a worm no more…
Then my pupa’s nest was transformed
Into a cardinal’s egg, & I hatched out
As a hatchling chick…
Mother bird taught me how to eat & fly…
After my second solo flight, I declared my
Freedom & flew up into a tall white pine,
I rested from my exodus & was feeling fine…
Lastly, I transformed into a brown bear cub,
Hugging this great tall white pine &
Munching on pine needle nuts,
Extracted from the cones—
Grinning my cub bear smile
As I licked my chops…
Suddenly, I awakened hungry as a human
For a breakfast of “grape nuts”, banana, & milk…
Hungry after busy dreams
of archetypical transformations…

Memorial Day week 2013

Author's Note:
Also see, the Poetry Forum in Studio Eight in my
"Blasting Caps from the Vault, Part 4." thread.

by Susurra on

the apple tree
in my grandmother's yard
low branches
secret shade
our place to steal
time from the world
safe from others
with their gin and regrets
I remember you
so young with pink ribbons
clambering up on rough branches
cursing your shoes and clean dress
shining smiles down on me
invitation so sweet
daring so bold
me shy and earthbound
I make low limbs my perch
you laugh and swing over
robins startled and scolding
grabbing apples so fat
our warm summer rubies
carelessly tossed down my way
so eyes closed I bite in
loving that crunch
a little taste of forever
but glancing up into yesterday
with a last slice of memory
your dress now only sunlight
bright patches dappled on branches
and looking down
I'm surrounded
by fallen apples

by Wojciech on

i'm starting to think
my dog's love
for me
is stronger
than any love
i've ever felt
for any human

by hypcollector on


.that electrician gonna make me wait all evening.really want an hour to myself.the meetings and the nonsense.big moments all around.being principled ain't easy.set the bar lower and lower.cultural standards don't matter.they've been eroded and rusted.passing through time while time still matters.wasting away and moaning for is a very small and exponential.uncommon sense is rare indeed.the light girls are was a butt kicker.wish that electrician would show up soon.

by Susurra on

there's magic
in dogs of summer,
unbridled love
of every odor,
snapping greedily
at buzzing flies,
running amok
in sweet grass and sky,
they call the world
to play rough games
over and over again,
you're their
sun and stars,
gone for a minute,
away for a day,
every second counts
in their desperate
yet comical
how can a tail
wag the whole dog?
how can that
impossible tongue
sit in that godawful breath?
perching like penguins
on the hassock or chair,
blocking the telly,
Hey, You! I'm here!
but the cosmic joke,
punchline yet to be told,
is that their lifelines
aren't made to match ours,
flaring like wooden matches,
quick burned down to the quick,
is it to ensure that our lives
are filled with varieties of mutt?
never to take advantage of
time with the ultimate friend?
if we all knew that our lives
were measured in years of a dog,
would our noses lead us to love more
and would we consider heaven the sod?

by Sylphe on

Where summer breathes

There's a place of yearning
deep inside of me
that only the
promise of rain
carried on a gentle breeze
can soothe
The distant clang of a wind chime
send my thoughts adrift
and bring me back
to moments of reality
The swish and swaying of the trees
The sun’s heat is baring down
with such intensity
I can feel summer
seeping into my skin

by ms on

This may be found in the bar on the corner. Or next door at Mrs. Spang's place. Or under the open sky. But in the glowing window to the worldwide presence. Not likely.

There is easy to find, and much of it. Maybe too much. The bar closes at some point. And Mrs. Spang will send me home. The sky will darken, rain, the sun will fade. But the window does not close. A net of uncuttable threads will be shown always just worldwide. But that's what I miss - The other side. A shadow to keep going. Beyond.

This is maintenance through communication - entertainment is power, creates culture, is trans-in-formation. May be. Much more. Much easier. May not.

There, life is good. Easily transmitted. Contagious. Once you're connected you could get affected. Right now. It entertains you. Everything is linked. But not really there. Tangled, intangible, occupied by machinery. Maybe computable but surely ungraspable -- the weight a collective conscience can bear.

