all of a sudden passion suddenly

[tungtied2u]

Blues from above

see the cat with the glasses on
plays the blue all night long
hey hey baby what'd I say

smile spread from ear to ear
piano player extrodinaire
hey hey baby what'd I say

Georgia always on his mind
Arkansas next in line
hey hey baby what'd I say

Might have been blind
But he sure could see
Hit the road to eternity
Hey hey baby what'd I say
Hey hey baby it's all right
Hey hey, said Ray- goodnight
Hey hey baby what'd I say
Hey Ray, god bless- sleep tight
________________________________

In memoriam- Ray Charles

 

[WickedEve]

he was more than human,
having transcended that condition,
though not a god or demigod,
but a poet

 

[tungtied2u]

Singing the blues

Sing about the blues
Why
Cause it hurts so much
you just have to get it out
and putting a catchy beat to it
distracts you
from the pain

How bad can you feel
when you're tapping your feet
and swaying your body
and snapping your fingers

Pretty damn bad
That's why you sing the blues

 

[echoes_s]

chain me under
the sea water
slippery dark
crevice of cold currents
nip and pinch
grasping nipple
electric twinge
as i float
free
buoyancy
sometimes a rutted flow
of scrapes
heated fleet
gnawing teeth
then soothed by lapping tides
that’s how it feels when you whip me

 

[tungtied2u]

Lightning storm

photo flash horizon
sky's on fire
360 degrees silhouette's
imposing
closing in on me
see the shadows
I'm surrounded by

 

[Man Ray]

For you

there you is
desires me you
here me be
loves you me
you me lust!

 

[WickedEve]

Suspended from back elm,
neighbors on either fence side
wave, then shrug away
Henry's silence.

Wife tugs her hose,
running them down his legs.
Nylons trail her inside

before ladders lean on limbs.
Garter belt branch begins to break
but burly shoulders brace.

Earth is still and damp
for Henry.
He would have enjoyed morning dew
on all his cheeks.

 

[Liar]

Mind the gap, American!
         you're American
         anywhere you go
         these days
A nightingale melodic thrill
pierced the rumble mumble
of Osaka Grand Central
something or the other.
         I wasn't there for place names
         but for faces
         and smells
For a face I turned,
and for a smile...
         curious black pools
         and a white enamel line
         behind shy lips
...to melt
right before the gap,
and lost my speech
for a second.
What glimmers deep in there?
Why does her hair fall
like so...
         golden cut angle
         geometric perfection
         even while caught
         by swirl and whisp
...and who ignited that fire?
But a crooked Thank you
escaped my lips
somehow at last,
and my sweaty palm
extended a greeting,
         careful not to crush
         her slender shape
to introduce
Kimika, passer-by, goer-north.
Come, American. Better seats
in the other end.
         and who the hell
         was I to argue?
Some hours passing by,
diversion, new smells
and a face ever imprinted
when I close my eyes.
So where you going, American?
So am I, oh let me show you
all the things I love.
         there are so many fractions
         of any given place...
         ...the Great Dragon
         no exception
A day and a night,
fast forward by,
to a Tokyo morning
and two happy
but hung over travellers
         still quite strangers
part way
on a summer dry street
with a tight hug,
and a kiss on the cheek.
         the only one I got,
         but I don't mind,
         I got faces and smells,
         demand nothing more
And I never got around
to tell her
I'm not American.
So I guess I still might be,
somewhere up north
from Osaka Grand Central
something or the other,
when she close her lids.

 

[Maria2394]

now she has bade me good night
this angel who guides me
unaware
and the night surrounds me
like eager children
and whispers
"bed time uncle tim"
ahh yes

too much time in sleep
to much time un-conscious
the minutes tick by and
true understanding dances
there
right out of reach

I wish my arms longer
I wish the ground shorter
I wish
I wish
I wish

and the little boy inside
somehow still believes
these wishes may come true

ohhh, T {{{{{{big hugs}}}}}}
I know, I know, I wish my wished could come true too

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

its race day, I'm learning
to tolerate the round-round
insane, inane waste of gas and tars
he used to call me on race day,
when hubby was wedged
up the redneck asses at the bar
i have almosy forgotten the sound
of his voise, the cali polish and tease
the way he would whisper I need you pet
made my heart thump hard
in my knees

oh my sir, where for arent though?
dad in law sick, youre there for her
yet here for me somehow
lodged all comfy, inside my head
tickling my thoughts with corny jokes
I remember that elephant joke, do you?

but you arent unwanted, was him
still is, when race day is over
can we try again?


Q- how do you get rid of an unwanted elephant?
A- You send him pachy-n

 

[Syndra Lynn]

I am California

I
Map me gold with silver
rivers, and freckle me
with ancient timber,
black and green.

Lift my granite skyward
etched in black and white.
Kiss me yellow-green
with sunlight dappled forest floor.

