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C r i n o l i n e r

hull shaped
for swift swirl

like the nights
falling thick beneath the
quiet clatter of the light

parking lot ball halls
transitory transitions
lucite from crystal

a cold week pierces
distress through fashionable

angular sun on shadowed
muse faces and rugged ravaged
on the bus
oblivion in the ride
the beauty of the wild
and anonymity of suburbia

gloss skies from a jet
stream vacant and far

gas heater vents sending
forth their plumes of wisps
across jagged rooftops
and distanced thoughts

Editing stage: 


I like the way you draw the scene, the way you incorporate the images, and the way you do not pretend anything but rather let your words stand to provide us with this snippet from life.

There is no punctuation, but it is a consistent use of no punctuation. There is no hard structure, but it is a consistent use of no hard structure.

The piece reads as free verse should to me. It's the thoughts exhaled on a breath rather than droned from the desktop or shouted from the pulpit.

This is a piece I enjoyed reading.


Jonathan Moore

snow crystals falls past the quiet stand of urban forests..sleeping dreamers
and task thinkers reading...the young in the worlds...the aged in the denizens
and the walkers walking in the crisp quiet out there...damp and refreshing..

wearing my dollarstore glasses looking retroed ..the striped dress shirt
the cardigan..knife in horizontal belt sheath...the smaller one on right..
beside the smartphone..above the key ring and wallet chain....
smoke box in back in crush proof pocket....sideburns and hair like the
seventies early...

I watched Nam live on canadian news....the young men were arriving
via toronto....others in uniform to chat with the elder veterans of the war of
the second....long haired youth in the stretched metal of detriot nature
in small ontario towns....everyone drove with the windows down and
hung out...barbequed....played card games as a unit..a group..
family platoons....."Evil hearted you"..... i did not listen to this as a young my time when Wim Wenders was making his works in germany.
in high school drinking whiskey from my locker and talking to the rich
good girls in their expensive clothes over coffee in the cafe.....
my cowboy boots and replica american flight jacket my
mom bought me...then worth over three hundred bucks...i was spoiled
but we didnt come from brother and his chums parked
their tube frame dune buggies around the house of my fathers and
listening to Black Sabbath......then i was hank williams and johnny cash
reading books all night till the sun came up....all we did was hold down
the fort and cut the grass...make sure the locals didnt cart things off..
Belinda carlisle and Cream magazine...Heavy Metal...
Henry Miller and Gwen Mckewland came later....marg atwood....

nam was pressed into me like the sun.....and we were the desert
dwellers at the mirage of all great things to come...or the burden of
a nuclear aftermath......chernobyl and thatcher..reagan..hinkley
and pretti baby..brooke sheilds...

smoked camels and drank tenessee bourban
misspelled everything on the typewriter

i draw cartoons now the same
fast emotive lineworks
like the japanese writer with brush
its the movements so much as the
words.....the flow and dance
of it through the mind and mouth
if read aloud

like a theft
like a drop
the wheelman
still rolling

music was always there
eight tracks casettes
cds and these miracle machines
that need recharging
like a junkie needs the fix

zap me up

crinoliner was crinoline
the old dances
politics and sex
spys and intelligence
the uber elite
something im never going
see and never dreamt of
just read it

but the love of fabrics
of structure
and our rigorous love of

photos im taking againg
black and whites or color
with the lighting amped to
drown out focus like they
like to do now

and when im walking or on
the bus quiet for a while
i think of those times
when i was a child
when war arrived in friends
escaping or booking off their
tour over there....
the power of media
and life in one day...

when i come here
its a scene
not an event man
just a cool glide
like the glimmer of the glade
where the tigers
where the snow queens

some say i take life as a game
but i know the rules
punctuation and theme
body rhymne of which one day
i will learn to spell may arrive..

thank you for your comment

author comment

I thought your imagery was brilliant I cant fault it, another bookmarked


love JC xxx

("Always and Forever") - (Never lose a holy curiosity.-Albert Einstein)

" let me count the ways i love thee...'
is that we write for one another....poetry for poets....
unabashed at times...

its a purity that publishing for my own opinion would
change things...
like my way in my life...
i like living on nickels and dimes
soup kitchens
and street level pure dialogue exchanges
with the challenged on the street
like stienbeck and others
with them and through their eyes i become
real like the velveteen rabbit
i am becoming real
i am loving myself through
the eyes of others rather then
the mirror of narcism
which sustained me for so long
and still fault of my own does
at times...\
im not in denial about that part of
my own life...

but i try to create works that can stand
aside of my own bearing and ego
pride and all the sins

thank you

author comment

You write with honesty and without guile there is a rawness and sharpness that always accompanies your poems, I write for myself and I write for others I write because I love writing, sometimes its hard to get the ego out of the words its a hard thing to do in telling some truths.