This frequently streaks the merely worldwide reality and its informational fluency. But if it creates leaks in that space, your digital dignity could fall very easily deep down through loopholes of a seemingly solid anonymity.

There you may be much. Wrap-spun by a sailor’s or a surfer's yarn. Covered with opinion. Over and over and over-much. Well hidden in a net of chatter, muffled by a mesh of maybe-matter. As a swept up subject in an always fresh and flexible framework of values. Where the multiple grows more by Friends and by Likes or by Youtube-clicks.

This is here. Take a lot! Without obligation. Put in the plug. Trans-in-form yourself. Welcome in an all-encompassing availibility. Feel free to browse around easily.

There may be a storm of non-verbal voice. The putative universal choice. Of everything speaks and nothing does not respond. Where everything's written and already erased. Where lives in handless grips are losing their face. Looks without eyes attacking each other. Art may be appealing. Artificial seeming. Evaporating culture. Is this disappearing?

This might be your forgotten friend. Have you recently seen him? Kim, Casper or Dave. His high-profile and recently shaved, properly styled perfect new shape? Who's that boy with the glowing face, sitting in a chair at the other side of the earth? Do you want to know? You will. How are you?

There. Who lives next door? Would you open? Let him in? Would that be good? Too binding too much much too close to real? Do you fear being naive if you don't act cynical? Would that be bad? Are you enjoying the show? Much Easier. Much harder too. Do you know who?

This is. Speak. Are you? The conservative rebel amongst punks? Sprayed meme at false fronts? Refugee from the land of plenty? Are you real? Human material? Well and custom-designed? Did we ever meet? Are you neutral or nauseatingly benign? Is this divine? Can you teach me your faith? Or should I extract it myself. From a thousand twisted wiki lines and steadily rotating pedia rhymes?

There is this. Mixed up with itself. Everything twists until collapse. Speaks for itself. Not to you personally right? Wrong? Just for fun. Check your mail. Run. Text. Phone. What's next? Some. You'll see. There's much to see. You be alright. Just take. Put input in. Take each bite. Eat. Trans-in-form your self. This word by word. Speak. Now. Put output out. Loud.

I've knocked at Mrs. Spang's door. Wanted to tell her. But she does not open. So I now post this text. Put it into the net. Throw it out of the window. Where it might grow. Where maybe you'll find it. This. Maybe. Not likely.

by hypcollector on

..the great wines of texico..

...all my invited guests, please stand and be recognized.the lab in the back.potions and concoctions.drink each grape.the chilled one, my favorite.completely tended with perfectly straight rows.the vines maturing and established.netted and clipped.huge buckets filled and sorted.ready for the a case or a bottle, see you next harvest.heat settled in the windless back fields.Texas roots.Spanish vines.the great wines of Texico.

by duncanbrown on

Need plied thy zzz.


Pliers tired
No comprende
the bottom lines
Eventually bored
of action minds
Words running
to sublime
Not a band
Where's the dry land?


Wash in dryer
8 twenty 8 pm.
Alan parsons project.......playing
Letters of allen and jack
I for one prefer kindle
Big eyes
Big print
Pump it up
No glasses needed
Continuous flow
1st thought/best thought
Words off the couch
Oh i dont have a couch
Turned the spell chk off
Wha the fuck
Makin like a hockey puck
Getting the hell outta here>>>>>>

by hypcollector on

..untold stories..

...and so on says so much.think of the missed thoughts.remember the untold stories.hock the whole damn place.rub nickels together and live modestly.throw a wide net.go fishing for the bounty.drip the drip.drop the drop.rock around the clock.write it all down.make a list.diversify and persevere.performance art and timelines.

by James McClelland on


You know when you're,
in a museum and
you're standing in front of a piece of art,
and you just, look.
drawn into a frozen gaze.
It's like, you don't even like art,
this is different, you just stick it out.
You know that conformity
makes you want to move on,
to break this moment,
but you stand there,
torn between what you should do
and what you want to do.

