all of a sudden passion suddenly

[Angeline]

Morning poets.


Bowling alley smell
like shoes, wax, cigarettes.
The hollow sound
of pins falling and rolling
sound like thunder
rumbling far off from the laughter,
which seems appocolyptic
in retrospect,
but it was just the bar,
with clinks and voices rising
over the juke. Sam Cooke
or Patty Paige.

In the ladies, ten cents, push in
the silver lever, a squirt of Faux de Chanel.
What were the others? I rubbed
my neck across them all
and Daddy laughed
over his Rolling Rock
You smell like Evening
on Perry Street. but he's
smiling and I get a Kern's
Orange Soda out the case.

He says the trick
is hold your wrist straight,
position it, not straight
down the middle, but a little
to the right, compensate
for that left hook,
spot your eyes
on the middle pin.

 

[JCSTREET]

that was us in east end Montreal

circa 1958

goin' bowling and yes--never down the middle but to the right with a spin of the wrist to get it eccentricing in toward the sweet spot--the sweet spot we never found on women because women did not do it in the 50s

and yep the pins sounded hollow though in those days boys set up the pins by hand - automation has taken away all the good jobs and ne'er-do-wells can't run away to sea now and become Nelson Algren--too much paperwork

afterward we'd go to the Champlain Shopping Centre and have club sandwiches and giant cokes

that was Friday night--saturday we'd party in someone's basement and play spin the bottle to win chaste kisses from WASPY girls in crinolines and garter belts

Sunday we'd go in all the duplexes and triplexes under construction and steal soda bottle for refund no matter how artifully the Italian construction workers had hidden them - or mow people's lawns or set up a lemonade stand on the lawn or hunt for golfballs and sell them to golfers on the tees

Grench Canadians were called Pepsis since they drank so much of it and lost their teeth young - we drank quart bottles of KIK Cola and ate creamy cakes called Croquettes and May Wests

They called us blokes (Englishmen) and would yell at us from street corners as we biked to school--if you yelled back trying to mimic them they would chase you and if you couldn't get away they'd jam your face down in the mud and you'd get to class late.

"maudit bloke" (it came out "modez bloke" crazy English
which they pronounced Henglish

I slingshot Johnny Keyes a short wiry little fucker and he chased me back to my building - I went straight through the plate glass front door unscathed--insurance paid



there was a chocolate bar called Big Six with Nuts which--with the advent of the Net would have to be called Big Nine with Nuts due to the radical amelioration of penile sizes spawned by the world wide web

 

[JCSTREET]

YEAH WELL

you must be his brother

and then girls
perfume swet as hot fudge
but to us..an alluring scent
it did things to you
sharing cigarretes and bottles
of cheap TANGO
or annie green springs, or Boonesfarm strawberry wine
1.50
can you believe it?

and splitting a 6 of heffenrefer
because 3 beers would get you looped

late nite feel up sessions in the woods
in parkas and leather jackets
i never kissed anyone so long
so intently
ever again





in previoys "Grench Canadians shudda read French Canadians

I mean they dint steal Xmas or anything those grenches

where's maria today anyway (maybe she has a day job--bummer)

lol

 

[JCSTREET]

They'd touch you

hesitantly
through your jeans but
never enough never
quite right so you'd
edge and edge and your mind
would be screaming
"awwww fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck" but your lips
would be saying
"oh baby yeah . . . yeah . . . that's it . . . oh baby"

 

[annaswirls]

there is no plan for this poem
except that there will be several spelling errors


and pioeces maybe of poems that bubbled without hands to catch them before they popped
after growing thinner and thinner

prism speheres floating pver the arborviete and wrought iron without fear of hardness
or pick

her hands
my eyes

my eyes
her hands

transferred
in raised tear braille
across the return to sender

lick salt for something

her fingers my lips
with a shhhh baby
lets not talk abou tit tonight

just tell me I am beautiful
I will sit up straighter

mention legs
and the hair that falls unconcerned
over your right eye

caught between lifting blonde to gave gaze into hazel
and leaving it fall

for the longing of it all


my fingers her lips
trace

speachless

weary of the subject
until morning requires
burts bees under the ruby for her
coral for me

we move into the other

my fingers my mouth
waiting

 

[Angeline]

eyes locked
our laced hands grip
grimace laugh
I know and breathe
gulp air like waves toss
holding on letting go
of murmurs cresting babel
babbles and words sift
in darkness like jewels dropping
between the cacophony
of Shostakovich and whisper

smile

i'm dead
no you're not

snort

one finger
traces ridges of spine
hillocks settle
last shivers of flesh

night settles
dog barks
night sighs
train sounds rise fade
in passing harmonica whistles

 

[annaswirls]

.............

