Current poems in progress...

Tirade
Walk in the shadows,

Get up.
It's a long way down
the hill to this country
of boarded up frowns.
People get high.
People get stoned.
If time is money
then life is gold.
Don't feel lonely,
blue skinned and cold.
Give me shelter
from days of old.
Mellow me out
you sweet satellite.
Drunken angel
hell on your side.

Before Revelation

These are spots in your love feasts,
while they feast with you without fear, serving only themselves.
They are clouds without water, carried about by the winds;
late autumn trees without fruit,
twice dead,
pulled up by the roots;
raging waves of the sea,
foaming up their own shame;
wandering stars
for whom is reserved
the blackness of darkness
forever.
JUDE 1:12-13
-------
a faithful paraphrase of Jude KJV but please consider v 22 and the beautiful Doxology
Peace be with you
Jake
-------
Peace/Shalom to you Jake. Not a paraphrase, but NKJV. And yes, to YAHWEH be the glory and may he richly bless the heart you have for the lost.
-------
that we are here at all is the blessing. left to our own devices we would surely eat our neighbors. is it intervention which sustains us?
i wouldn't rule it out. yes, peace and yet, more peace; at least a space to think and breathe before we offend something wiser and kinder than ourselves...f
-------
Let all those who seek You rejoice
and be glad in You;
Let such as love Your salvation
say continually,
"The LORD be magnified!"
Psalm 40:16 NKJV

Autumn

Late at night, I sat at a bar called “nowhere”
to have a drink with others with my same fears
strangers in solitude engaged in frail companionship,
drowning our life´s insecurities in tobacco and beer,
while on the inside my soul drowns in copious tears.
I raised my bottle to the tired-looking guy next to me,
¨It is autumn. I am alone, thinking of her, as leaves fall.¨
he said as he acknoledged me with gesture that I could see,
¨Her presence was the only light that made me whole
replaced by the melody of my soul´s pity that I can´t ignore.
Those bright sunsets of my distant, happy childhood
That warm wind that shakes the children of spring,
the woods´ lovely sounds which echo new life,
Without her presence just do not hold meaning,
and those winds now only carry me to internal strife.
It is autumn. It seems that I debate my life´s resignation,
I am alone and my body feels that autumn is an empty journey,
my feet have grown tired in the long roads to love and pain,
a pain that pulsates and weakens and yet remains and remains
until I find confort inside a bottle, my new best friend.¨
I nodded as I savored my last taste of fermented barley,
Thinking of you, hearing a familiar song from a stranger,
words of long lost love, the music of the autumn night
My hopeless friend could easily be confused with me,
but it was my decision as I was the one that set you free.
¨H¨

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Brought to you by Budweiser
-------
give me a break.
-------
Hermestri:
Excellent I believe that "style" often announces a superb writer. Three lines into your beautiful poem, I knew who this poet is. Thus can many acclaimed poets be identified by their "style". I'll sit with you in a bar any day.
sg

-------
I sometimes wonder
where you are
it's autumn,
leaves now fall
are you near or far?
Have you found love aknew?
the kind I had for you,
gentle, caring and true
do you sometimes miss me too?
because happy days in life are few.
.
xoxo2

-------
"H", You always touch me with your rhymes, so again I add my grain of sand. xoxo2
-------
"H"-it occurs to me (belatedly) that you are not Hermestri. What an idiot that makes me in my comments above about how I can recognize his style anywhere. LOL. I seem to recall that you explained about a former poem you had written in "Hermestri style" that you admire his work. Either I am a fool or you are an excellent imitator. I don't think that Hermestri hangs out at bars, probably. He probably is more likely to be found wandering the stratosphere searching for his dark images. Anyway, I liked your poem and I'd still have a drink with you. lol
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I love the ending of the poem, "I was the one who set you free." That's the pits, I know. Been there. Done that. You know it was your doing but it hurts anyhow.
By the way, does no one find it interesting that nobody fesses up. I mention that this might not be Hermestri but an imposter and nobody comes forward. Interesting, my dear Watson.
sg
-------
Perhaps it is Moriarty, my dear sg. Come quickly, the game is afoot...f
-------
Perhaps. Perhaps. Such strange things go on in this world. Thank you for your comment.
-------
I was in love with the moon (or thought I was in love with the moon) until the sun blinded me.
sg
-------
Hermestri:
Time to post again.
sg

Your Angel

Hold on to your angel and don't look down
to the writhing masses of demons below
Hold the hand strongly with your own
If you fall now you may never, ever
find a new angel
Never turn your back on a good thing
or get comfortable with love
Always cherish, and be amazed by it
for each love is precious, unique
the only one
Hold on to your angel and don't let go
let the whispers of evil dissipate
As you fly so high above
to a place you've never been before
...

