all of a sudden passion suddenly

[Angeline]

Cadwalader Park
green swath pouring
unruly through the gray city
smells like grass

Childhood smells like grass
sweat, strawberry ice cream
dribbles stuck to dirt-grimed fingers
that touch the chill silver
of the safety bar
separating little girls
from metal mesh
and clown sad faces
of the pungent monkey house

In the pit the ancient ageless
bear ignores taunts thrown
in reedy voices but sniffs
licks orange popsicle wrappers
eats the sticks

I rode the swamp angel
I danced small red Ked steps
to big music in me

 

[Syndra Lynn]

sister silly
lets wallow together
ungrown, unrefined
through the pond
and plant new lilies
as we go

because
unliterary me
follow with frustration
the namedropping sensation
of Wolff, Plath, Kerouac
just names on a screen
that means just as little to me
as infinity to infants
and with my silly glee
I giggle
clap my hands
and nods faux knowingly
knowing I will never see
what they see
probably

but I am me
and here is a universe
stacked with all
that shaped these words
and I know
I'd better keep it in
than call it out
because my jazz
would sing an alien tune
rewarded by the same
faux nods, giggles, claps
and an ever so charming
blank stare

noone would know my Monk
my Bird, my Dylan, Lennon, Morrison
is not on the map
Leeson, Archer, Gold, Ramsby
any bells? no. see?

a handicap? maybe
but mine to sherish
and grow with

come, sister
play in the pond
of poet childs
with me

Brilliant and lovely
my sisters and friends
but for you it seems,
language bends
to just the right form
in just the right way
and for me it takes a year and a day!

Please pardon my poet's envy. You rock!

 

[Lostdriver1964]

why some days can be worse than a fist in the stomach?


No place and no time

Gray clouds are melting
in my sky tonight
and soon heavy raindrops fall
down on this swampy yard,
making all the bricks cry
in the old wall around.

No place and no time
I can find to avoid them,
and soon this paper is like
that wet wall and that yard,
pouring cries on the floor
and a bleeding trace behind me.

No place and no time
are left to hide or escape,
those missed words are the blade
that digs down in my breathe
and scares my soul deep inside,
leaving it like a wounded field

 

[Liar]

tossing turning
early morning
dreams dreamt
cars, cats and cotton wool
floating in an endless sea

inquiring minds
want to know
how a dream dreamt me

waking up is easy
just accept and let go
but no
if only
hang on...

a minute longer
concentrate
on not concentrating
don't think the thought
not those words

It's only a...

no! shhh!
look, waves, pretty, see?
distraction, delusion

maybe maybe
saved from sanity
to this time
one time only
maybe see

if impact impacts
in the no man's land
of not quite real

when I hit surface
at whatever counts
as terminal velocity
around here
will I feel?

will imaginary
surface scorched skin
ever heal?

and when lungs breathe
ghosts of water
and I slide
into the numb

maybe maybe
dreams dreamt
will become real

because
who knows what happens
when dreamers believe
there is nothing else

to wake up to

 

[Maria2394]

whats done, is done

of van Gogh’s ear, you remind me
like bread crust, expendable
yet necessary for packaging
hardness holding shape
loaves stuffed by machine
into plastic, into plastic
(twice for you)
a single-edge sword lies clean
against a wound still bleeding-
would slice away your memory
if I allow myself to care

 

[Angeline]

oh darkmaas baby
where the hell are you
poetboy pride and joy
where the hell are you
I'm sitting here waitin
writin a poem nothin
else to do

well you just showed
now you gotta go
I settled in to yahoo
and now you gotta go
better get back soon baby
you're movin way too slow

oh the tongues may wag
as the minutes lag
but you know I really don't care
you're my best true friend
till our lifetimes end
always in my soul bag

Oh here you are
no more poem
bout time baby
I'm sick of this poem
we gotta talk poetry
stop fixin to roam

 

[darkmaas]

tongues may wag
pontification
good for the bagged soul

movin' slow
hope to smell some
roses
beats movin' not at all
"six days on the road and I'm gonna..."

"Watcha gonna do?"

 

[Angeline]

tongues may wag
pontification
good for the bagged soul

movin' slow
hope to smell some
roses
beats movin' not at all
"six days on the road and I'm gonna..."

"Watcha gonna do?"

what ah'm gon do?
you know
make da book
write the poemies
with you, blue
with you

 

[darkmaas]

smother that baby in chocolate sonnets
and boogie 'til the cows come home

 

[Maria2394]

rain came down
in whoops and hollers
half the day
washing all the grit away
from my swollen eyes
but you arent here
bandana in hand to save me
from my flood-

I built dams and levees
I gathered up, buckets and pails
empty bottles and mountain goat horns
already filled
but I miss you, and the flood of tears
just keeps coming
and going
just like you
and I still need you, like rain
on a dusty august day
without you I'm just a pumpkin
without a stem, and by the way?
what'd ya do with my heart when you carved
this elegant and lonely
jill-o-lantern?

