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LIT CAMS (200 Free Tokens)ADULT TOYSVOD MOVIES

not sure how many words

the hunter's moon
hung in effigy
strung out
interstate moving again
strung up
65 in a 55
livery stables
coffee tables
rode wet
put up high
wheelbarrow
handle this
bonemarrow
dirt hills
and oceans
roll a seven

farmers
fundy bay
clam diggin
long past
eleven,

salt flats
sharps
minor stars
raw bars
smoke ring
hairshirts
podium
sunk

taps the silt
puddin
glue
swallows
tap the river

hunters moon
too soon
big buck
and chuck
the apples fallen
by chance
per luck.
 
stewbums
circle the wagons
tenderloin
south of mission
guadalajara with
belljar Harry on
Handrum
carries the tune
on onion street as
Cayenne cookie
caves in on a broken shoe
Cumin corner
strikes a deal with
spatula meals whilst
gutterpunk is a
refried bean at
eighteen

cans and windowbirds
give audience to baby
Chinatown chins up
Iceburg lettuce
pray,

let us salute
Frank and his flute
shaped glass
wing tipped shoe
fingerdrum the blue
and the grey
Nicaraguan wooden spoon
lost in tornado swirl
out the avenue

Stewbum socks on his hand
Tenderloin and maps of the land
Ensenada vendor
rose a rita
baby on board
Federales no bullets
no gun

third street past
army avenue
fingerdrum the blue
and the grey
stir the doorstep
from whence they knew
wherever chance a parade
district xylophone
marimba in the deeper shade.
 
i think i just maxed out my dictionary.com 'free' membership. *wink*

could it be a marinara marimba?

man, i'm hungry!

*grin*

...everywhere i've seen the word 'blue' today, i've loved it. thank you eagleyez. :rose:
 
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There are not enough hours
in the day to say
what I want or enough
words to complete
my thought but I
deep in my illusion
continue
to try any way
will you wait until
the sense is made
the crux is complete
and I'm sated
or will you look
elsewhere for your
fictional fix?
 
greyblue-
this night plays for you
rosewood 88 keys
windows cracked
and the cracker Barrio
dances on their knees,

easement tween the hood
on the left and down the
right street-
Broadway with its Marquees
art deco slophouses
shine for half a buck-

with any luck
tunes waft like enchildada's
straight south to Ensenada
Rosarita beaches,
cardbord houses
mudslide slim
crosses borders-
orders 2 for one
sharkwater scares me none,

win place or show
Holllywood Park
Los Alamitos
this aint no dog track
barkers and megaphone
cone and vanilla
amongst all the flavors
fisher man risks it all on the far right jetty

fireworks dunes and bottle rockets
make good fun,
bunkers made of sandbox
take aim and meet the meal-

Barristas sellin bottled Cerveza
white catholic shirts and crosses
the Saint Christopher avenue
travelers pray to the tune,


Marimba salt flat-parks
easy to see the sharps
amongst all that.

Two handed mallets
muffled and a tad flat,
camera memory and
medicine hats.
 
Wind strikes the night.
Barn windows chatter
their glass teeth.

Trees shriek,
wave knobby fists,
bare-knuckled rage
that flings heedless
inhuman grief.

The last crabapples
slam the grimace ground,
half swallowed in those muddy cracks,
the freezing wounds
that ooze with portent:

Almost winter.
Soon.
Soon.
 
The frost snuck in last week,
right down to where the perma meets the spring.
I don't mind,
there's a snowman growing from that place
deep in the ground
where the frost lives.
 
There are not enough hours recorded
yet in my library of time spent with you.
Each hour of you catalogued and filed
under categories with titles that say -
pleasure
happiness
laughter
passion
joy
beauty
So here I'll work until my work is done,
a hard working librarian of love for you.
 
Wordless,
Oboe and double Bass,
Composed in eastern Europe,
Flegling American appreciation-

for she arrives in a
Nick of time-
Penny for a rhyme
Pants hang too big
Pockets jangle
Full of leaves and twigs
Out of the hooskow
Into the brig-

Sail ship of dreams
Dance with me
To the flotsam
From our femme tree
Apples on the ground
Woosh goes the ballroom sound-

I am neither man nor woman
Sequioa gigantia
Genderless tenderwood
Soft as the meadow
Rising up to nearly heaven-

I climb your stairs
Quiet feet
Swirling hair.
 