Born Too Late


I sense a dearth of truth, a loss
of piety, the buttons
so easy, the character
of cobblestones
buried by black,.....


**************************

eyes locked
our laced hands grip
grimace laugh
I know and breathe
gulp air like waves toss
holding on letting go
of murmurs cresting babel
babbles and words sift
in darkness like jewels dropping
between the cacophony
of Shostakovich and whisper

and thesse- pounded out in passion-
just sat down and pounded out
damn! too much for me to imagine it all

slip and hide into the basement
do laundry
several tanks full maybe
feed the cat and remember fathers da

consider cleaning the house
maybe making cookies
and crafts with crepe paper and
handprint flowers

on paper hung from pins

and getting a job
I dreamed I worked at a fast food place
and could not handle the complication
of which side to put the condiments
mustanr and ketchup on top bun
pickle and mayo and onion on bottom

the pressere was highwhen to know
r fries crisp borwn in iol perfectly aged
and
salt


edited to fix quotes

 

[echoes_s]

I sit with my one a day procured coffee
sipping until the last drop
then licking the cup
inhaling last fragrances
of dark roast, hint of irish creme
It’s all I am allowed now

precariously placed on my
short nightie
were curative little pills
and in the hazed sleepiness
of mind my legs danced still
forgetting tumbling possibilities

with water in hand
remembering the third time
…the pills gone
did I take them
or have they fallen,
trapped between two desks
under the towering life line
of spoken words
that keeps me going
even when silent
I cannot take them again?

 

[perks]

if I have a bone to pick
with the poets
where do I post
no thread to host
my rant
I could start a new one
a ton of bricks
would go over better
words so cold
you need a sweater
I bet I'd get
moderated
cross referenced with
the appropriate response
retaliation swift
swallowing my poetry
and mixing it with bile
miles of it
until those poets
take a shit

 

[WickedEve]

my words are youngsters
on evening porch.

don't take kindly to strangers
coming around these here parts,
influencing them.

come on up here on mama's lap.
babies, gather on my knee
so I can kiss away smudges,
braid your lines, pretty.

no need for highfalutin conceits.
extended is summer fine--

wiggle them stubby metaphors
in my hush and drift
of emerald grass,

and watch the strangers you read.

 

[echoes_s]

can I just rent? lol

Hey, this is the sudden thread for poetry, not sudden insanity.

I flashed but
tried to erase
stupid technology
no cut and paste
It's not letting
take down or replace
my darn butt
now encased!

 

[Liar]

Definition: Sanjib

taller than most
thinner than everything
a breath that watches
and eyes that sing

he carries a book
he carries a knife
and his father's ring

all mortal man
and not afraid
of anything

Sanjib walks vividly
as if each step is ascent
a stairway to eternity
a thumping syncope
to heaven's symphony

but never too high
in harmony to heed
and stop for children
women, elders and tourists

Sanjib draws houses
combs his hair to the left
drives better
than he dances
likes Brodsky and Peanuts
and real English tea

he beckons me closer
and weaves his future
over another cup
of Lady Grey's finest

a direction and dream
to marry a European girl
cherish, honor and achieve
and live by the sea

he probably will
because everyone can see
that even the gods swoon
when Sanjib smiles

at least
the European girls do
and bloody hell
(but I keep it to myself)
so do I

 

[OT]

Hey, I want to know why the male poets on this board never use penis avs? We've go OT wooden boy, and that's the closest thing to a woody we've got.

sitting quiet
all naked
no baggage
no stuff

eight inches
all wood
all the time --
not enough ?

my god
good woman
what more
do you want ?

rowdy ted
in a pic
with bold
battery font ?

 

[Liar]

Definition: Clara

always seven lumps
in coffe that could kill plauge
and start revolutions

she laughs
at my disgusted stare
It's how they do it in Riyad,
it's my cup, what do you care?

Who knows,
I say over the rim of my own plain black,
I just might cash in
that deep french rain check?

a melodic rumble laugh
a toss of already blond
bleached to impossibly white

a renegade drop
of black bittersweet
rolls down her chin
for a second

before swooped up and offered
glittering at the tip
of an extended index finger

it's the little things like that
that Clara only Clara only she
can magnify

Tell me now,
is this so bad?
she croons and leans closer

we sit
like that
the strangest siamese twins
in recorded history

eyes closed, breathless
we speak for several minutes
through direct telelpathy

fingertip
to
tongue

and then we know
those things
about one another

that not even lovers do

 

[Angeline]

Why are you talking about power puff GIRLS? Is it the bi vibes? Why not talk about Batman and Robin... no, not Robin. Are there any male superheroes without tights?