 

[Angeline]

En la canción de la noche,
cierra sus ojos y suspiro,

pero dormido uniforme
siempre sonriente,
su boca curva sonrisas.

Mi hombre hermoso
dígame otra vez--

Miraremos algún día detrás y risa.
Miraremos detrás y que sonreiremos.

Mi hombre hermoso,
quién sonríe
incluso cuando usted duerme,
el futuro ahora está.

Río y sonrío
hoy y siempre
para usted.

 

[Angeline]

ok wise guys!

en Ingles, loosely translated

(and Lauren will be here any time to tell me my Espanol blows, lol)

In the song of night,
you close your eyes,
sigh,

but even asleep,
always you smile.
always your mouth
curves smiles.

My beautiful man,
who tells me--

Someday we'll look back and laugh.
Someday we'll look back and smile.

My beautiful man,
who smiles even when he sleeps,
the future is now.

I laugh and smile
today and always
for you.



Now I'm embarrassed, lol. It sounded better in Spanish--but you get the idea.

 

[The_Fool]

Oh! Your poem so called for this response. And look, honey, it's a suh-suh-sonnet

Sonnet 138
William Shakespeare

When my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told:

Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.

Since Lauren is whining... I moved the quote. Since I only gave it a few minutes I moved it here. Since I still hate sonnets. I'm sticking my tongue out... Since...oh fuck it, just post the damn thing already...


Caressing fingers linger on your lips
Where not so long ago my kiss caressed
Our passion doled out yet in tiny sips
Restraining puts temptation to the test

Her blouse falls prey a button at a time
My mouth upon her breast elicits sighs
Our hands soon move in ways much less sublime
A measured pace falls victim with our cries

With frantic need we seek to sate our lust
Where naked bodies touch, so hot it sears
That this is not the first time builds a trust
A moment’s need is stronger for the years

So what if gray got sprinkled in our hair
My need for her is great beyond compare


What's another 20 years....

And since I know I'm no Shakespeare...I'll sign it....


Foooooooooolish

 

[JCSTREET]

I love older men and you're just so damn, SEXY!

*PERK*/ she


loves older men, she
has a yen
for older men

(and then it just fizzles out like the sound of my recycle bin clearing)

 

[Liar]

to some 1

yes you are

too painstakingly perfect
to even fall tremblingly
grovelling in front of

too knowing to ask
the uttermost questions

too breathtakingly beautiful
to take my breath away

too composedly confident
to ever dare be challenged
of even feed afaint hope,
you'd even turn my way

and too, just too damn
full of yourself
for me to ever bother
anyway

 

[razoreater]

every morning I
climp up on the roof
watch the sun rise

the harshest sound
ever imagined
is birdsong
at 5am

 

[Angeline]

The kitchen door never
closed right after rain,
the second step creaked.
Is it the the same, does the world
creak still wherever you are?

What's a home, anyway?
A brace of boxes?
Knick-knacks,
the collection box
for the poor children
of Palestine, photgraphs
of the Statue of Liberty,
the ticket for ship's passage?

Yes we are Americans.
You walked across Poland
to Hamburg, to freedom.
All those faded faces
of ancestry flashed, gone,
schtels in ashes, war swept,
and you, one brother
here surviving
in the goldeneh medina.
For what?

Cities swallow us
in gulps, years pass
in factories and fences
race by, chains link to the past
then crack and fade
until you can barely breathe
those mothball memories
anymore.

Dance programs,
Radio City Music Hall
swirled in a snow globe
of lifetimes set on a mantle
in a house, on a street,
somewhere.

I slide my fingers over the
goldeneh chain
of grandmother's necklace,
wear her Mogan David
like an amulet of protection
from an uncertain future.

Who is left to scratch out
remembrance but me?
Words fail to capture
your eyes or the soft
sussaration of S or Z
fallen years ago
from your lost mouth.

Remember your eyes
warm your voice asking

Chaveleh? Is it better
to give or receive?

You never wait
for an answer, you give
me a quarter
and that smile.