Bonfire

The smell of bonfire
and life
which breathes into me
from one mouth
to another
and resonates
with such a dizzy state
of memories
in which we try to create
specifically on command
but not necessarily planned
and by the end of the night
time has a pulse
beating so strangely
to the rhythm of you
now on my side

`
the deer.

the van hit it,
hard and fast,
no specific lines or details, just a noise. loud and dull all at once.
half a breath in and then everything started getting
all painfully slow, slow like you can't do anything because there's no time but you know this isn't supposed to be lasting so long, not like this,
going down and then up confused with adrenaline and back down twisting and squirming and pawing and back down and around and down and down and down
then
back and forth, trapped by the roadside fences, driven to knees bowing and shaking again and again, fur and blood and spit leaking from it's mouth and matted around pleading eyes.
head down, a few breaths, and finally, thank God, freedom.


)Kaleb
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This could not have been captured so rapidly and, at the same time, quite delicately. Amazing. You rock my world Kaleb.
-------
This is such a quality picture of death. I can my own death (when it happens) as something like this, even if I'm lying in a hospital bed. Wonderful image.

`
callahans wake

I feel the wait for you
crawl beneath my skin
moving
but nowhere in particular
so delicately scattered
awaiting in the summer
of my mind
The Croatian Queen
awaits for me.
I would be your fool
a fool for only you
you fool me too
with a single look
that is
impossible.
-------
Beautiful!
Cris

The Truth

I hear complements
from friends
and strangers
words about beauty
filled with curiosity
smiles and innuendo
with hidden desire
but none compare
with your shy
smile.
.
xoxo2
-------
I love this. -Jesse

In London

beneath the new bridge
offwhite stems of broken pipes
amber bones of beasts


a lost meal ticket
two complimentary beers
she shares her secret


-------
beautiful.
þ
-------
Thank you :)
I think now I would change 'shares' to 'tells'.
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have to agree with p, "tells" implies something she knows, rather than something she has, much more interesting...f

`
the dance, for awhile.

i anticipate
blacks and blues and bruises,
near misses and occasional jabbs to the jaw,
everyone dancing around me, with dance shoes, with glares, with fists,
but with you in my corner,
gentle, nodding, knowing, waiting, healing,
i'll avoid the knock-out-blow,
the knock-out-blow.


)Kaleb

December Sunshine
a construction workers painkiller for cold

In the cool December sunshine of your smile
I sit and bask for a while.
Chill in the air
and silver in your hair.
Icy blue and shiny too,
the light in your eyes
and comfort in the size...
Voice like a breeze
chilling me to freeze.
I await the coming thaw,
the wonder, and the awe
of the cool December sunshine in your smile.
~
*Phenom

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well done. i really like the rhythm and the almost-repetition in the first and last lines. i didn't feel like your rhyme was forced. good job! *grace