Coulda sworn
I was back in Tulsa county
3 bucks in a pickup
Change it over to am
No politics here
Just a long upward highway
And a longing my dear

Coulda sworn it was 3 am
Armadillos and frogs
raining again

Glen Campbell
On his Witchita Linebelt
No answers
Sammy Davis n' his glass eye
Hit the windshield again
No pretense on high

Coulda sworn it was Tupelo again
Mississippi truckstop
Girl looks like a guy
Save for the high
Twangin voice
"Daddy he's a stranger"
For two bucks and a sandwich
He can be the lone ranger.

From Lousianana to Memphis
I'll ride and I'll ride
Switchin it over
to hear the country slide

Could be Hank or Junior
Never will know
Since I hit Tulsa county
Its as slow as it goes.
 
Prokofiev November cloudless gray.
Piano sets the pace of clarinet
and soundless clocks a measure of Sunday
passing peacefully. Here is now and yet
my past is woven in post-modern dreams
when I am lost in other times and rooms
hearing Opus 22. Daddy beams
still from his faded chair for all the tombs
are nothing when the sunless day is bright
lit with his music, yours: A bridge of years
between lost innocence and passions's flight
to safety rings symphonic joy from tears.
Our days are gentle knowing. Yes all true:
He loved Prokofiev; he would love you.
 
Angeline said:
Prokofiev November cloudless gray.
Piano sets the pace of clarinet
and soundless clocks a measure of Sunday
passing peacefully. Here is now and yet
my past is woven in post-modern dreams
when I am lost in other times and rooms
hearing Opus 22. Daddy beams
still from his faded chair for all the tombs
are nothing when the sunless day is bright
lit with his music, yours: A bridge of years
between lost innocence and passions's flight
to safety rings symphonic joy from tears.
Our days are gentle knowing. Yes all true:
He loved Prokofiev; he would love you.
Click to expand...

Daddy was a medic
"morphine for this poor kid"

Mines a millionaire
Sends me used shirts
I guess that how he got there.

Makes no matter,
I want nothing,
least aftershave plumes
noxious fumes.

We used to drive to Sonoma
In a 65 Belair,
Wine country but he was a beer can man-
Mother rides shotgun to this day
With not much to say
While me and my sis and the baby crammed in the
4 door backseat-
I slept in some crammed corner
diamonds as stars and Eucalyptus hedgerows
beaming us home, the coal stove and Depression era grandfolks
jump up
greet us at the door
went off and left me
save the daddy warbucks
not sure if its gravy or luck.

Thanksgiving up the coast,
North of Gualala and just a tad south of
Mendocino-

I'd ride again but there's no home
but here, aint goin back
save for the pipers tune across the alter-
and cousins full of tears,

not mine not mine
not this time.
 
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Sonoma county blues-
edge of Russian River
the Bohemian Grove
woodsmoke blows all the way
past nine mile marker
Jenner by the Sea

Hitch had it right
The Birds at
Bodega bay
and gasoline Suzanne Pleshette
burnt to the ground
Real Lifers lifeguards

Sisters and brothers
huddled for birthday cakes
Crowfeathers
along Blue Jay Way
where Sebastapol is no album
Eggfarms and Chickenhuts
Foxy lady knows no gender

yes I remember
the great floods of 86
nine straight days of pacific rains
A sherrifs skif snatched you off
the front porch
where we once skipped stones
Along bicycle avenue
the song on the airplane
anniversary late November

sisters and brothers,
left unknowing
within such surprise
you go with a spark of the match
Encores go unrequited
As the steeleyed Ironjaws
You taught me to look for the riffle

How many years
go by like the flow of your river
to think it would take you
passing lonely by the stairs.
 
Almost

I'm sure how many years
is 34 and that I may not
breathe the world
that many more

but every breath respired
since has spoke her name

no one hears but me

still
she whispers somewhere
past the threshhold
of my trying to explain

I'm all right really
I can function
with a scarred and twisted heart,
a small limp of the soul
that never grows
as old as I imagine
her panopoly of years

the real ones pressed
in memories here
with lilacs, sand and skates
to budding lipstick years
shared hopes and dates
all done, all drowned
in heartache

needles
and that flashing knife
I never saw

down
down

the hole that keeps me
unwhole

the raw wound I ever see
my dagger of the mind
that stabs the point
between her then
and years that can not be
and lingering of me

I hate December 4 some
years I hate it more some
years I sleep others
I scream but always
burn her yorsite candle
in my waking dream.
 
I will burn a candle for you
for her, and she will know
she lives through you
and your words will keep her
close always, and safe.

:rose: :kiss: :heart:
 
BooMerengue said:
I will burn a candle for you
for her, and she will know
she lives through you
and your words will keep her
close always, and safe.

:rose: :kiss: :heart:
Click to expand...


Thank you, B. Not a very good poem I wrote, but you understand. My emotions run away with me around the anniversary.