Thrust my coastline jagged,
crashing surf of white and green
painted furious against cliffs serene,
as white-pillowed blue gently blankets me.


II
Rip my flesh and spill my blood.
Comb crops in rows
along my desert soils
made lush with stolen water.

Tie asphalt ribbons
to concrete cities
along my fault lines
or lying in my flood plains.

Pollute my purple snow capped
mountains laid bare by axe and greed.
Rape me in my mineral beds.
Erase all memory of my beauty.

 

[WickedEve]

my katy ran a few yards
in front of me
joy rustling the grass
and for a moment I ached

that kind of love
is real inside
with a heaviness
that shifts against my heart

pressing
to make me aware

I had something deep
for a moment
I grabbed it
then felt it slip away

into familiar nothing
a nothing quiet and deceptive

where's my passion
for breathing,
for poetry, for the joy
of rustling grass?

 

[WickedEve]

I want to let some words loose
on an unsuspecting scrap of paper
I'm getting a poetry backup
that makes me ache

just a little inspiration
for my relief

give me new
extraordinary

I can't keep skewing
the same perspective
that's stagnating out my window

remember my emerald suffocation?
that's poetry,
reality is mundane green
in this valley of grass, trees
and circling mountains

I'm using dead frogs
other people's memories

my metaphors are worn
and I simply can't have my poetry
be seen in them again

I need to leap out of this landscape
and land in what other poets write about

 

[WickedEve]

I've never pulled fly wings
from small body, quivering
just to cease incessant buzz

the screen is missing from my door
lost, taken, does it matter
no way to halt tiny intrusions
that annoy air around me

don't stir my air
I quit breathing for that reason

then incessant buzz
through missing screen
stirred air and breath

I'm annoyed
and pulling wings

 

[WickedEve]

I've avoided writing about the woman
who lived down the road. I was a child
and she was sweet on her front porch,
waving, and without legs.

She has sugar, Momma said.
Your grandma has it, too.
You don't want sugar, Eve.

I didn't want to lose my legs.
Now I'm sweet,
legs tingle, legs numb,

walking every day. I don't want to be
waving from my porch.





okay, this poem is finally out of me and good riddance.

 

[WickedEve]

A computer screen turned into a world,
big bang right there in our living room.
My man became a interplanetary traveler.

He left me upstairs, stitched
and slumbering, while his rocket landed
on every chatroom galaxy babe.

Newborn cries and painful sighs,
signals into his outer space
of little corner by the window.

I was reality bound,
not a spacey babe,
but I eventually blasted off.

He separated my rocket
in the booster stage of discovering
his cock dodger adventure,

and slapped me into splash down.

 

[WickedEve]

a living mix of birth and crash

the most alive I ever felt
was when my babies kicked
me inside and out

and when that impact
rocked my body

that pain was alive!
fuck, I was alive
and hurting

I breathed while they talked
about how I should have been dead

I felt gently alive
when life slid out of me
but it took crashed sensations
to make me tingle

I was cut open and pushed
someone pushed them out of me

and I was pulled from the womb
of that crushed car

feeling a different kind of alive

 

[WickedEve]

speaking of kisses, fawnie...

I'll dedicate this to you.

The Kissing Leaf

We'd run into the closet,
quickly placing a leaf
between our lips,

before pressing them in a kiss.
We wanted to know kisses,

not girl flesh touching our flesh.

Let's pretend
you're a boy,
I'm a boy.

We won't always be
too young for them.

The thrill is vague now,
too distant and in the closet
to recall what it was.

Was it her lips just on the other side
or pretending she was a boy?

 

[Guest]

Re: Re: Re: extra postage required

morning lesson for the virgin of france:

they only stop
when you say please
crushed by the press of knees

you need no lure
for fly fishing
this is what I have learned

feather and hook

pretending to have wings
low over water deep
below something sleeps--

waiting for the buzz and bite
resting well for tonight
for the feasting

~

Many lessons have been
taught, although
none with skill
as I still
lack patience,
but like to be teased

I want to buzz the fly
across slowly
then pop
skim past the skirt
bite thigh high
canines nipping beyond

Dark waters run deep
please now
press your knees
catch me here
in the vee
to hum til morning

 

[WickedEve]

bob Finds Love 2004

from bob Finds Love 2002:
...
yet she's pretty,
with pink smeared upward--
a careless smile for him.
...
he'll keep this one
till they carry her away.


a drawer stained
in sticky shades
of bare tubes

lids slowly replaced
need to show care
to the collection

vermilion now required,
vivid like terror eyes

though only coral
twists in palm

it is moderate,
calm between bittersweet
and titian

a girl below his window
is vermilion lipped,
crashing her man's air
with words

but he needs quiet,
unaware colors of kiss

he'd settle for
cerise, claret,
damask, even russet,
especially sanguine

pleasure's in the process
of acquiring,
in the love that glistens
when she's at last silent


(still rough, but hoping to submit it tonight. I was inspired to expand on my bob character after reading tara's frightening "the letter.")