loaded ode, not an ode at all. and mixed preludes

1.
what i hold sacred:
a green bottle,
a container of pills,
the surface of the sun,
my little ground zero,
what i've loved,
all i've lost,
some willow trees,
your mouth.
-
2.
can i watch you cry?
you are a legend.
can i watch you learn defeat?
-
3.
lost in a forgotten
zig zag dream
of angles gone wrong
and curves cut sharp,
angels gone wrong.
my hand clutches this
cemetary ticket stub.
-
(main body)
so i hear
you are an
ADDICT.
we are not each other,
so what's your
friction
story
reason to live
therapy
recovery
process
skill
worth
blindness?
ah,
you have no time
to kill me with.
your skill is blindness,
not worth this process
of recovery, of therapy;
and it is your reason
to live, your story in
your head full of friction.
so i hear
you bleed
FREELY.
we don't need to see it.
but may i watch you cry?
and watch.
ah.
jerry
5/19/08
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I really like all of this but I find section 2 particularly impressive.
Did you used to post here as Jake a long time ago?
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nah. it's just me, jerry. since '98. thank you for your reading it and your compliment.
-jerry
-------
holy cow, i can't believe i've been reading what you've been writing for 10 years now! do you ever wonder what we've done to and for eachother through this page? i wonder how many regulars have been posting for over 10 years?
-chandler
-------
i'm coming up on 8.5 years, with a 4 year hiatus during which i wrote nothing here or anywhere else. excellent poetry, btw, jerry. *grace
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i'm at about 9.5....and the best thing about the yellow page is that it's always here, no matter what else is changing, poetry is a constant. great poem jerry.
)Kaleb
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Hey, I'm the person who initially asked if Jerry used to post as "Jake".
Chandler, in response to your question, this site had a completely unforeseeable and fundamental effect upon my entire life.
I started writing poetry here about 10 years ago, then after some encouragement from the 'regulars' of the time I started submitting my work to magazines and e-zines. As a direct consequence of that I met my future wife, and the entire course of my life changed.
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this is pretty damn cool. this page has made significant differences in my life as well. it was a completely random find ten years ago. how long for you, chandler? and mystery person, how long? i am wondering who you are.. and thanks *grace and )Kaleb, i always enjoy reading you folks, but never seem to quite know how to comment. and chandler, too. i've been away for awhile, but it feels good to revisit. raul, p (that character i cannot type), *phenom, INZANE, perry, Jesse, f (is that fallon?), Jake, and plenty of anonymous poets and others...man, i always miss you guys. bring it.
-jerry
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Good work here, jerry. And to answer, I've got 8 years under my belt, and though I may leave for a while, I always find my way back to read, post, or comment. I enjoy this page (and those who post) immensely. *Phenom*
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Hi there.. did someone mention my name? You with the life changing event
Good on ya my friend.. I don't write poems much anymore.. prose for the most part but I do come here to read from time to time and note with pleasure how some names return over and over with better and better work. Proud of you.
The yellow page now looks so much better than the class of 97 but I would not trade those days and times for anything.
God bless you all.. Jake

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shhh....
we're all sleeping now.
zzzzzz....i am only barely awake.
07-16-08
-jerry
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I haven't counted the years but I've been coming to this site for many years. I go back to Audee, Hermestri, and Fallon among all you other fine poets who have been here so long. Though there is no back and forth conversation here, I forget my loneliness, when I come here. It is always amazing to find so much talent here.
sg
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"in curves cut sharp" what and acute line!..In Steinbeck's, "Sweet Thursday", he has Mack giving a toast, "to all of us", he says, a foreshadowing of Carver, it seems, and i would like to offer the same. thank you jerry...f
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I started here about 11 yrs. ago and come back to visit. I learned so much from the good poets here. The place changed my life also. Remember Penny. Alan, Annie, Jake, ?????? A crazy time and lots of fun!!!!! I have loved poetry all my life and this place told me why. Jane (J)
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I, too have been coming here--more off than on, lately--for 10 years. Does anyone know what happened to Window Watcher? JFC

prostration

Snow
decays
under bare
feet.

I
remember --

þ
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yeah this is simple but it's not. it struck me.
-jerry
-------
thx jerry
þ
-------
meets all the requirements of beauty, truth, and simplicity.
thanks for this...~f

you were(right here)i am

i pretend like i do.
like i have pianos,
you.
i pretend to hold your hand.
i wake up
with the remote.
colored wires
making music
in far away boxes.
so i pretend like i do.
like i have pianos,
wires,
you.
06-09-08
-jerry

suggestion

I fall onto my
knees
in the snow,

birches
flanking me,
sleet freezes.

dying, shivering,
eyes wide

þ
-------

as _____ as it seems

jammed
into the dense end
of a burnt yellow mood
with fiberglass and old food;
measured seventeen feet long
and leaking at every
seam, all windows
windowless.
fast sound of
a pencil gone
mad, hissing and scratching
over fine watermarks,
making sense now
because it is in the other room.
06-17-08
-jerry
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Much fun jerry, reminds me of the first
boat that i built. If it weren't for
cussin', the damn thing would never have
floated...f

Tears
I am not waiting
nor am I searching
I am just contemplating
to hold in the pain

They fall for time wasted.
Years....5 exactly
like a nurtured vine that bears no fruit.
~
They fall for spent energy.
Used up and tapped out
as the meter keeps spinning.
~
They fall for missed oportunity.
Chances come and gone
like the last flight home.
~
They fall for aging beauty.
Gray hairs and celulite
where youth and vitality once lived.
~
They fall for many reasons:
Irreplaceable days, weeks, seasons.
Unfulfilled dreams, potential lost, forgotten love.
~
And though these tears fall,
know this above all...
I'm not crying for you.
~
Phenom*