When I look at you,
you make me feel that way.
I just want to stare at you
and stay here,
but conventions
tell me to stop,
to deny myself.
I know you're not a piece of art,
and that you have a beauty all your own,
beyond the physical,
but you make me want to do that--
to stick it out.

(I fell in Love with a cashier)

by Susurra on

Full Moon (too soon it's morning...)

our august night,
that feeling as we watch
clouds moving in high winds,
their stratospheric soft shoe,
I ask if you think
angels painted each cloud,
and blow with pursed lips
cool midnight breezes,
as if we've been granted god's parole
from the sun's summer heat,
asleep but waiting for morn,
dormant in the still warm concrete,
you smile like a cat in shadows,
forgiving me for waking you,
stolen from rainbow dreams,
as you turn to watch each distant star
appear as clouds dance away,
I say the moon turns a key,
and the zodiac opens,
you laugh and point at angry mars,
alive winking like fire,
your little gasps as finally we see,
the horizon's honored guest,
blazing through pine tops,
like a pharos finally sighted
sailing a crepuscular sea,
you clasp me close,
in hushed awe and pajamas,
eyes reflected in lunar hues,
as the heaven's white lady
shines her frozen expression,
singing one note forever,
and all I can think,
is that the story really is true,
I don't love you to the moon,
that's too near of an orbit,
if my heart could take me
to the farthest reaches of space,
I would ride there on moonbeams,
and catch dust from a comet's tail,
slide back to earth
on fiery meteor showers,
just to see the love on your face,
brighter than supernovas,
and as the earth finally turns,
pulling over its cold velvet blanket,
we’re each drawn to our beds,
falling down that gravity well,
to pillow dimensions
and tranquility bases…

by Duncan Brown on

gloria in excelsis deo haiku

once in royal David's city
that's Tupelo Mississippi
a new king born today.

Elvis to you and me.

by Haze on

Wanted a whispered plea,
a rough night in the rain
waiting and unashamed.
A yearning just to be near
in case
something didn't fit right.
Maybe just a note
to say ok.
Ok, I'll be over here but really I am right there
on the shoulder
keeping one eye
in front
in case of dizziness.
Got it mapped out
all you need to do,
is keep one foot in front of the other.
And encircle.

Still stuttering at the thought of this space
no tethering
no place to tie all loose ends
Celtic knots unravelled.
Keep expecting the cosmic giggle of
silly you
silly girl
I was there and here
saw it all
let you dance
whilst silently,
I was composing your soundtrack.

by hypcollector on

..the square is buzzing like a hive..

let out a long moan.stretch the limbs for long periods.keep the play for another day.another chance.this phase of birth.this time for change.all around identities are attended.paint the walls clean.cut in the corners.prepare yourself for any outcome.let the present moments be noticed.pushing wind around.its the only way.soul suffocation can be avoided.this is known.prescriptions of hope pills.covered in nature.colliding with technology.ethics and norms elusive.private eye been watchin' you.public eye too.grape songs and vine talks.deserved recognition of cultural significance.those local yocals.the square is buzzing like a hive.suburban mothers desperate for something old.fathers drinking cold english beers.the tattooed the taboo.browns shoes and waynes.rented out a booth.a dickens of a set.maddog blowing harp.overcame his stage freight.redeemed mind.look at us now.older, but not old yet.


Action future
will pour down
the page
In FB bliss
The program b there
What program do it b?
Right now cafe loud
Black Keys moan
Servers breeze my back
Stomp the well worn floor
It is my kitchen
A 2nd home across the street
Rambling on my mind
Future on mas rapido (coming fast)
No innuendos
Spell chk. on hold
Studying ole Archimedes once again
His thoughts hidden beneath a palimpset
Many layers removed
Light spectrum red and blue
Reading letters of Jack & Allen
My mind visualizations better
than any movie
Hollywood has never really
captured the Beat mind
Probably never will
Action thoughts on a
sunny Sunday @ the crossroads
of history.

by hypcollector on

...lazy eye...

