not sure how many words

[eagleyez]

world leaders

sit here sidesaddle on my throne
redeyed king with dirty ankles
the Poncetrain queen warbles
thru her cowboy hat
3 chords and a glass of bourbon
powers her engine.

Chavez retells of a sympathetic
Oliver Stone chewing coca leaves
and regails the UN half asleeps
of the power of cinema and Obama's smile,

After Netanyahu holds up the written
copy of the final solution signed by Himmler
And the blueprint of Aushwitz as he asks the
Iranian delegation "Is this a lie."

Ghadafi looking like Mickey Rourke
rambles thru bar napkins pasted with
red pen on the history of the world
as good as Mel Brooks ever was.

The tyrant of Tehran makes my back ache
yet I sit forward to read his lips
as the pedal steel breezes
thru my cobwebbed apartment,

And Charlamain, Atilla, Patton, Roosevelt, Tojo,
Crazy Horse, Lincoln, Donner, Wilson, Stonewall Jackson,
Pope Leo, Pontius Pilate, Churchill, Reagan, Osama bin Laden,
Manson, Zodiac, Berkowitz, Limbaugh, Kennedy, Nero, Sir Gawain,
Wilt Chamberlain, Malcom X, James Earl Ray, Keith Richards,
Shostakovich, Willie Mays, the Dalai Lama, Mary Magdalene,
Buster Keaton and my dead mother

dance thru my eyes.

2 guitars, bass and drums,
genuflect at perfection,
give thanks for dogs.

 

[PandoraGlitters]

I take it for granted the way I do gravity
though seen from space, I'd slant, scarcely
clinging to the planet, I take for granted
that your eyes climb my legs as they climb
the stairs. Pairs fall into rhythm, commuters
march up, brides in the pace of a morning's progress.
You brush past, crushing the nothing between us.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

This is probably not the place to ask but tracking you poets down these days isn't always easy! I have been reading a poem by Matthew Arnold entitled The Scholar Gypsy with the rhyme pattern of abcbcadda and wondered if anyone knows what is the name of this form.

 

[eagleyez]

I do my business
In a one room shack
With weeds roughed up against
The petrified boards all darkened and gnarled.

I murder my best time right there,
Eying pheasant and a crescendo of storms,
Some in from the north and some ridden in
On southern water winds.

I bury the dead with butterfly wings

All this creatin forms, figures, shades of the dirt,
It all has to go sometime.

Down the gullied slope to where the rocks
Bath in the ocean, considerin I will swim
Among them.

The grass is white as rice and dry as Barstow,
As it shimmies against the modest building.

This is like a a clock of sorts,
read from the inside,
where I live.

 

[eagleyez]

Thimbleweeds roar upriver
As they put up the yearly bridge extensions like clockwork
To minimize the icing on the short span
When the northern chill blows downriver
And up and onto the ice-rink bridge.

Every year the town crew, old porkbellied men with
A small loader place the row of grey walls, side by side,
And it seems I am always out and about on this singular day,
riding thru the swirl of leaves and the remaining color,
Which brings me to a 7th century glee, out running the plague,
(Only this year its Swine Flu),reading from a grand illustrated text,
Imagining.

I surmise that the crew guys are lifers and work for 22k per year, paycash for used American pick ups, have rough hewn camps on a lake somewhere in upcountry where they go with the tribe to hunt and drink and scratch grey fleeced bellies while watching the beans grill with the onions.

Some have wives, some had them, others dont rightly consider themselves
The marryin kind. It a cold hard life this far north, and mostly these men become expert at taking care of their own wants, along with a few needs.

So on my ride in the silver light I saw most closely the men with the bullknuckle
hands and a back that strains to get upright.

Up where the river bends, the color thickens and the trees and grasses
Replace the men

 

[PandoraGlitters]

East/West

who cares
who takes care
of the foot that pushed
through the brick

what daddy what mommy
big brother / McDonald's
nobody loves you, baby
sings the radio

nobody like me
free as air waving
that star spangled banner
unless you're talking about
commercial rights and then it's
towers and skyspace

the only reason
I'm with T-mobile is
yes this is a commercial message
brought to you buy buy buy
the only reason I'm with T-mobile
is they didn't invite the government in
to spy didn't bring them desks
and chairs to monitor cell phones
of ordinary Janes and Harrys

because these fifty states of mind
are worth more than binary redblues
but hues of every shade politically
expressionistically
east/west is neither the only line
we can draw
nor sand the only medium

 

[Tzara]

Triolet Composed in Anapestic Tetrameter
on the Theme of Subtlety, or Lack of Same,
in Some Interpersonal Relationships

In your hand I would place something other than hand,
If you know what I mean. I'm a guy, don’t you know,
And as guy I have needs. I will not, though, demand
That your hand should accept something other than hand,
But I think you would find our relations expand,
My complexion improve to a fine, healthy glow,
If your hand would accept something other than hand.
If you know what that means to a guy, Do me slow.



