Imagery

On Glass

Folder: 
Older

What is the expression of experts of knowledge,

With the outlet consumed, dusted, and gone?

Where do ideas go? – At night

Rationality out the window when prowlers lurk.

Garbage landscapes; prison barge

The dinging buoy, the droning lighthouse

Can you smell what has taken over?

I envy the Wasaki Clan and all they have

To offer to the mineral industry.

Clean and precise;

Cold calculation.

More efficient than . . . mathematics

It is the theme of understanding.

Wait your turn; the wheel comes back shortly.

The twisting sonic blast of sunlight on a clear day.

The blood gets pumping these days

The thronging multitude is out in droves.

On the street, in droves.

Out on the pavement – lifeblood of city

The city thrives

The city is out in droves.

I wonder . . . what is below the city, if not pipes and tunnels?

I think back on childhood, peering at the ground.

A puddle on the sidewalk after a passing rain.

Sky is clear and I look into the mirror of the water.

I see objects: light poles, a hydrant, edge of building.

I remember pondering the possibility of a parallel universe

Below the city’s surface,

Seen not through the puddle’s mirror,

The water’s window.

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Asshole & excuses,

Folder: 
quotes

Asshole & excuses,



Do you

Ever wonder what

The phase

Asshole

And excuses

Really means?



Here?s what I think

The phase means.

Everybody can be

An asshole at one time

Or another in their

Lives, no matter how

Perfect somebody

Seems to be or

Claims to be.



And everybody

Has always

Got an

Excuse

Hidden

Behind a lie

So all I can say

Is the best way to

Never worry about making

Up a good enough

Excuse to cover a lie

Is never tell a lie

12/13/05

Author's Notes/Comments: 

i wrote this about the phase assholes and excuses everybody has one haha

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Is that me?

Two little palm-prints on the filthy, decayed window,

had me trapped inside the busted house:

rotting the road as a cancer,

blocking the natural flow of the evolution.

Breathing it’s dust, searching it’s past that makes me dizzy,

I’m falling among these sticky walls I’m trying to hold on to.

My hands are prodding into the scorching flashes,

and pain is all I see.



Music- soft, sipping from the time obscuring notion;

floating in a gentle dance with the calming light.

Ten little fingers softly tap two-colored sticks on the big piano.

“Maria”- Could that sounded better?- “Come and see…”-

Dimly echoed from a place I merged inside my veins,

so I can feel my body’s pulse projecting envy and revulsion,

the need to touch, to hug, to fondle. My mind is locked in disarray.

Is dark, in in disbelief, the window glass I’m holding.



Two little mud-prints on the polished stone-like pavement

are drifting me to run, to sprint myself to the end of air.

So, maybe then I’ll have me freed from my despair, from ever jolt.

Alternatives are never old. New wish to grant, someone to hold,

to spin the life bit out of gear, to soak in warmth of cozy home,

is why I’m here. But now- alone- I’m dashing out of past tense curse

of nonexistence, of fore steps. My palms I left within, so how am I

supposed to paint or write; to grasp, unfold out here?

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tags:

Bubbles

Folder: 
Silly

Chewing on bubbles of happiness

And spitting out the seeds

Getting ready to plant a garden

Pulling up the weeds



The bubbles don't take much caring for

They don' thave many needs

In fact needs are detrimental

So keep them won't you please



Six foot one inch high they'll grow

How many will that feed?

Quite a few I'd like to say

Depending on their greed



I wouldn't chew too many, though

You might choke on a seed

No need to fill your pockets up

They'll follow where you lead



Watch your little army grow

Of little bubble Me's

But don't you chew too many, though

You might choke on a seed

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Gloves of Wax

Black sticky fingers, from amassing tobacco leaves,

are leaving stains on my white bread crust.

Countless sunbeams are coloring aging calendars,

where sentences are left unfinished.

And no one is at home.

I am where the moon flickers on the candle stick.