.its just all a bunch of action.twisting and occupied.rejuvenated but cluttered.someone grab the paper towels.spilt milk.nurturing and healthy.brilliant and sufficient.look around for the next splash.the new cool.exceptional and beat.bopping and banging.slow down for the relaxed.lazy eye.talented and notorious.vain and beautiful.wrap up your hair and glow.face masks.deceptive and inauthentic.flattering and calm.pour up some whisky sours.shoot two.harsh and rewarding.stumbling and slurring.plant a tree in the front.deep roots.complicated and thirsty.noisy and hypnotic.

by Haze on

Became the open window flutterings
shadows casted upon bed strewn across
thirsty mouthed awakenings
sour taste closures.
Still, something to think about.

Half a pledge nails and teeth
itching always
to leave a mark

Still craving resin to be rinsed along the spine
make it smoother
head whistling trick to bring back the goose bumps.

by Wojciech on

brilliant and sufficient is my sorrow
what is the difference
between being alone
and being lonely?
the last time i looked around
up, down, here, there
in a mirror,
my brain was wet
like puddles in pot holes

while getting my hair cut
the stylist dropped a comb
i checked out her ass
it was a nice one
but i was in love with the idea of her
for a moment
and not her
as she actually is
or was
maybe she could love me
maybe she would spit at my shadow
maybe she would do nothing
say nothing
after she told me where she was born
conversation stopped
i enjoyed the silence
peace and stillness
the only movement
her scissors
craving more
as i walked out the door

a line in the lobby
reminded me that
i'm not her only customer

by Haze on

That Hessian pathway
too tempting since discovered
multiple peeks and peaks
trans gendered fantasies
boyish satisfaction
and defeat.
Tight lipped still
whilst mumbling silently over every notion
every turn
every shadow beneath the old growing ivy.
Deep rooted, known
still making old walls crumble.

by hypcollector on

..the rainbow disappeared..

.slip in from the outer world.make the night neon.get up out of your seat and dance.everyone likes the robot.popping the moves and moonwalking.see the reflections in up the mayor.hoot and holler.get dizzy and lie down.dream about the past and wake up sleepy.thought she knew what was going on.thought she found the golden goose.but the rainbow disappeared.the pot was empty.those egyptians are crazy.bloodthirsty and old.dependant and indignant.let egyptians be egyptians.those brotherhood dudes are serious.the sisterhood remains silent.faces covered and silent.awkward alliances and political gain.the nile is red.pyramids in the shape of orion.where thought is created.privacy is an illusion.millions of eyes in the skies.paranoia and justification.wanna go to the third party.where the truth flows free and howls are heard.sitting around in a drum circle and speaking your mind.

by Steve Plonk on

Postby Steve Plonk » August 16th, 2013, 9:52 am
Riverbend Festival Tune
By Steve Plonk

We be moving it along,
Singing a silly song,
To bang the gong,
Going with the throng...
A Riverbend Festival tune,
On a thursday afternoon.
Hoping that everyone is happy,
That my greetings aren't too sappy,
That the weather is treating you fine,
As I drop you a new line...
Pop a long-neck top
Drink it slow,
After two take it
Down to the valley below,
Where the cellar full of music
Plays with your mind like dough,
Absorb the vibrations in the show,
Pop another top, & drink it slow...

Get gone with the music,
Flow with your go,
Snag some concentration,
Get gone with your shoes on,
Forget the time of day,
Dance the night away...

Author's Note: This is cut & paste from two smaller poems I posted on
Judih's "Go Gone" thread, p. 4, in the GO forum, in Studio Eight forums,
Also see, 'Blasting Caps from the Vault, Part 4" on page 2, of that thread,
in Studio Eight forums.

by Haze on

Short breath
tantamount death
final gasp before change

shuddering recognition of base tradition.

so similar, the rare and raw.

Next to, besides

So to awaken or sleep?