 

[Angeline]

T'isn't
atall
I remeber these words
harking back to Mayflower roots
and the smell of boiled dandilion greens
on Sunday

Plum pudding
and taking the bus " downtown"
and i'd always go with you
because I knew I'd get a prize
and the bus driver would pinch my ears
and knew my name

you went to the foot doctor
you went to the eye doctor
and then we sit at Woolworths
and have hamburgers and fries
and I'd pop a baloon
to see if my banana split would be a penny

Spicy gumdrops
molasses cookies
and blackberry brandy
hidden under the sink
medicine
for your nerves

and years later i found out
i used to rub my head at 4 and say
" my nervous hurts"
because you'd suffer and rub your head and say
"I'm so nervous"
living with my folks

electric shock
we didn't know
and when you'd come home we'd be normal kids
ruunning ,shouting, being a pain in ass
only later did i know
after you were gone


Nana I got my mind from you
I worry
I think too much
Your husband dead before I was born
Who would take care of you?

You told me tales of vaudville and death
milkmen and ice boxes
the depression and immigration
and no matter what
you always
had a cookie
or a dollar
or candy
for me and all my brothers


and since time has passed i see
you weren't crazy
as they branded you
you were compassionate
caring, overprotective
but you were selfless
and sometimes I think
that's what throws them all off


they just can't understand that

Pop a balloon
for a banana split
49 cents
29 cents
free!

I picked red.
It was good
siiting ladylike with mama
on the red vinyl stool
sitting like a grownup
no elbows on the formica counter
that my chin just cleared

spoon the goods away
not toward you

just as a ship sails out to sea,
i spoon my spoon away from me

and always left with one
chocolate or strawberry dribble
kidhood evidence belies
my attempted manners
childhood like a badge
on a pink dress

It was so good then.
The bus trip with one transfer
two ladies window shopping
then the red balloon ice cream
grand finale
so good then but
never free.

 

[Syndra Lynn]

Grandma is a Goddess

Grandma wore dresses
never pants (till she was over 60!)
the blue polka dot one
was for special occasions
when she wore it with her
grandmother pin
we went to Derby
greatest food on earth

Saturday morning pancakes
Sunday dinner fried chicken
lilacs blossomed everywhere
rose scented perfume
ben gay and dippity doo

"It was darker than a stack a black cats"
the night her grandma died
I remember her story
vividly

she was brave
stole cole to heat their home
started work at 12
to feed 11 younger siblings
worked hard all her life
helped organize the union
widowed far to young

when my father left
she picked up the slack
always made sure we had
everything we needed
and more
walked down the tracks
to our side of town to babysit
while Mom worked

sturdy, stubborn.
funny, friendly
matriarch, Goddess

 

[Liar]

ocean
playing toneless symphony
a myriad of micro collisions
as water wears down rock
endlessly

lazily, you let the glitter
of of a sun soaked surface
bounce from sky to sea
to you to me

krell
playing hide and seek
below, out there
with gulls and rays
trying as they might
to hide behind the other krell

some forget, and hide in front
gulls rejoice and sweep
their greedy snappers satisfied

lazily, you watch the frenzy
a cloud of white feathers
yellow beaks and black eyes

kids
playing daring drama
setting driftwood stage
and oyster shell props
to act, as good as for real
a life less ordinary

lazily, you stretch your neck
and lift those sunglasses
to watch their spree

me
playing with the idea
to walk boldly over
to your sunwarm blanket

and ask you for a dance
to the shimmering symphony
of the ocean

 

[JCSTREET]

TATHAGATA

I'm seeing new things about you all the time and they amaze me

tell me about the moon
old man,
how its light
bounces
off the sea at night.
tell me
how dewdrops
kiss their leaves.

just a short f'rinstance and I sense

a new woman on my far
horizons, and
that excites me, may

be nothing at all but I yearn

for it to be

exquisite

who can she be??

but Tatha Man! You are putting down some strong footprints here.

One thing about poets--others always write things that we cannot.

 

[WickedEve]

secrets served with scotch
and dim lights,
lady's man smokes
the haze

his companion,
colorado cool, confesses:
submission whore

she's up, down
mountains, down on her knees,
ass in the air, up

she's not pretty, ass
wide, waste of time
and effort

scotch under dim lights,
smoke unfiltered,
reddish colored confessions--

waste of time and effort

 

[WickedEve]

an extremely suddenly sudden poem

there's a lion in my poem
"soft as butterfly death"
too mild to read

give me the king of lines,
instead

 

[OT]

pretend in the dark
in the dark pretend
erase for a while
real

upstairs
just go up the stairs
and pretend

 

[fallnfeather]

one eyed glare
I stare
unafraid to say hi
angry at life
right ahead
crossroads said
enter nigh
left or right
but straight cut
through brush
bloody thorns
sang forlorn
bloodied skin
bled within
then rushed with furious might

how you dare to take this night
my life
half sight
this blighted
creature contrite
and delighted
laugh quite
content!?

one eyed stare
I glare
silent curse
silent purse
lipped whistle
silent scream passing thistle
cutting straight
through the gate
of raging hell
can you tell
this affliction
dereliction
of mindful madness
singeing sadness
has stolen one more silent night?