Oceanzest Poetry (270)

Its the terror of the empty pages
and it all backs up
backs up like reams of emptiness
until all you can do
is lie and listen
to a city of bums
in the night
burying themselves
in their trashcan distractions

pulsing patronage
'kerchiefed zealot micro-phoned
skinning the faithful

In 2 billion years the Milky Way
will digest the Large Magellanic Cloud
a dance of two galaxies
who had the time to wait.

I don't spend much time looking at the sky
but last night it was lit up like a canvas of light
with all the constellations just so.

In 4.5 billion years we get punched by Andromeda
its unknown how it will go apart from some
black holes that might get bigger

Earth might get shuffled around
but by then the sun will be a Red Giant
and we all get charcoalled anyway

He must have been about a hundred
well we reckoned he was, me and Jim-Bob
when we seen him there
standing in the swishing grass
'neath the snow-caps
all wintered in
so we up and ask him, whats up old fella?
but he just stands there staring
staring like a hundred year old horse would
when faced with fools in a field
but we never known it

Zipped in ice breath hell
Vertical wall north shade hang
Zulu blue sunrise

virtuoso sorbet
lemon lime astray
candy ball sugar
crushed ice lover

Shakey needed out, out from the soft motor cul-de-sacs of the consoled.
18 and agile, he yearned to play the margin, walk the thin line.
Adopting the heady North Korean hairstyle of the self-assured he exited the leafy vanilla streets and joined the gaunt bus terminals of the fugitive.
Penning his travels, he became a one man poet of the moment delivering sonorous polyrhythmic exercises in moral decline from a leather attache case in the jazz basements of the avant-garde.
Too caustic to be urban chic, this enfant terrible of the leisure set came to the notice of Fancy Nancy, one-time darling of Eurocommunist sambuca parties, a veteran go-go girl of the atomic age.
Donning a neptune blue necktie a la Pierre Cardin, a licence for larceny in the swing set of the political elite, he toured with Fancy Nancy in a lizard suited carnival of the extreme. Public moral outrage circuited the exercise extraordinaire and the duo were consigned to a life of tortuous childcare, parent teacher encounters, and a passion for home entertainment system upgrades.

A nurse is giving a young medical intern a tour of the hospital.
The intern approaches one bedridden patient and asks,
“Why are you here?”
The patient replies, “Wee sleket cowerin’ timrous beastie/O, what a panic is in thy breastie.”
The intern moves on to the next bed and asks the same question,
“Why are you here?”
The patient answers, “O, my luv is like a red, red, rose that’s newly sprung in June.”
The intern moves on to a third bed and asks again,
“Why are you here” to which the third patient replies,
“The best laid plans of mice and men, may often gang awry.”
At this the intern turns to the nurse and asks,
“What ward is this anyway.”
And the nurse answers, “It’s the Burns Unit.”

Now the shades down low
evening in the street
puttin' down the rhythm
toying with the beat
taking my time
writing up the lines
feeling my way
with the old time rhymes
grinding to the flow
work it nice and slow
careful how I'm swimmin'
watch the undertow
riding like the dog
know its understood
haters on the corners
get you if they could
Now the shades down low
evening in the street
putting down the rhythm
toying with the beat
..

laughing in the salt
a thousand nebula out tonight
ocean breeze moves your hair

For the rising
a crucifix hung
on thin wire
from dirt walls
virgin raw
they waited
pilgrim poor

For the rising
beggar bent
they soaked
the seeded earth
by the words
that would not suffer
erasure

A dwarf has his reasons
never discuss
the finer points of pole vaulting