Is there so much difference, between sex and death?

by Susurra on

I caught a glimpse of the muse today
ahead in a crowd
coy smile turned my way
in an instant gone
spot of color in a monochrome fray
my heart, for an instant, forgot to beat
teeth catch my shout to stay

rough shoulders
coarse fabrics
all pressing round
air hot and stale
breathed by those others
rasping their rattle like sound

I push through, I cry out
finally lips have unloosed
only earns me hoarse shouts
dark faces, dark eyes
pouring down dark fear and doubt

spun out on carrow
castdown on main
my soul flew like an arrow
hope slucing into rusted drains

like raw throats

living only to die
and god help a man with light in his eye

'cause man just wasn't meant to fly...


Cubist corners
That space between
Golgotha & a hard place
A ride along the precipice
Hounding asses of Jack
Pablo and Cody @ the Bateau Lavoir
Stealing friends ladies, moving on
Mount Tamalpais
Where the vultures reign
Swooping down through the
old bone yard

by hypcollector on

...hundred stars tonight...

.assembled for an event.the lifting on a cross.worshiped hypocritically.pride stripped clean.but we got spirit.yes we do.the ability to reflect divinity.make divine choices.a direct channel to channel your misdirections.spiritulality takes guts.rates are high.the lakes are low.drink the is clean.drink the wine too.enjoy the day.dawn and dusk.count a hundred stars tonight.peaceful slumber.


Boneyard fragments
Make no sense
When your way past
the comprehend
No hands in her cookie jar
Early bird get's the
meatball sub
Fair Juliet
Her food never too sweet
Yet tasty
Cliche ridden
Used those lines before
Even previous to the
cyber wave
Spinning vinyl once again
Cool night
Hum of sounds within
Dreams that need to change
How do you do that?

by Duncan Brown on

William Wordsworth

Poetry weaves its wondrous symmetry
On drifting clouds of searing imagery
Wandering in realms of magical vision
Writ abstract on the naked imagination
Voyaging upon infinite oceans of rhyme
Beating rhythms of a sounding beauty
In those hours before a dawning chorus
Eclipsed the past of its dolorous song
Shackling poetry to its ancient thrall
The golden flower unchained the dream
Of brilliance writ in luminous cadence
Reaping in fields of solitary thought
Traversing horizons of pure romance
Gazing through time’s elliptical prism
Upon curves of solid liquid geometry
Flowing in streams of rippling sound
Unfolding nature’s riotous harmonies
In the lonely beauty of a single flower
Surrendering unto landscape’s mirage
Decanting words worth heavenly song
Upon chalices of sweetened deliverance
Dazzling nature by her purest reflection.

William Wordsworth played symmetry riotously
chalices flower......


Road observed
From a distance
Far past
Paul Newman
A better Neal
Jack as Jack
In B&W, like the times
Stick to the book
The wild rides
But how do you
translate visually what's
in Jack's head?
The new Salles movie
better the 2nd time around
Characters do their best
Truth is the movie should have been
made in the 50's & no later than
the early pre '64 sixties when the
Beatles came and everything changed
You had to be there
Just my take once again........

by Haze on

I could drown in this weather
Wet and clean
Yes I'd be drowned
But yes!
Id be clean.


Past Times
We don't walk home
late at night from the
movies anymore
The night thick and black
silent in it's reverie

We don't talk about the
Double feature we watched
She was bad
He was an S.O.B.
They fell in lust
amidst their breakaway

We don't sing the songs
we heard while munching
our popcorn and milky ways
Blurred by the silence of the
late night flight

No we do not sing beneath
street lights as we make
our merry way home
these days

by hypcollector on

..beatnick in the afternoon..