Batman and Robin are dweebs. Ever see that old tv show? Cripes. I rest my case.



Poet Chick floats in the clouds
hair streaming over cape, gold lame
dahling, and a tie-dye bodysuit,
big soul eyes full of world, words,
and hands cupped for writing.

Power of vision, satori power,
cosmic karmic comic sight,
able to twist tall phrases
to a single word, faster
than a speeding simile,
strong resolve, x-ray empathy.

Poet Chick dashes to Earth,
crisis-bound, phrases flipping
and flopping through her veins
like a cauldren bubbling poem soup,
a melting pot of remembrance,
imagination, salted with remorse,
yearning, peppered with expectation.

Words fall from her fingers
and scales from her eyes, yes,
maybe yours, too, and you remember
the look in your mother's eyes
when she smiled, or the taste
of a fresh-plucked honeysuckle,
sipped delicately from a bitten flower,
or your chin yellow
over the cast of a buttercup
on some almost forgotten summer morning,
when the Sun played with the
breeze on your bare arms.

 

[annaswirls]

this is not supposed to be a good poem today

maybe a flicker of an idea that might run
into a flame o
be consumed or softened if it is metal

resting on medals
is never a comfortable sleep

want to rest on laurels
what is a laurel
isnt it some kind os spiny thing

stratches as you trun in sleep
re
run away run away!

re
treat

gimme another

 

[Guest]

 

[Angeline]

Like a sugar magnolia,
warm chorded, fretless.
Sunshine is just around here.
Maybe the corner turns,
blooming high times
like a red rose. Meantimes,
you see double I drive.
I pay your ticket, and you
keep smiling, pay for the greens,
the rice and beans

It's all passing time,
ticking and beep like the phone,
on hold or waiting backstage
while the world plays
a lighter motif.

Sweet blossum, cmon.
The night's not dying.
Did you see
how the willow sways?
Sunshine daydream, baby.

 

[hippiedude]

one last sultry brass stated solo,
one moon glow textured blast,
we'd be consumed in the fold
squirmed in the sluggard blood

 

[WickedEve]

No Refunds

Mister Tennessee been callin' me
saying, Hell, gal!

This Punu you done gone and sent me
ain't been danced!

Let me talk to your man
'bout your Punu.

My Punu is fine,
Mister Tennessee.

My man found it fine
and danced it all night long
'fore sending it your way.



(sudden and strange)

 

[echoes_s]

Roasted fire
roaring heat,
restless flames
lapping the breach
of sanded shore
from high tides reach,
embraced, gentle,
caring greet

propping chocolate,
harvested sweet,
dripped, coating cream
lathering memory,
sugar kissing
hope-filled dreams,
sauntered,
arrive, eventually

sorrow, lost love,
unchained, being,
calling you
in haunted dream,
bathing sea nymphs
lulled to sleep
by love’s tender
depths of deep

horizons taut,
slighted beauty,
shaking confidence
moments wavering,
siphoning sadly
husky sunset’s deep
passionate tears
with amethyst sweep

limitless learning
intentions now free
awed and breathless
humbled on knees
eyes to a new day
heart blossoming
touching the monitor
with words to each.

 

[OT]

growl'n on empty
go single bulb hunting

ignore pickled pickings in the door
and wilted crisper fare and
reach behind the soda with no fizz
and cartons past expired

middle shelf mysteries
resting in burped plastic bowls
wait for the brave to play the roulette wheel
of sniff and whiff -- treasure or tripe --
find actual food or gunk growing ripe

 

[Guest]

The 'phone still works
One of the perks
of being alone is
take-out pizz-
a.
It comes piping hot
or - they say - you got
it free.

 

[OT]

even for free
the caveman in me
makes me think i'd rather
hunt and gather

 

[annaswirls]

back back without having
to be draggede
or darg
drag either

not by hair or bone
unless
well

unless


firewood included
for dropping paper
out of place

left temple
still
is not quite right


good things
good night



confession

I cut
and pasted this


from the ner
new thread I almost created


would have created quite the confusion


please
forgive


I know not
what I do



xxxxooooaannaaa