We all walk different paths but we all come back here time and again to share our thoughts and words with each other, sometimes the feedback is harsh but that's part of the game there are those very rare times that someone leaves a comment to bait me at those times I don't have an answer cause this fish isn't biting. I love a lively discussion but there is a line between lively and ugly and plain rude

My life is mundane compared with others, but I am a watcher I have always been one, I love looking at people the world around us taking in the technicolour hue of their lives...

love JC xxx

("Always and Forever") - (Never lose a holy curiosity.-Albert Einstein)

wanting the beauty from ugly lives..
if it works living in glass houses so be it..
i belonged or with much
because my basic mantra was..

"who else is going to do this.."

watcher.......everyone knows watchers watch for
something.....they keep an eye on these..
watchers are not tourists watch my back..
i need a driver..
loan me a few bucks..(never to be seen again..)
value is in contact stories...

people will pay thousands to see whales in the wild..
and moan about the feel of the human contact

we are taught basics..rules morality...splendor of
television smiles..the nice nice feel..
this place has rules set up to work..create and
you know....behave..
people will throw rocks

rainbows are the moments
given...rare special times
slow..calm..or in the quick rush
out of no where

the keep on trucking moments
have a good one
that kind of shit

ha...good shit..

speaking of which i have that to do..
things i gotta do on the weekend
dealing with others....things.. ha ha
im not a hermit
i love the chaos of others

slap you hug you steal a few dollars
but leave with some....
damn humans....grrrr

(slap affectionate....violence is wrong..)

poetry is not valued today as much but its
coming back...its showing up in the news
as metaphor more and more
years ago one had not as much rights as today
and today the world has more woes

however......the internet is great
and this |Neopoet allows us to write
all about the globe
about stuff.

i really am poor
really worked in the mud
handed over money to my women
which i still do
i could hang onto it
but why....

im not a stinge
im not buying them..or friendship
or helps
it eases aches and pains

it has no concience but humans
do.......time spent with people
is important

all my women and i have a few
like my letters..when im stable
its relaxing...
when i worked on cars with my buds
or houses...on runs..
relaxing on machines
etc....thats good too

i have dreamy eyes for them
mud and rainbows..

they gotta kick my ass but i can
do a lot
just slouched all over things
becausae im tall
resting my big ego

(that didnt sound right...ha ha ha)

crinoliner is a good write...

i work part time and we men get the lunchroom
to ourselves for twenty minutes for our jokes
ex change etc....
man cave time...

and we all listen to our mates wives

modern world..

i have no money..just cologne
cigarettes wild hair and eyes
dress shirts and tight jeans
articulation and this voice..

trickster hipster..

ah love and hate...

i give of time and money
bitching about it.but i do it
and write poetry for free
because most or some would
make profits from this talent
and i would be a prick if i made
good money

the day i cant write good poetry is the
day i delete my account keystroke
and so far ive been lucky on this run

gotta now walk two miles in the city
which i will enjoy for this kitty cats
painting for someone up north
i make no money on these things
but they are very great paintings
and people love them...
and i appreciate my works
stomp about the mall looking hip or bad
doing my five dollar puny bottle
of playboy gold cologne on me
a little dab will do yah..
my free coffee from stamps at the burger
chain at the foodcourt
maybe internet connection from the mall
its always on again off again
check out the wild life meet some other
old wolves like me maybe to chat with
put this thing with the bus people after
i wrap it up and head home..
have a few smokes and stand around
with interesting people at the doors
for overhearing convos....

thats my weekend....very very simple

and when i make time
write poetry......


author comment
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