-------
This poem is amazingly beautiful. Thank you. I feel a little on the edge with some of it. For instance, I think its tears. It's most certainly tears. Is "they" good here? I love the ending. Oh, my gosh. It's for the writer, Isn't it? I'm the one who can't tell Hermestri from his imitator, so it's no wonder, I might get confused. I sure love this poem though.
sg
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yes i like this concept of the larger picture,
yet not large enough to contain some egos. good
thoughts here...
~f
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I guess she gave him the skinniest years of her life. ~Cooker
-------
A wonderful poet, Wilma McDaniel, from the San Joaquin Valley died a few months ago at the age of 93. She came as a child with the fruit pickers and wrote poems like the following as she grew older:
Burned in the Test
I have wasted so much
sunrise
scraping burned oatmeal
from a charred pot
I have often profaned
bright noon
into three pm
waiting by the telephone
for a call that never came
Why can't I be satisfied
to soak a pot overnight
and be content with new shoestrings
when the old ones snap
I have spent a cat's lifetime
tying short pieces together
I have blued broken handles
on many cups
waited days to find out
they never hold
and been burned in the test
sg

Cool cascades of time
Have we fallen in line
To forget what it's like to be young
I have soldiered the fall
Memory wasted it all
To much work, far less pleasure, no fun
So I envisioned a night
Backdrop the Las Vegas lights
My bank roll as tight as a drum
The cooler was there
Once againg with that cold black stare
But I walked away with millions
The odds were five hundred to one

you got your money and your life twice. good for you! nice story...f
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666 lives

i have had my chances. and i do not feel sorry or sad. how do i know i have had my chances? i have had Good People tell me.
i was given many. given. allowed. had them bestowed upon me. blessed with them. thrown at me. rolled up and lit for me. cut up.
and i used them. it has been a hard cube to swallow. like bone dice. to realize. i used them and the people that gave them to me. now there has been a
shift. minutes and months go by. static. there is no more change or adventure or discovery. and it is not nihilism. because i had a good time. now, static.
no one asks why. i hear a lot of why everywhere, but no one asks.
i cannot start a story, true or fantasy. i am only good at the middle part. if i can get you that far, then i have you. until i have to make the ending. then, drifting.
my pain is not real. i fabricate it. just like i fabricate the past. achievements. places. i am indominable like this. and i promise only to complicate.
my finger that was broken was your neck that snapped. the tear that came to me was your blindness. my cough your cancer. my serendipity your destiny.
what it boils down to is only boiling from your heat. mine comes from a burned out half life. i killed the men-women who built the concrete dome around me.
i have had my chances and things have never been so swell. i went to a holy place with floating cameras and high ceilings and a woman touched me.
her hands were very cold.
nothing has happened to me unless you were there. close your eyes turn your head and i am gone. or i freeze. look back and i look at you. static.
allotted. the chips are not down they are just gone. my blood is shrinking and the married side has become alien. green and classified.
and i know i am there in mirrors. i will walk by. walk on by.

-------
very sad.
sg

will you breathe your life into my lungs again?

against, again, a gain

clutching into the past
because (looking for)
the future is no jigsaw
puzzle. more like a
piece of ether.
 
a tourist in my memory,
of course is me.
and it makes me a
rubbernecker for all
common things.
 
a picture of downtown
and it's mainly windows
and concrete.
 
blood capsules in
the crosswalks,
packets of protein.
 
refineries tangled up in
painted steel and
sodium stars.
 
warehouses fronted by
steam and plain
coveralls.
 
rain rain and decapitated
bridges. brown water,
boating accidents.
 
mother pruning roses
on her back,
eyes closed.
 