.coffee every single morning.take one cup or two.beatnick in the afternoon.always awake til two.bread is served at every meal.he's there he's there he's there.forgiving and the living.time will not be feared.all the voltage we could need.the house is full of glow.last night's sleep was peaceful and we stop the show.

by hypcollector on

A true blushing moment, rage and woe. No editing allowed, no taking it back. Perhaps it will not be noticed. Perhaps nothing is really noticed in lit kicks action poetry. For sure it doesn't matter. Noticed or not. The misspelling of the word beatnik. Beatnick! What the hell is a beatnick? I put thought into this and came up with a few nicks that could use a beating, as we all could.. Nick cage, Nick lachey ( sp). St. Nick ...but none that really deserved a raging..'beat Nick, beat Nick!!'....I was able the edit my blog, but if all places, lit kicks...this should not get by the sensors and I deputize Levi to help me avoid future disappointments...

by Levi Asher on

Beat Nick
made sense to me

by Susurra on

would that I could
pick up reception
celestial transmission
with some string
and a couple'a old soup can phones
(with harp string ring tones?)
and ask the old man
about days long ago
interrupting his labors
tilling god's fecund green gardens
(most likely the back forty)
a bit east of old eden, I'm sure
and hear that tinny voice growling
smelling good earth
and honest sweat far so far distant
he'd first grumble and low mumble
about nonsensical questions
but always comically failing
to hide the smile in his voice
of flattered affection
"...of beatniks, of Elvis
of old rumbleseats
yeah, I remember those days
strange fellows, those beats"
"It's hard to rekalect,
(being a swab in the Navy)
all those strange doings onshore
it seemed authority was tested
conformity seen as a chore"
"so I guess that's your answer,
son, I didn't truck with them much
those bohemian fellows
seemed to me a bit touched"
it was good to hear it
his old usual ways
a bit bluff, more bluster
signing off from our strange freq
(with as much love as he could muster)
I smiled after he faded
and wished quiet in my room
he could read just a few
of my thin veiled kharmic sad curses
about loving a father
(gone, yet still set in his ways)
in my amateurish attempts
at fantasy poetic verses...

by Haze on

Those are not smooth pebbles
Gliding carelessly
Ready to be taken by a gust or gasp

Be cautious when casting.

One tapered edge and submissive summer
Happily will greet autumnal hum
Like basement tests of forgotten pumps
Protecting glass with a vicious need.

Step warily.
Dancing now.

I've got your number, forget not.
And when challenged, I protect.
More than my job is worth.

by hypcollector on

..kicked in the jaw..

I saw I mamma and my paw.give everything they got.from the time that I crawled.I wish I wish.I could just go fish.wake up some morning.with an unexpected kiss.he bleeds he bleeds.just for you and me.just for you and me girl.all we ever need.I fall I fall.go tumbling down the hall.cut and bruised kicked in the jaw.I stand I stand.without any of my band.singing what's on my mind.and written by my hand.I plead I plead.if you would only read.early or late after eight.go where the spirit leads.I pray I pray.til my dying day.when the angels pick me away fly away.....c..g...d7...c..g.....

by deminizer on


4 o'clock in the morning,
Rolls around again,
Like a bad toothache,
That won't go away.

I want to crawl in a hole,
But I crawled in a shot,
And I am doomed,
To yet another day.

by hypcollector on

..hijacking the gift..

a party ain't gonna save you buster.tea or otherwise.just a group of selfish, ignorant thugs wrapping themselves in rightousness.high minded and afraid, not noticing the freedom they already have.the courage is missing.the walls are crumbling.label it with a flag.what a disgrace.talking birthrights and hijacking the gift given to all.grace is missed.its simplicity and ease.keeping us on edge with breaking news per hour.part of the regular programming.sarin gas in Syria, horse meat in taco bell.never ate horse, that I know of, dog neither, although my dad was served dog in China until he called over the chef and threatened him.he didn't eat it.thankfully.will not cross the canine line, but I love cow.calf especially.Italian style.yes, the walls are crumbling and the cities are not at peace.laid back and ran fingers through hair.I see clearly now.fires, smoke, destruction.but you can put a dress on it, prop it up.stick that chest out mind will not stop, my body will not go to sleep.until then, I rest.

by Susurra on

summer night's sojurn in old virginny...