----------

submitted version:

a drawer shaded
in bare tubes,
lids slowly replaced,

he must show care
for the collection.

vermilion now required,
vivid like terror eyes--
only coral twists

in palm,
between bittersweet
and titian.

girl below his window
is vermilion-lipped,
shattering air
with words.

he needs quiet,
unaware colors of kiss.

he'd settle for
cerise, claret,
damask, even russet,

certainly sanguine.

pleasure's in the process
of acquiring,
in love that glistens
when she's silent.

 

[JCSTREET]

As threatened

A STUDY IN ALLITERATION

BY JCSTREET © 2004


Grotesque, gurgling, grotty, gun-slinging gangsters, grinning at death
gritting teeth, spitting bullets at frantic, frenetic fearful foe
who frightened flee flinging flying, flailing fists at empty air
trembling, tripping, tumbling to traumatic corpse’s hollow-headed stare

While they, not being dead, do not care to face the angry glare
of heroes death from euphoric enemies’ fatal snare
so run round retching through stinging smoggy smoke of atoms broken
in mushroom shape which shreds sinews of surging semen

Craggy cottage contains countless crestfallen, chanting children
bewildered bashful babes beaten back by blinding blast of burning
brimstone oozing over oily olive orchards or orgiastically overturning
otters swimming in shimmering spray of slippery stream

Whistling, wailing, wretched weapons, wending way west, while
warriors walk wiping white watery women-tears off wafting wind
which winds wafer-like watching wagons wincing, wheeling wheat
westward whereas wherry whaling, wails in the night

Grey-flannel dwarf hangs hidden hollow head, hideously hating Hun
who hurl hot bullets breaking bones bared by blast of bombers
bristling, brimming with plasma-shattering projectiles

-30-

(written in 1965 in Belfast Northern Ireland. Clearly in a Ban the Bomb mode at the time though had already put in two years as a naval comms tech (during the Cuban Crisis etc., so……….)

there’s some evidence that the poet may have been influenced by Subterranean Homesick Blues, as well as 5mg tabs of dextroamphetamine sulphate – but it’s equivocal

 

[echoes_s]

Haunted Harmony

She swims into crooked cleft
of luring mists to Inverness
yearning strengthens with her call
a siren’s unsung haunting song
a whispered breath drowned by tide
and roaring howls of ocean side

here, somewhere through this shore
someone plays a keen compose
intoning free by fingers lean
resonating spray, lingering
on notes and keys of salted sting
lifting eyes on hearts of wing

surely this must be in jest
an endless search through barren mess
tangled wires, old fishing nets
a trap to capture, raise hope…
confess!

still melody, the tones played
beckons her, appeals her name
as is her reason, she must respond
to release and sing along
this haunted returned harmony
perhaps, perchance
just to see…

 

[Randi Grail]

someone took a picture
of a bouncy boy blubbles burtsting
blown and flown like magic mirages
across the summer dry dirt road

if you look real close
you can actually see
the dust worm
rising in the distance

speeding closer

thirty two seconds before

bubbles flew
no more

 

[tungtied2u]

No bounding joy as I pull my car
up the driveway
shining eyes are sunken black pools
she lies listlessly
barely able to turn her head my way

no running through the dog flap
as i climb out of the car and shut the door
anticipating her eminent escape from her day in the pen
not even looking my way

Molly,here girl
Molly, come on girl
Molly come

Movenment comes slowly
and hesitatingly
she passes me hardly noticing
to the fromnt yard
stopping to pee in her usual place
squatting
neat blood issues from her body
a puddle of horror
finished she collapses on the fromnt porch

doom surrounds this animal
once a source of constant energy
life weeps from every pore
every golden hair sheds strength

no time to consider how or why
lift her on a sheet into the station wagon
fifteen minutes of forever
to the vets
infinty of waiting and regret
praying for a reprieve

there will be none
only moments remain
before this loving companion
breathes her last
on a cold metal table
wrapped in our arms
warming her soul
soothing careeses
she slips away
leaving us with only tears
and memories

 

[Man Ray]

I've just made love to the most beautiful woman
I am in love with this woman and she loves me
Is this not the bestest love poem ever written?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

[Angeline]

How soon?
Too soon and not soon enough.

I wanted you
like starving for food.
Birds need to fly is how much
I wanted you.

I need to swallow, breathe deep
to remember now but then
just hold my shallow diaphragm
long enough to permit a turn,
sometimes a whole foot
and the wonder of my fingers
on my own flesh tracing
the tiny knots of your toes
beyond me, inside me, me.

The way your head turned
on my chest and recognition
(of what?) in the scrim
of your new eyes. A smell?
The sound of my breath, heartbeat?
And me with a tentative finger
in the softest wisp
of your hair, sore, exhausted,
and the sun rising in me
outside me, you.