:kiss: :heart:
 
Angeline said:
Thank you, B. Not a very good poem I wrote, but you understand. My emotions run away with me around the anniversary.

:kiss: :heart:
Click to expand...

Thats not too hard to understand. Just wait til your anniversaries have anniversaries.

Bro has Lou Gehrig's... probably take him off life support tomorrow or the next day. The family has to gather, you know... To say all the things they had the last 60 years to say but just didn't think of it...

hmmph... I'm just a cranky old woman, ya know.
 
BooMerengue said:
Thats not too hard to understand. Just wait til your anniversaries have anniversaries.

Bro has Lou Gehrig's... probably take him off life support tomorrow or the next day. The family has to gather, you know... To say all the things they had the last 60 years to say but just didn't think of it...

hmmph... I'm just a cranky old woman, ya know.
Click to expand...

When my father was dying he said "memories are everything." He meant we didn't need to make speeches, that he understood already. Makes a lot of sense to me. :)

:kiss:
 
Speak no words of regret
when your comfort
is all I need. Reassure
this failing heart
and hold a vital
me close in your memories
so that a happy soul
remains out of this husk
I have become.
 
8 pm
glass rattles
old building
and she dreams

cigarette wanes midnite now
james dean crashed his car
50 years
oh birth then,

unknowing how a cigarette wanes
worried like a world gone televisison
Amos and Andy home boys
never went home

on the street the bar cars
im locked away from all that
12 midnight
smoke fades
she dreams
talks in her sleep

floors under my feet
hold me up
crash goes the lighter
nothing lasts,
least a cigarette
smokestack trouble
burnt down to the fingers

even this un-easiness
folly of caring
too much for them all
lined up like dice or poolballs

jimmy hit 160
topanga drop
giant stienbecks
muddle castles
and arthurian ways

east of eden
the brother i am to
myself
 
next year, insurance rates drop
no looking forward after that.
next week, car payment comes due
no looking back at cash spent.
tomorrow, it's work
don't look for a raise.

today, it's a glass of draft beer
from the kitchen
a mini keg of heineken in the fridge.
technology does impact my life
after all.

next year, next week, tomorrow,
all the other things
I'd rather avoid
pale beside the girl.
always the fucking girl.

wake up
no smiling face
on my spare pillow
tomorrow, next week, next year.

no funked out sausage
stale smoke
all night pancake
waitress hair stink
crawling across sheets.
what a fucking thing
to have to miss.


always waitresses.
should quit tipping
being charming

going to all night diners


cold glass of technologically
amazing mini-keg beer says
'Ah, you know she didn't mean it.'
and my roommate gives me
funny looks
for telling my beer to go and
fuck itself.

~D.A.
 
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not sure how many words
it'll take but I know
they're there somewhere
backed up like salmon
under the falls jostling
to be on their way
upstream and on to paper
orderly and meanigful
as all good words should be
I'll just wait here
for the tide to turn
to learn the fate
of my words when they arrive
in the shallows battered
and ready for submission.
 
champagne1982 said:
Speak no words of regret
when your comfort
is all I need. Reassure
this failing heart
and hold a vital
me close in your memories
so that a happy soul
remains out of this husk
I have become.
Click to expand...
What's a husk without
a cob to cling to, to wrap
in tender grasp? And what cob
retains its turgor
without the husk's humid grip?
Proximity is our salvation: cling tightly
the sugar-swollen shaft.
The heart may fail for lack
of beta-carotene so save those words
and savor the sweet explosion
between your teeth.
 
Willy whipped his ride
Onto windchill avenue
5 and dime nativities
Blue lights illuminative
Of impending slip and glides
Where deep under the Ice-Island
River my car is turned toward You

And the morrow is missive
Of certanities and full of
Child and wonder
At television
He is a child no longer
4:45 he becomes alive
Where deep under the reflection
Of brackish meetings
Mouths of great coastal Rivers become
Plankton feederies
This livingness is turned toward you.

The steam of shower dreams
Reveal boarded up histories
Rock and roll will never die
In the click of a mystery
You feed me endlessly
Where the beauty
Is the clarity
You deliver me on a Flatbush rail
And Im pointed directly at you
Pointed up and down the trail

River headwaters
Thouhts about the Sword of Damocles
Hanging high above our heads-

Im coming endlessly
Pointed directly at you
I pulled you out of the cave
That's what you said
And out on the direction
North, South, East, West
Chilly Willy turns and rides
Towards all the better,
Best.
 
Chilly Willy turns and rides
Towards all the better,
Best.
Click to expand...
like this?
chilly-logo-sm.jpg
 
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