Love On Baker Street

[Trixareforkids]

I wish i could claim fiction, but it really happened. Funny as hell

I need to write a piece about the funniest thing I ever saw in a parking lot. Hope it comes out as well as yours did.

 

[pensivepoet]

The Last Time He Saw Annie

The wine was Bombauer
and fuck the year
it was all just props anyway
you know the movie
seen it a hundred times
and John Cusack
always gets the girl
Act I
The well pressed therapist
shadowed in doctorate
drums his pencil
thrums her mind
to the ticking clock
no music, this scene.
"yes, you need to see him
one last time
knowing for certain
those feelings
to be gone"
On the tarmac, John
always the passive one
kisses her goodbye,
flies her away
watching her face
in the runaway window
Act II
our supporting actor
awaits
unknowing
Hitchcocked
with half a script.
The actress's face
telling the tale at a glance
to the audience
coupling hands,
watching her play the role
to the end, him too
in contractual obligation
Act III
There are walks
there are talks
there is moonlight in the dark
kisses under lamp posts
bit players~ and the wine
the taste before the whisper,
"I'm moving on"
Cut to John,
now sad eyed staring
through rain pattered pane
coffee cup holding
pretending to wonder
as the symphony strings
another happy ending
to the credits
Synopsis
The cutting room floor
was filled with
scenes unshown
Poems unwritten
Last letters, never sent
because every good director knows, it's the airport
it always ends
at the airport.

 

[pensivepoet]

Hauled my sorry ass down to Wally's for a bloody mary, and some Andy Griffith.
But someone shot the cue ball through the RCA, so the jukebox is on. My mind goes a wandering...
Ground control to major Tom...
It's hell living up here
in Newt's pipedream
stuck in the middle
Earth below
Heaven above
the shuttles come through
needing fuel, stealin moon rocks
I watch em come, i watch em go
~Everybody's leavin town, good time Charlie's got the blues
At least the whiskey's holdin out
But where the fuck to drink it?
Not a tree,
Not a lake
Not a whore
~i miss the earth so much i miss my wife, its lonely out in space...
Like hell, elton!
Put a dime in the telescope
See down there?
Through that cloud?
That's her, waving
Bitchin bout somethin
So i can't go up
And wont go down
~fly me to the moon, and let me piss among the stars...
Just try it tony
Tang colored piss goes everywhere!
Here comes a comet
Hope it hits me
Before the whiskey runs out
or she catches a shuttle

 

[Trixareforkids]

The last one made me laugh. I can see it being a dark comedy short, Harold and Maude style.

 

[pensivepoet]

The last one made me laugh. I can see it being a dark comedy short, Harold and Maude style.

Thanks. Took me 1 minute and 12 seconds. While i ate an olive i shouldn't have

 

[inbetweenthespaces]

dear pensive poet

you had already left the room
xx

 

[All_4_Love]

The last one made me laugh. I can see it being a dark comedy short, Harold and Maude style.

The funniest one yet.

I love it, too, P-poet. I'm still smiling!

 

[pensivepoet]

Never mind, move along, folks.
Nothin to see here
Ha!
Tried to post something, but only half of it showed up. So f*ck it.
Apologies,
~pen

 

[pensivepoet]

After The Kiss

Remember, my darling?
the taste of that first sweet kiss
down there, in the soft green grass, where the laughing brook dances.
You crooned and clark gabled me
with woven tales of riches
and enchanted adventure
while I clenched my tender thighs
hoping my blush, you didn't notice
And your slide show of
the Riviera?
Why my Dear, I swear
I almost pee'd as i swooned
to your gilded arms!
And though you never said
that I was your first
your kisses told me
I was.
Then there was the ring,
the golden wedding
where all your family crimsoned
my cheek with kisses of
blood-let deceit.
And that first year together~
did I ever burn your supper?
scorch your shirt with my iron? Chagrin, as time after time
you bent me over to make me
your sporting whore?
In time, your family forgot my name, but never my number.
And darling master, my
bewitching lord,
is it then a wonder
that a shirt got scorched,
the soup grew tasteless,
my kisses so cold?
Now here in the shadows
of the dim fire light
I watch you in your den
all brandy and robe
a pipe full of silent smoke
drifting to the fresh whores
lining the rail on your porch, just
waiting to be kissed.
And with bags nearly packed,
I turn, spit in your soup, and say,
Horses can't fly
and you'd fuck your own mother
if she wasn't filled
with the clap.

A love letter to any Boss

 

[Trixareforkids]

Save Yourself

As she picked up the next starfish
And turned toward the sea to fling it in
An old man spoke up behind her.

You can't save them all ya know

Oh, I'm not trying to save them
I'm saving myself from their dying
As I've been taught to do

Eh, how's that youngin?

School sir, and church and family
They all teach that only glorious death
Is good, all others are to avoided,
Shunned in fact, never to be spoken of
So you see,
I have to send these back to the water
So their ingloriously deaths won't be witnessed.

 

[pensivepoet]

Save Yourself

As she picked up the next starfish
And turned toward the sea to fling it in
An old man spoke up behind her.

You can't save them all ya know

Oh, I'm not trying to save them
I'm saving myself from their dying
As I've been taught to do

Eh, how's that youngin?

School sir, and church and family
They all teach that only glorious death
Is good, all others are to avoided,
Shunned in fact, never to be spoken of
So you see,
I have to send these back to the water
So their ingloriously deaths won't be witnessed.