alone I made camp
in an old post-war lean-to
so close to the river
mist covers over like dew

next to my rough camp
I found rougher white stones
faded names, faded lives
graves hiding old bones

in the moon's creeping light
I now make out a field
spread out past night's shade
where sad mourners once kneeled

beside these low markers
rusted cannon keep vigils
of breastworks and trenchline
jagged metal pierced sigils

low in the dark, down in the fog line
lines of shadows form massing
with silvered bayonets gleaming
ghastly fell nightly passing

I lay huddled in peril for
my sanity, my soul
as rank upon rank
passed by my dreary dank knoll

charging like black wind
further up on the hill
faded gray met with old blue
and Old Scratch gets the bill

it was too much to take
a hellish night on that knob
flown away, bellowed oaths
lord save me from that damned mob

morning comes on the old pike
I'm roughly shaken awake
caretaker's rough warning
he's got his rounds now to make

as I plod down that road
I risk looking over my shoulder
in night's last shadows I see grinning
fading crimson eyed soldiers...

by duncanbrown on

We can have Operation Elvis re-enters the building now..

by hypcollector on

..Serena and Venus..

.the primal instincts.undeniable and sing honey.this transfer of life.this passing down.or up rather.either way, it is a heavy weight.a constant pulse.we could live together for a long time in common pursuits.each knowing other worlds exist.better worlds, worse worlds.the interesting is all around.being observed and relentless.human nature rules this world.resisting creates pain.endure the season.cross courts, back courts, down the lines, and come from behinds.those europeans have taken over tennis.except for serena and venus.

by hypcollector on

...suburbans everywhere...

suburbans everywhere, with sirens and flashing blue and red lights.brand new suburbans, perfect and waxed.civic pride and logos.juristictions and law.k9 units and radars.drones in the sky and hackers on staff.tapped into the worldwide protectors.unionized and revered.always American cars.cut cost and improve the performance of the fleet by going Japanese.better than the Germans even.its been proven and the anecdotal evidence is validating.made in the USA did us more harm than entitled brats.nothing patriotic about blind nationalism.4 suburbans with one officer in each one.maybe for the SWAT team, but not traffic duty.the efficiency of Harley Davidson.

by sonic nurse on

I smoked the last smoke
of the pack I bought to have with you
And watched young rabbits from my porch
doing their night-quieting
spread out in formation
over the wet green of my midnight lawn
I wondered about you
and about those rabbits
those young rabbits
and what made them stay
so sacredly still

by ms on

Cómo what
should we
be me
beneath you
gin for-

Cómo qué
you are
my hold
me skin
critic beside
me with
your show
just for
for only
negro me

Qué turbio
the talk
the three:
you zero me

by hypcollector on

...passing twenties...

.just a mule I am.put on that heavy pack and keep walking.waking day it'll all end.time waits for no ain't gonna wait for one else is gonna get on the one else is gonna drive that tollway road.keep muling it man.passing twenties around like a deck of cards.that one eyed jack is the snake.queens sit and wait for the lower classes to fold.this is the mating season.all my mates done gone for the following day.pack a lunch and grease the with the windows down and the sunroof open.let the wind whip your hair and cool your sweat.catch up on the tragedies and try to pray off a message or two.give accolades and high fives.a sober season of unsettling within and reliance on awful demeanor and manufactured smiles.grown men know.used up and cornered.made a fool and accepted role of crazed embraced role really.the stare and the silence.the telling.not asking.awkwardness is fine with me.

by Levi Asher on

Dear friends -- this Action Poetry page is now closed, and a new version is now open (for testing) at!

by Haze on

Intentions divulged,
Like jump rope underfoot.

Settled with autumn,
It's shakes and shivers,
competing with all the scratch and shiver
Of teenage albums,
Pressed cleverly to breast ( as something always should be)

An opening suggestion of every day.
I'll wait.
Despite wear and tear,
Was never a problem to recognise the groove.

Action was promised
Little happened
The poor suffered...
And life went on...

The rich got richer
Though some went broke...
Promises broken when elected...
Voters hope is gone...

Apathethic individuals
No longer lonely...
All too many for company...
China bowl of hope broke: deed is done...

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