The stream (all workshops)
Confessions
She is Venus
watched from a distance,
making merry
with her soiled sisters,
buying rounds of mulled wine
in the shabby brothel,
fortifying resolve
against the dangers
of chilly night.
Finishing my tot of gin,
I place thempty vessel
on the scarred
wooden bar top
as the soft smile
of a refined gentleman
plays at the corners of my lips.
Awkward Thoughts…
They shovel words down our rarely used throats,
trying to make us swallow or gag so very hard.
Standing on squared circles like silly old goats,
with Hamster chin pouched necks, bellies of lard.
Angry though we get we’re always in the wrong,
excuses are made for our uneducated upbringing.
We can never use truth to voice our helpless song,
unfortunate people trying to sing, no just mudslinging.
Frank Wright had an idea
Bob Frost had an idea
Which popped into his head
Which popped into his mind
A vision of a structure
A vision of a poem
Which both knew how
to transform into
REALITY
Frank's specialty was physical
Bob's specialty was word
perfect slalom
through vintage track hiss
these lights gleam bright
like halos
like second sight
and you let the belt slip through
your lacquer
the thin mouth open feeding
the stream
a scream of cooked purity
I can fly as I slip away
so easy how heaven
can ease to hell
bent over with smudged glasses
bad teeth
your spine like a worn range of
mountians
like a sadness in the spring thaw
every tear is a burning fire
that turns a beating .........................................................heart
into ashes. dodgeing glances
feeds the insecurity making intimidation................heavier
over struggling lungs. gasping for mercy
but mercy is more rare......................................................than
a kiss from gold.
the pleading grows strong enough to bend..................lead
Call it shimmering bliss
Or wild gleaming glees
They are the bounteous reap
Of they who have guessed the stars right
Robed in jewelries of glitters
They deem the world a beauteous palace
Where is played a ballad of solace without hassle
People are ugly,
hideous
when I am
They are gorgeous and lovely,
when I am
Is that so strange?
What is the common factor?
The dark gloomy sky is bilious
or filled with strange and wonderful images
When it is bright blue,
a bit trite perhaps,
or joyous.
The mountains portend devastation
or rise in grandeur
The trees drops limbs,
life threateningly
or stand in life near eternal
there is only one common factor.
So,
you wanted to be a porn king,
my little rascal,
and you thought big
and you talked a good schtik,
going through all the motions
until you came to my conclusion.
It's all right, Jack, go on. Write poems
of ejaculation and I'll read them
on occasion. But please don't be breaking
all the mirrors in your house fucking yourself to death,
you might get cut out of your own show while it'cccs still
on the road.
Amen.
you sighed
so softly
then died
I had no hate,
it was just cause,
it was too late
to stop
a simple clause
was all it took
was what you said you said
I love her
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