shallow breath and
the morning breaks
night comes to rest.
fingers that curled
to catch gentle quakes,
now come together
in peaceful embrace.
within thine eyes I see the future
coals that smolder eternal bliss
upon your smile I wish the smother
thankful gestures upon tender lips.
I was debated by Sweetheart that,
“all Wars are made by Men”
“Its in the school yard over girls”
I correct her,”where all warring begins”
“See we have been lead to believe that,
Kingdoms are conquered by kings”
Yet, the most powerful piece on a
chessboard, is in fact the Queen”
So I won the Debate, boldly
at the dinner conversation with my lady.
“Aah well, Checkmate“, she yielded to me,.
“wash up the dishes, take out the trash
…and I will be upstairs waiting.”
The gifted poet was a blog of deliberately bad poetry for contest. The gifted poet is dead. I killed him.
WHO IS YOUR SUGAR DADA
unless it’s the postmodern
French Hobby- horse….
…I really have no ideas to day
but feel i got something to say
Jibberish jabberish, jabbberwaky
Osho, Carol, Pokeman Karoke….
….priest , a rabbi, Richard Dawkins
Walk in to a bar
as I play “killing me softly”
on my Piccaso air guitar….
…Fast and Bulbous
The Mascara Snake….
…click this ad
for a cash rebate?…
Makes me mighty frisky…
HORTON HEARS A HO
“Now just what is that?”
“You mean on my head doc?
Its just my tin foil hat”
“…My lover has been sending
secret messages to me’
It penetrates my brain
in waves of electricity”
my psychiatrist ask me
“Now just what does ’she’ say?”
“I owe her thirty dollars
and i better well pay.”
I met her one night
On a strange Internet site
We interact though a “web cam”
from the dawn into the night.
My psychiatrist than said,
“I’d sure like to help
Now Your Mind is confused
I’m concerned for your health!”
“Oh don’t worry bout me”
I said to my concerned doc
‘I’m practicing safe cyber-sex
I’m wearing a tinfoil jock.”
irregardless of what you know,
is the proactive paradigm
that embiggens my soul…
my mind is Oikofugio
Marry Poppins were thou now
you are sooo bodicious.
(the gifted poet was a blog of deliberately bad poetry for a contest — the gifted poet is now dead. I killed it)
Love Knows No Paper Walls
Sugar wont you please
let me come on over
please tear up that
no reasons should keep us two apart;
you’re best psycho-analyst
I had ever had
you really helped me
when my head hurt bad
I just want to thank you with heart;
I told the policeman
the other day
as he was towing my car away
when comes to my love
I just cant end what i start.
Pills, Pills, Pills
Pills, Pills, Pills, Pills
My funny little friends,
you help me sleep
keep me from passing out
and when those confusing feelings come
you will numb them all the way
red pills ,blues pills, white pills
a colorful cirus of little pills
I think that i would runaway and join the Circus
If i didn’t have a fear of clowns
but i digress…
if this last for four hours, consult my doctor?
The Price of Love
like a fine bottle of malt liqour
baby you filled my cup
i will remember you always
even after i sober up
money cant by happiness
money cant buy me love
but thirty dollars for u my girl
is as priceless as heaven above
Love is the Force
Princess Leah walked her wookie,
high maintenance princess’ only kiss frogs
but prince-ly toads don’t get no nookie,
honey id rather be that shaggy Star Wars dog.
You’re the X-wing fighter of my soul
Your death star shot me in the heart
Even in a galaxy, far, far away
in love we shall never part
one night ,while eating corn chips..
out of my lovers navel…
i thought of a story i heard.
when i was young and able…
It was the story of Icarus..
Who fly so sky high,
right into the sun, where…
his wings became Kentucky fried…
like the player on Maurie Povich
satisfied with “YOU ARE NOT the FATHER...:”
like Oil Tycoons attitude…
Towards the environment “why bother”
Like the bar maiden at closing time..
who’s rejected me all night..
finally says, “well your as good…
as gets tonight”, with sigh.
aiming low with your goals
you find you be easily satisfied
and your find your appendages
will seldom ever be Kentucky fried.
having an Art Attack
Closing my eyes at the evening hour
expelling the din of a restless work day
Walling out warlords from my private castle
when thoughts of you invade
soft tickle of fingers
wit filled remark upon prose
warm breath upon breast
forest hair to get lost in
alluring wishes of hope
inviting hips of precision
and your invading oils
upon my minds canvas
drips deep into the soul
my private castle becomes
a gallery for two
the warlords, less clever than an artist,
are sent packing for another day