.

 

[eagleyez]

The glorious old apple split
Down the middle recently,
The hollow bigwood now lays on its side.

The remaining upright section,
now stand alone, forms a perfect
weather beaten living Bonsai.

The crows looked befuddledd for a minute,
but as the hardwood is sawed for woodstove,
the new picture takes form.

Out my front window,
The lone top spreads out to the greater sun,
And I kick the green apples on the ground,
into a bundle, a perfect form.

coming and going, I bow to the great living woman,
ease on by with reverence,
as the november wind shakes my flaps
and I embrace the sound and the smell of it-

Chimney wisps far down in the rivervalley,
Rising ancient, the smell of burning wood.

The leaves chatter in the wind.

 

[Tzara]

I ate a box of Triscuits. Yes,
Consumed them all—just me.
But midway through the box I thought
Of my Mortality.

That rather slowed my fevered haste
Of putting them away
In chipmunked cheeks. I swallowed then,
I hope quite civilly.

Of what then passed, I shall not speak—
They've loads of fiber. Man,
I've passed full fields of gazing grain,
I've passed the setting sun.

(These are but metaphors, of course,
And swelling merely sound.
A death politely risible,
Becoming of a Clown.)

No more shall I Nabisco thank
For winter wheat. Ennui
And too much chaff my horse's ass
Heads t'ward eternity.



.

 

[eagleyez]

funny how it comes
from barbed wire, the dusty light of an afternoon,
good wind blows thru the mountains,
peeling the must off stored pages,

and the words are like
covered wagons, a dog
and a wood stove.

Little lake and a slew of
yearling lambs-
a rifle and mr coyote...

all this triangulated by the names
herzog, citrine, humboldt.

the jackhammer man
played flamenco
and we all raised espresso.

One lamb foundered in the mud
and we worked all night to sling her out.
Back at the house she died.
Matt and them were used to it
but I wadnt.

A pickax will cut the new dirt
clouds of dust
rolls of barbwire
all in a whirl.

 

[GuiltyPleasure]

Cocks or, specifically, yours.

When we were young
and the world a safer place
we'd swim in the river on long summer days
naked and free of inhibitions.
I always thought those little fingers
dangling out in front were sweet,
helpless, tender, floating
and bobbing. Jiggling like a joke
when you ran to dry off
or chase us girls.

Now we’re adults yours still seems
vulnerable until it swells with power.
Soft and curled to the cushion behind,
stirring at my touch, my breath, my lips
until it’s rigid, hugging your belly,
dancing for me to your heartbeats.

To feel your body entering mine,
a part a me is what I live for.
I envy you this token of your love, your lust,
that you tell me is mine.

 

[eagleyez]

These cobblestones,
These poems,
The glare they reflect
After a good afternoon's rain,
They go dry again
As the cloud passes
And lets back in the sun.

I see the flattter road
Ahead, where mirage
Suspends disbelief,
Tells you a lie, a story.

I hear Copeland's Appalachian Spring eminating
from 180 degrees of pastel sky,
Not a phrase nor a passage,
But the symphony, in its length.

I am old enough to remember
Shit that would curl your eyebrows,
Ponds of water out there,
To be described, even in their
Questioned form, a salt flat,
A mirage.