I win! This is a metaphor, and i know what for.
What exactly would be a glorious death for a star fish?
Anything eat or fight them bastards?

 

[Trixareforkids]

I win! This is a metaphor, and i know what for.
What exactly would be a glorious death for a star fish?
Anything eat or fight them bastards?

More social commentary than metaphor.
There is no glorious death
for a starfish
So back it goes,
out of sight, out of mind
So as not to disturb
Our delicate sensibilities

 

[pensivepoet]

More social commentary than metaphor.
There is no glorious death
for a starfish
So back it goes,
out of sight, out of mind
So as not to disturb
Our delicate sensibilities

Ok, off to wiki. There must be at least one that had a glorious death. I'm sure even a rabbit has had one.

 

[pensivepoet]

Back Then

Sittin at Wally's nursing a beer, watching that fly ride the warped fan faded yellow.
Out the window, I see Midnight Blue, working her corner, toying with the garbage man~the highlight of his day.
It was different back then,
maybe better, maybe
just different.
All a day meant
was how to get a case of beer
and tank of gas
We always got both, with
never a leftover.
Asses to the wind
we tore those country roads
flinging gravel and empties, tapping CCR
on the dashboard.
If the Sun ever moved
we never noticed
before the last beer
surrendered
and the Chevelle
coughed fumes.
Nothing else mattered
just talk of cars, music,
and getting laid
And no one gave a shit
where we were, as long
as we were somewhere else.
I wonder where they are
If they ever remember
and wish too, that the Chevelle
had never run out of gas.

 

[Trixareforkids]

Swing by and pick me up. I got beer and gas money.

 

[pensivepoet]

Swing by and pick me up. I got beer and gas money.

Great! Give me a few minutes, the garbage guy and I jusy cut a deal with Midnight Blue

 

[Trixareforkids]

That better not be a hooker.
Wait on second though, a hooker can always get fast cash.
And they've got great stories.
Ok, bring him/her along, the more the merrier.

 

[todski28]

You don't mind if I thumb a ride? I got plenties of savings, we're going to vegas yeah?

 

[Trixareforkids]

We're gonna need a BIG tub! Can we get one of those big round beds too?

 

[pensivepoet]

We're gonna need a BIG tub! Can we get one of those big round beds too?

As long as wayne newton isn't involved. I do have my limits

 

[Trixareforkids]

As long as wayne newton isn't involved. I do have my limits

And no fucking Celine Dion!
Don't want to hear her sing either.

The hooker should be at home there,
we can check out the cat houses,
find him/her a good job.

 

[pensivepoet]

What about the garbage guy?
He tossed in 40 bucks but smells like oranges and coffee grinds.

 

[Trixareforkids]

What about the garbage guy?
He tossed in 40 bucks but smells like oranges and coffee grinds.

Sure, why not!
But I'm not lap sitting

 

[pensivepoet]

Another hot August day, i'm sittin at my window looking down at Wally's. It's almost happy hour, but i'm looking at something I wrote a few years ago for a friend....
Al Went To Deadwood
I had a friend who had a wife and they had some kids. Nice home, good job, boat~cuz Al loved to fish.
He was a nice guy. I liked him, everyone liked him.
If one of a million possible time frames could be altered, I wouldn't be writing this.
But Al went to Deadwood
Annual this ride,
when possible
bikers, babes
and beads
everyone's a superstar
for a day
"ya going to Deadwood?"
the question piqued, probed,
roaming on the wind
of his midlife cascade.
Work
the ol lady
money, fear
and apprehension
all took on a shrug
of non-committal purpose
But go he did, on
a last second whim
and is there another kind?
Peggy's wedding wasn't til
next week, work let him off,
and the ol lady said go
and what the fuck, money is just
portraits of dead presidents
on shit green paper.
All the planets in line,
the kids, who knows where
so Al went to Deadwood
"I'll see you on Monday"
a kiss and a smile
and on Monday, she did.
That hot July day
warm blasted their ride
while cold beer doctored the fuel
starring their nights.
Sunday mornings are kind
to bikes, the highway laying
fat and lazy to the music in
his head smiling his ride
past the mundane of
urban resettlement.
A look to Jerry off the port bow
who smiled back, drumming
the polished chrome.
They didn't see the car that
didn't see the truck beasting
Blindly, and the planets fell
out of orbit, as Al fell out of life.
The sun came up on tuesday
work was work,
jokes were funny
and the moon
didn't so much as
hiccup or burp
~it just mooned as before
"what a nice wedding"
"yes, Peggy looks so happy"
"shame about Al"
"yeah, you just never know"
"i almost went with him on that ride"
"you don't say!"

 

[pensivepoet]

"Pasquel, bring me the machete"
"Pasquel?"
Fuck
How many times has the deed
to 341 Easy Street
been offered?
White picket fences, tool lending
neighbors, hedges
all in a row.
"Hector, bring me the map"
"Hector?"
Fuck
Slick talking scheisters spinning
Chevies at my feet, bonds
in portfolio, Blue Cross
just in case.
But there was always
a damn river
in the way
a bird in a distant forest
whose call I couldn't refuse
a bramble that dared.
How far, this wilderness?
how deep go the
roots reaching?
Companions, there've been
a few, harbours of rest
in golden soft bosom,
a bottle shared
in the tale of mates
yet somehow, far from the
silted shores I dreamed
more distant grow the peaks
I envisioned.
How dark this wilderness
I've chosen
How lost are the miles
and the hearts left behind.