'get the lantana
in the ground
before you go,
 
baby.'
-jerry
06/30/08

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Really good imagery--especially the first 2 stanzas--I enjoyed the read! JFC

ub40 and virginity

at that time,
i failed to see the quirk,
or maybe the
pretty,
in the ub40
song that she summed our
love into.
 
it took a long time to
convince that
elvis did it first,
the song.
 
it took much less
time to convince
her that she
took my
virginity.
-jerry
07-02-08

mersyndol

ash
falls,
choking.

time
passes
in silence.

my breath
pane of ice
fractures

þ

what happened
to the grubs we picked/from the oak twig/that spring we found the sun

You remember,
the golden days,
when children would run
straight into my arms,
and hug as tight as
their little bodies would allow.
The closeness of cheek to cheek,
little fingers, dirty feet.
And now a chill takes me;
the haven turned
to a precipice; me on one side,
them on the other.
My arms can't reach,
my hands can't wipe the tears
on their cheeks, my cries frozen into
silence.
I am alone with misery;
she holds me by the hand...
-------
I think this is a wonderful poem. Somehow, it could be better maybe, stronger. But it's good as it. I'd take the last two lines off. Who is "she" and we know your misery from the other lines.
sg

Julia

A true redhead
hiding under
shades of brown.
People complained
she was too positive
too rosy with her
fair skin, transparent
soul.
She wore green high heels
distracting from her
true self.
Black crisp suit-that
should hide her well.
She made them comfortable,
but wilted into
their creation,
a product of complaints,
dry and plastic.

-------
This is superb.
Regarding telling us who you are:
An artist friend of mine told me, "People don't remember the artist or the writer. They remember the painting or the poem." Well, of course, that is not true with the Rembrants and the Shakepeares of the world. As an example of the above, think right now of the poems you've just read here. Do you recall the lines of the poems, the poems, or the authors. Are there some that stand out for you? Still, I'd love to know who you are because I think this poem is wonderful.
-------
lol. the above anonymous comments were made by sg.

Now

Leave me now.
Leave me
before I melt,
before I dissapear
into a sigh,
before what's left
floats on the wind.
Leave me
so I can breathe in life,
so I can twist and turn,
and grow.
Leave me
before my years hang like
heavy pearl earrings, stained
and tarnished,
before I forget what it's like
to live...
Can you hear my whispers?
They're all around you
leave me
-------
Very poignant.
sg

Words
a tumble of squiggles from your lips/were that they dance into lines

These words
are ointment,
a sticky balm
to heal, to close up
the red and raw.
Self-applied
they stop the bleeding
preserve the life
in small jars.
And like blood spurting,
release comes
in the sharing with others
of potions and herbs
for healing, for closing,
for living...

Captain Teddy Bear, White and Furry, homage to the Stuffed-Living

They sewed you with great thread,
Fine thread,
Happy thread.
.
Your were stuffed, and tufted,
Given black glass eyes and
A smart, red ribbon for your neck.
.
Maybe you lived on a shelf
In the aisled jungles of
Untamed PreFab Africa.
.
My explorer friends found you,
Captain Teddy Bear, I presume.
They nursed you from zip ties.
.
I'd had too much speed
Opening night, plus coffee,
Plus jitters to cope.
.
They were all smiling because
I was 32 and playing a child.
So my gift was you, Captain.
.
You had been rescued from
The jungle and brought
To me. Out of your element.
.
In a small dressing room and
I was embarrassed, for me, for you,
For them.
.
I shook and took you, and you
Debuted that night.
You stole my show.
.
I took you to my little hut,
And put you on a shelf.
You took that position with honor.
.
Then came the Years That
Passed Slowly, and I did not
Look at you.
.
You held your ground.
Against many blankets of
Spiderwebs.
.
Against the tar from my
Smoke that covered your
Heritage.
.
Then, on the Day the Sun
Finally Rose, I saw you.
All the time, right there.
.
I put my hand through the webs,
I pounded you against the chair,
I rubbed your eyes.
.
I looked at you and thought
Of your commitment,
Your dedication.
.
A lesson in being left behind
And found again
And made clean.
.
I washed you, spun you,
Fabric softened you.
And there you were.
.
Now, Captain Teddy Bear,
White and Furry, you
Will stay with me.
.
Boon companion,
Dream adventure partner,
Arm rest.
.
Take your walkabouts
At night, while I sleep.
I know you come back.
07-20-08
-jerry
-------
very nice stuff!!! Make a book for kids. It would need nothing more than this.
Make a book for adults. It would need nothing more than this

Oh

Take a step back then
breathe
If I were you
I wouldn't waste your time
you see
pretty soon they'll be taking body parts
from me
and it always starts
when the electricity shoots
straight the veins
as I double over
holding my pain
I'll say it again
please, just step away
you don't want my money
besides, soon there won't be
much left of me.

`
gone.

again the curve, the line, the road,
again the smell, the song,
again the taste and touch,
again the love.
again the love.
again the love.