 

[eagleyez]

we ran all nite
under scarecrow moons
that lit your green courdoroy
blacksploitation kneelength
thrifshop jacket with the fake leather
naugahyde buttons bouncing like in-line nipples,

and the once muddy tracks of the
of the old flatbed duelie
were now frozen stiff
and we had d-day adrenaline
whence we came upon the baby faced
huge fat kid crammed in the passenger car,
a dirty green chevy nova,
and in the barn the greaseman sharpened
the rakers on his chain until it threw noodles
on the pulp wood he cut all scattered in the hayfloor all jagged and
handhewn leaning black and white like giant dominoes,

and the kids played Fender mustangs green with
tortoise shell pickguards
and from across the field came a buckboard
chattering over barbed wire broken fences,

with Andy Warhol at the reigns, his silver wighat
blown back on his head, glued at the neckline
and riding shotgun was not Norman Rockwell
but Norman Mailer,

and you said "try this," and bear hugged
the oil stained automan and started rolling
across the loft, and I said "slow down,"
and tripped on the remote control,
scattering my Lucky Strikes
and smelled fresh bread and coffee.

It was 4 am and I was sleepwalking again,
And sprained my thumb, which is the only remnant
of what happened in the black and blue sunrise,
as the tv played Lionel Hampton
And Count Basie and there were bowls of Vermouth
All around the room.

A colorless rooming house threw shadows
as it rained hickory nuts out back,
And big fat Ted Berrigan came in the
screendoor and lit me a smoke.

 

[wildsweetone]

mmm yummy. getting my ee fix now that i have time, i'm going to treat myself and spend time re-reading this thread. i've missed the world through your eyez sir. xox

 

[PandoraGlitters]

I agree with WSO, EE. Wonderful writing. Vivid and deeply evocative.

 

[champagne1982]

"naugahyde nipples in a line" My fave line of this poetry. Good work sir eeeeeeeeee!

 

[eagleyez]

You are all too kind.

Thanks for commenting on the fevered machinations of this blithering insomniac.

 

[eagleyez]

new morning

birds singing halleluya,
flutes and violins down in the thicket,
the bramble overture
while way east the nectarine sky
swallows the stars
one by one,

fingernail moon,
overseer of night,
catches me dreaming
looks me in the eye
and
gives way to the
sun.

pressure treated
floorboards groan
as,
standing,
I go in for more coffee
and the Orpheus story.

 

[BooMerengue]

sit here sidesaddle on my throne
redeyed king with dirty ankles
the Poncetrain queen warbles
thru her cowboy hat
3 chords and a glass of bourbon
powers her engine.

Chavez retells of a sympathetic
Oliver Stone chewing coca leaves
and regails the UN half asleeps
of the power of cinema and Obama's smile,

After Netanyahu holds up the written
copy of the final solution signed by Himmler
And the blueprint of Aushwitz as he asks the
Iranian delegation "Is this a lie."

Ghadafi looking like Mickey Rourke
rambles thru bar napkins pasted with
red pen on the history of the world
as good as Mel Brooks ever was.

The tyrant of Tehran makes my back ache
yet I sit forward to read his lips
as the pedal steel breezes
thru my cobwebbed apartment,

And Charlamain, Atilla, Patton, Roosevelt, Tojo,
Crazy Horse, Lincoln, Donner, Wilson, Stonewall Jackson,
Pope Leo, Pontius Pilate, Churchill, Reagan, Osama bin Laden,
Manson, Zodiac, Berkowitz, Limbaugh, Kennedy, Nero, Sir Gawain,
Wilt Chamberlain, Malcom X, James Earl Ray, Keith Richards,
Shostakovich, Willie Mays, the Dalai Lama, Mary Magdalene,
Buster Keaton and my dead mother

dance thru my eyes.

2 guitars, bass and drums,
genuflect at perfection,
give thanks for dogs.

Geeeeze!! You blow me over! *falls into a heap. I am the Queen of Paltry.

 

[champagne1982]

Geeeeze!! You blow me over! *falls into a heap. I am the Queen of Paltry.

Far from paltry dear lady. I love your challenge response poem over on the How To.. thread. I thought I'd check in and mention a little naughty I did at an open mic reading on Second Life last evening. They asked for personal favourites and I read Flippy, I managed to read it without losing my control and bawling, finally... the first time ever I think. It still moistens my eyes to read it and brings a slight quiver to my voice, though. I love you and I think I love Flippy almost as much.

 

[BooMerengue]

Far from paltry dear lady. I love your challenge response poem over on the How To.. thread. I thought I'd check in and mention a little naughty I did at an open mic reading on Second Life last evening. They asked for personal favourites and I read Flippy, I managed to read it without losing my control and bawling, finally... the first time ever I think. It still moistens my eyes to read it and brings a slight quiver to my voice, though. I love you and I think I love Flippy almost as much.