Warm lava-like substance is taking me finger by finger.

I am making paraffin gloves,

while listening to the laughs from the past.



Prospering airport glass cell, high class spot,

is serving the special for the day-

suspended lungs and roasted tongues.

Limited sits, reservation is required to join

the shadowed bodies, jammed in finger talk.

Rowdy eyes, draining clammy drips,

are waiting for appropriate arrival.



My glossy hands are tickling the candle flame.

I have no sense of heat, no fear of fire;

there is no waiting line in the hall of death.

Drops of wax are sealing my memories’ track.

My tears don’t disturb the blaze;

they dry before they reach the skin.

So, we pull the steam, deep within the selfish “I”...

Will that sweet poisoned sentiment ever expire?

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tags:

The City

Folder: 
Other Poems

A cool breeze,

The gold haze.

A diluted sun,

Shining over the shimmering city.



Cars honking,

Scurrying like mice,

Each and every way.

The roar of the subway below,

Like a lion clawing to be free.



Shimmering lights,

Glitzy hotels,

Beggars at the doors.



The plane flies overhead,

As the play starts in the theater below.

Boats tear through the water,

Their waves crash into the rocky shore.



The sun hits the water,

As it frees itself from the haze.

The blinding light,

The buildings shimmer in the reflection.



Food being cooked,

For the tourists in the restaurants.

The lookout of one empire,

And gaze into another.



Millions of people within the boarders,

A city that never rests.

A relentless attack on your senses.

Overpowering for the first time,

Subtle for the veterans.



Most don't see past the lights.

The buildings,

The architecture.

The detail in stone and marble.

The beauty of the true city.

The real city,

The little things few people notice.

That few care about.



The city is an experience like nothing else.

The capital of the world.

Truly the city that never sleeps,

Simply New York.

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Rain

Wet drops fall from the sky

Millions at one time

Listen closely they are a beat

Tears fall down to make the world swim

Puddles On the ground

Stepped in

they splash all over

Cars zooming bye

making tidal waves

Drops still fall

The wee oval circles make so much mess

Yet make so many people happy

Flowers smile

Meadows Sing

Exotic creatures play

Romance happens from this beauty

Candles are lit

Love happens

Smiles spread

Beauty is shared

At the end

Such a sight

A delightful Rainbow

All from the

Rain

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I wrote this after a beautiful rainy day

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Blood Red Moon

Blood red moon

in the night

shines above

fiercely bright.



I see it.

a forbidding

firey red

it speaks to

me, as if

pushing me

ahead.



Is it a sign

from all the Gods;

Or is it simply

a planet that's

odd?



Many fear a

burning moon

a sign of death

of leaving life

too soon.....



But, thinks' I,

tis' not to be

it's just a beauty

in the sky for all

to see!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

By lilwinky
Written Saturday August 13th,2005

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Hot walkin',Sidewalkin', Feet!

There I go again!

Hot walkin'.sidewalkin'

on the street

with mah feet!



Don't step on those cracks!

You're gonna break

yo' mama's

back!



There I go again!

Hotwalkin', sidewalkin'

on the street

with mah feet!



Only step

on the

squares!

Watch out

don't step

there!



There I go again!

Hotwalkin', sidewalkin'

with mah feet,

on the street!



Go right on the chalk

on the drawings

this way here,

that way there!



There I go again!

Hotwalkin', sidewalkin'

with mah feet,

on the street!



You stepped on a crack!

You broke yo' mama's

back!

uuuuhhhhhhhhooooooohhhhh!



There I go again!

Hotwalkin',sidewalkin'

with mah feet,

on the street!



Liar,liar,

pants on fire,

you're attached to

a telephone wire!



There I go again!

Hotwalkin',sidewalkin'

with mah feet,

on the street!


Author's Notes/Comments: 

By lilwinky
Written Sunday, July 10th,
2005

This one is just for fun, combined with childhood games!

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