)Kaleb
-------
i'm right there with this one )Kaleb. i like this style. good one.
-jerry
-------
thanks jerry.
)Kaleb

i am thinking, just now;
remembering, really,
of times i come to you;
`
hands cupped above the hearth,
of yesterdays coals,
banked and smoldering.
~
and also of those nights,
i might fan them into flame;
~
or of other nights,
when i drink the fire of home;
its gift of peace and place;
in and empty universe.
~
i am thinking, just now;
remembering, really;
of the quilt you make for me
of your body and understanding.
~
how right it is to be tangled in you
safe and sure my hand
against the blaze which pours from you.
~
the gaze which speaks in flame
its love of its other
soothing, cooling, and forever...
~
fallon~

fallon- how nice to read you again!! This is a lovely rememberance of love poem. Jane
-------
fallon- how nice to read you again. I come back here once in a while and remember the old gang that hung out here. I am so thsnkful for the good writing that taught me do much. Like the visuals in this poem.
Jane
-------
*smile* Yes, I agree--good visuals, good poem--I enjoyed reading this...JFC
-------
Amazing, scrolling down, enjoying the poetry, making comments and then this unbelievable surprise. Life does this to us often. Looking for that gem that dropped somewhere and was lost and stumbling on a brighter gem.
How, wonderful to be the lady of the poem. To be loved like that!
I was here too with Audee, whom I grew to love, with Hermestri, and with you Fallon. I will copy your poem and keep it. What a poet.

The the theme is "Rose" what could be simpler for poets? lets see what we can do...

A moving shadow of minnows
choreographed
by a hand
that also pours dust over a shaft
of light that filters through long silent afternoons
like Roethke’s dolor
covering me with dirt as my heart learns to lie
down forever
God
You made me ugly and that is a fact
But I love you and since I cannot such things
Lay over me roses that have grown back
From the root stock
None of those frilly ones please
I want the wild and thorny type with nothing going
For them but the will to go on
Sans anything
Except you.

-------
and if one should bloom upon this
dessicate corpse, there my blessing.
and enough of the promise fulfilled
to justify all my reading and study.
the lesson of thorn and petal finally
learned, wholly appreciated.
a thing accomplished...finished

-------
"a rose is a rose is a rose?"

The Lad Makes Soup

Oh, it's a goodly soup,
a tasteful and happy thing
but not a soup for you. He says;
for what you could not bring.
It would need a carrot or two,
a stick of celery it wants,
or maybe a cup of savory dew,
ever before i could serve to you.
And if by chance you had
these things, to add into my pot,
i thought i might invite you;
lest you prefer i not.
But then, wouldn't it be worthier
for one such as yourself, if you had
a sprig of lamb's ear
sitting upon your shelf,
And thought to share into this pot,
where others dance and play,
would i invite you to my alonesome soup,
this wonderfully smellish day
...f

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This is wonderfull, maybe it's just me but this; well this may just be my favorite poem, and it kinda smells good too. ~Cooker

***
The Distance

a long time ago
my mother sat and I
watched clothes drying
late afternoon sun
filtered through
grimy windows of
the laudrymat
in a town I did not know

we talked sparingly
in dark themes
muted words
eyes blinking frequently
so not to spill

time had passed since last
we met in a far away land
where we both grew
both lived until I left

we spoke amongst surrounding
shadows as weight like a mountain
dangled above
our thoughts, our lives
those seconds spent
in most unfrequent visiting

apart, we had grown

so close
yet
so much
distance
it is not natural
to be so sad

fourteen years
of days and hours
seconds slowly seeping
and
I am here
in the town I did not know

before dawn
I hold my sleeping son
his tiny hands
rest in mine

half his life has passed
since she last saw him
she comes tomorrow to hold
his hand
this time
distance will not win
it is not natural
to be so sad


--INZANE

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Distance always extracts its price. I like your poem very much esp stanzas 2.4

Accouterments

Don't forget
to tuck a bottle
of red wine under
the satin pillow,
for surely,
even a decaying
mouth thirsts
for robin's breasts
and cardinals.
.
Place in my right hand
a picture of my first love.
for a stilled heart needs
to remember it has danced
under ivory moons,
with a ragtime band playing
"Bathena" and "Maple Leaf Rag"
until Dickie Garrets opened
for breakfast, and we gorged
on fried clams and coke.
.
Style my hair like Daisey's,
(Gatsby liked it that way),
Go light on the lipstick,
and blush-old loves
don't like their shirts
messed up.
.
I'll want my glasses-
even rotting eyes
need the rainbow
of seasons, and the virginity
of a quiet February snow.
Jane