Really?? How was it received? I wouldn't dare. I wouldn't cry I don't think but I would be scared shitless. I don't mind, but I wish I knew where to put that so others who don't come here could read it. Like in a real Mag. Any ideas? Sorry EE. I DO wish you would make a book so I could have these words when I dont have a puter. And Anges and Champs and Blues and Rainmans and Taths and wicked Evie and JD4George and rybby and so on. Couldn't we make a book?

 

[eagleyez]

On memory avenue
I rise with the sun,
Waiting on rooster
And Mockingbird
Singsongs, to go back further
than the moon.

The Hickory tree
mimics his ancestors,
Shaggy bark and ocean green leaves,
Like all the brown flowing hair
Now sprayed with grey.

On negro streets I walked alone
Frisco financial district.
Toss a penny in the fiddler's case
Hitch a ride to Montana
Via Denver,

Long before all this meeting occured,
I was a vandal and a thief,
My sternum throbs as my
Chords string together.

Back south again,
I never imagined
being east of
Arizona.

 

[eagleyez]

Kabuki theatre destination,
Cross Bay Bridge with
Barracuda windows jammed down,
My chainsaw hat blown askew
While further out the Marin headlands
Teamed with seals.

Flesheaters open
Followed by X.
Sneezing blow on
Cafateria tables,
Billy Zoom languid with
Still life gold top Les Paul.

All the John Doe's
Warbled in baritone,
"hey baby, its the fourth of July,
hey baby, dont you cry."

Ensanada burrito vendors and
Skyrockets 5 for a buck,
We aimed high
Until the cantina man
Brought his empty gun
Down on the dune,

The sharks swam
As all this pacific tide
Washed up close
To my high sierra
Down bag,
The meteor shower
As bright as the mountain,shot the black sky with colour,
Down on sea level as the jetty roared
Thru the night.

 

[butters]

tasting this thread, it leaves me wanting more.

so glad this got bumped up with new stuff, as i've not yet had the pleasure.

 

[butters]

She was in trouble,
up above a torrent, steamrolled by the silver sheet
down the boulder field, granite leaps we traverse- to the
side hill-underbrush, while Sequoia and Doug Fir dance higher up.
Then There's that wave, wave hello to the
Tumultuous beauty, she plans to scour you clean.
She's in trouble.

Silvers and Brownies hide their silver
In the back flows of the torrent.
Trees drip a smelling salt of greenest atmosphere,
I breath it in and swell at the middle, breath slow and
Easy.
But she's in trouble.

Now I been in trouble my own self just this past, recently gone by,
Watching ball games, comedy is best, weather jazz hit or miss.
But as things mysteriously go,
I come out the other side in a nick of time,
And now she is in trouble.

Above tree line, dry rock top circled by lakes.
We wash down the boulder drop, hang loose and roll,
You'll make it that way.

Come to smallest of lakes, atop the viewfinder outcrop,
360 degrees of vision,
Toss shale stones easily over the length of the lake.
Here, we will sit and stay here.
She looked troubled yet managed a shy smile.

From hence trouble meets trouble,
And decides it only is what it is,
Like Alpine rain come up sudden.
Gone again quickly.

don't fight it,
take a bath and get right out
to dry.

It went along and the waterdrop slows and
Lupin and wild Bayberry splash across the accidental homestead.

we talked, we walked, we counted meteors, we blew chrystal breath.

And in the morning, trouble had gotten too close to the waterwell and fell
In. and we did not notice it gone.

2 dry chords, up then down,
fingernails make the connection
and simple stories whisper down the line.

The dust of the West, come riding through from New Orleans,
Further east to the tree land at Appilachicola,
South to Cedar Key, east thru Archer...
That way.

She's got her memory hung out on a line to dry.
She's not in trouble,
And I surmise how easy that was as I fly like a kite,
Getting clean and transparent.

I sense a perennial wild Rosemary, forever deciding to live again and again.
Chapparal to scruff my knees and legs,
Looking for squaw wood amid dry thistles,
As night takes a deep breath
And sits comfortably on a ledge face
Up against a tree.

sigh. you create an entire reality with these words, so i feel as though i've been there, trod the loose stones, heard the wind through the sequoia and fir, tasted the dust and the tang of bayberry ...

She's got her memory hung out on a line to dry.
She's not in trouble,
And I surmise how easy that was as I fly like a kite,
Getting clean and transparent.

a wonderful journey