Action Poetry: Summer 2013

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

102 Responses

  1. ..blues in the air..
    ..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.

  2. The first bee of summer
    The first bee of summer
    Came to visit today

    He had nothing to say, but

    Being the first bee of summer

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

  4. I wandered down the forest
    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…

  5. Probably the train overdose
    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.

  6. So very Jack
    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

  7. .huxlian world.
    .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.

  8. Oh Jack, why don’t you come
    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

  9. The guy who takes
    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

  10. Feeling kinda older
    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

  11. …the texican delta…
    …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.

  12. Tipping point, tippling joint
    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


  13. He must be pretty sick to do
    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

  14. …wobbly tire…
    …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.

  15. Accept loss forever
    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

  16. It got hot, quick,
    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.

  17. …between spur and jayton…
    …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.

  18. Real Action
    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

  19. somewhere a serpent swallows
    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…

  20. …golder gold…
    …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.

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

    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.

  23. ..shake…

    .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.

  24. Taken to furtherence,
    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.


  25. i sometimes feel hollow like
    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.

  26. i am busy at your ankles
    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

  27. you can’t be strong or even
    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

  28. Yes I have to deliver
    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.

  29. We
    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.

  30. …sweet tea…
    …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.

  31. why wait for God to
    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?

  32. Well, since noone much is
    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

  33. Action
    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?

  34. …the dawn, earliest light.
    …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.

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

  36. i got my wings from goodwill
    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?

  37. ..joker’s buggy..

    ..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.

  38. ..the lawyers won..
    ..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.

  39. Did before I didnt,
    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……

  40. I understand the animal now
    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.

  41. Saintsirmickael and his
    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

  42. The Immaculate Conception
    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.

  43. Janis sang the blues
    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.

  44. ..sweethearts of the piney
    ..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.

  45. Brunch with Janis
    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

    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.

  47. the apple tree
    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

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

  49. ..electrician..

    .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.

  50. there’s magic
    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?

  51. Where summer breathes
    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

  52. This may be found in the bar
    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.

  53. ..the great wines of texico..
    ..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.

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

  55. Wash in dryer
    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>>>>>>

  56. ..untold stories..
    ..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.

  57. Hey.

    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)

  58. Full Moon (too soon it’s
    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…

  59. gloria in excelsis deo haiku
    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.

  60. Wanted a whispered plea,
    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.

  61. ..the square is buzzing like
    ..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.

  62. Action future
    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.

  63. …lazy eye…
    …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.

  64. Became the open window
    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.

  65. brilliant and sufficient is
    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

  66. That Hessian pathway
    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.

  67. ..the rainbow disappeared..
    ..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.

  68. Postby Steve Plonk » August
    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.

  69. Short breath
    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?

  70. I caught a glimpse of the
    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…

  71. Confunction
    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

  72. …hundred stars tonight…
    …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.

  73. Boneyard fragments
    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?

  74. William Wordsworth
    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……

  75. Road observed
    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……..

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

  77. We don’t walk home
    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

  78. ..beatnick in the afternoon..
    ..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.

  79. A true blushing moment, rage
    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…

  80. would that I could
    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…

  81. Those are not smooth pebbles
    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.

  82. ..kicked in the jaw..
    ..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…..

  83. Drunk…

    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.

  84. ..hijacking the gift..
    ..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.

  85. summer night’s sojurn in old
    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…

  86. ..Serena and Venus..
    ..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.

  87. …suburbans everywhere…
    …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.

  88. I smoked the last smoke
    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

  89. Cómo what
    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

  90. …passing twenties…
    …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.

  91. Intentions divulged,
    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.

  92. Action was promised
    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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What We're Up To ...

Litkicks will turn 30 years old in the summer of 2024! We can’t believe it ourselves. We don’t run as many blog posts about books and writers as we used to, but founder Marc Eliot Stein aka Levi Asher is busy running two podcasts. Please check out our latest work!