I Can't Save Them All

I can't save them all,
except with prayers-
those that weep for
inverted lives, wishes
wrung dry, and children
with no more birthdays
to celebrate.
.
I can love them all,
and feel the tears
on my own face,as I
reach to Heaven
for God's good Grace.
.
I can ask for a miracle
to cause a small chest again
to rise and fall, breaths
to form words,"Mommy,
I can hesr you call"
.
The Mother cries out
to her child-"Please dear,
say you are here with me again"
as prayers, and a miracle blend.
.
I wish I could save them all,
but that only comes
from God above, but I can repair
their hearts util then
with an armful of love.
.
Jane

-------
keep looking Up, Dear Jane. HE is holding you.
-------
Very touching poem...does it hold special meaning Jane? Roamer

Tank cadence, deep thought.

The blow-hardy few are they
who spread the frame of father tall.
They threat and lie without dismay,
The blow-hardy few are they.
They’re rich, and rich enough to say,
whose pedigree shall cake each stall.
The blow-hardy few are they,
who spread the frame of father tall.
Slicky-Boy, Snow, and Him that pays,
their names go with their virtues fall!
Official right’s been sold away.
Slicky-Boy, Snow, and Him that pays!
A derelict grunts pay won’t defray,
but the VP shakes your hand for all.
Slicky-Boy, Snow, and Him that pays,
their names go with their virtues fall!
From the chill dark fields of Venus today
dog penis handshakes that appall,
and a dead bird, for the life of sway!
From the chill dark fields of Venus today
atop their ferret plume of play,
perfect log cabin suits on all!
From the chill dark fields of Venus today
dog penis handshakes that appall.
The blow-hardy few are they
You babies... writing on the wall!
Your hardy facts let logic stray,
The blow-hardy few are they!
Though doctors and masters fume and bray
Onward Christian soldiers! Marching one and all!
The blow-hardy few are they
You babies writing on the wall!

-------
After Janes This sort of thing is just vulgar. I knew about that when I wrote it, any suggestions comment or critcisms would be appreciated.
-------
Hmm Rabid antitheist with underlying bestiality ideation
and latent homosexuality tendency.
R/O medication noncompliance Bipolar 1 manic ,NPD

-------
FYI: R/O= rule out, NPD= Narcissistic personality disorder can be caused by receiving excessive praise and criticism in childhood, particularly from parental figures, dark field= test for syphlis
revision:
In the deep thought think tank, they roll play
with grips like a dogs dick, their handshakes appall,
and maybe a dead bird, for the life of sway!
At the chill dark fields of Venus buffet,
atop their ferret plumes of play,
they wear perfect log cabin suits on all;
But the chill dark fields of Venus repay,
in dog penis handshakes that appall.

-------
Remove lines six and thirty
whose pedigree shall cake each stall.
AND
Onward Christian soldiers! Marching one and all!
Replace with:
their seeds of glass will your heart stall.
-------
Obscuration is a curse
you made the second even worse
then three.. it becomes perverse
la da da da Burma Shave
-------
In the deep thought think tank, they roll play
political success that’s amoral.
They have a dead bird, and a life of sway!
At the chill dark fields of Venus buffet,
atop their ferret plumes of play,
they wear perfect log cabin suits on all;
But the chill dark fields of Venus repay,
in dead root handshakes that appall.
Perhaps this will be less obscure. Sometimes what goes into poetry is
not so pretty. I hope you know how much I appreciate this criticism.
This version has good meter too, pretty important for a cadence.
-------
Well a cav.. for any “ advise” I might give but as a simple reader I’ll make a couple of observations:
1. Why the rhyme? I find it passé.
2. It seems obvious to me that many political and religious leaders are greedy and are filled with hypocrisy. Some are not. I assume in this you are speaking about the first some, Perhaps politics and religion period have that same negative character among some. Agree
3. ok so as I read this you are sorting out the differences by the use of “ Poetic devises” and my job as the reader is to guess who these devises are suppose to point to.
4. It is here where I think you have so “ Honed” your poem until only you understand it. Now perhaps others have a clear understanding what a”perfect log cabin suit” means or says but I sure do not. A dead bird, the dark field until you brought up the test for syphilis which is about as passé as rhyme.
5. So anyhow a few thoughts with the understanding that the problem might well be with the reader.