not sure how many words

[Angeline]

As if a bottle of blues
were poured into me as if
ragtime clicked my fingers
as if the moan and jump
of jazz slid and jerked
my limbs said yes hips
yes feets keep a movin
movin the fascinating
rhythm a pulse and throb
sidewalks and the forest
of legs horns and engines
rev, doors spin a low
constant hum of voices
and the soloing siren screams
even as the bass never
bottoms out but beats
snappy as if my schmaltzy
heart sings Gershwin loud
enough for you to hear.

[PandoraGlitters]

Angeline, that was wonderful.

[Angeline]

Originally Posted by PandoraGlitters

Angeline, that was wonderful.

Thanks, Dora. I was cleaning this morning and listening to Bernstein play Gershwin, and I love them both and the next thing you know, poetry ensued.

[eagleyez]

out boweevil road,
norwest beyond shady gap-
in clear sight-
a steam from the river
leads me on rockroads
towards the stinkbud maven.

these trips encapsulate my day-
as when red rick the underground sheriff
flashed his sparkly red star.

Just north of garberville
hitchin to Humboldt,
where the steelies still spawn
and the box camera flashes

boys whittlin in the living room.

now I sweeps up the shavings,
place them where they go.
the wisdom of agedness
or the reminder of winter past.

[PandoraGlitters]

Capsule years into the one text that sets
fire to the house. It is less difficult
once the match is struck. Merely bite your lip
until you taste blood, until you lick
the disappointed resolve which hardened beneath
that softest kiss. It's there. Still there. But so
are the other boxes we packed. So is the first
walk your eyes followed. So is the low
voice I pillowed and so
we are offered up in one another's
palms to forgetful fires
or memorable pages--
our fingers snatching corners from
confessional embers.
None of these coals light a person
any less than a letter makes a name
or an hour makes a life. They simply light
our place in line
and in what queue.
A-M, N-Z,
Me / Us / You.

[eagleyez]

outrunning the avalanche
a faceplant a surrender
then saxophoned by the lip-

cranking foot turns-carvin dude-
i recall the conversation-"you cant fall off a mountain."
i ride the white wiamea into the perilous shorebreak.
downmountain they just tell you
'youre one vivid dreamer son,"
touched, as far they could tell.


downshifting hard
steady decline
flexy fllying and headed for the hump
glide till the glide is funked.

[Angeline]

Originally Posted by eagleyez

outrunning the avalanche
a faceplant a surrender
then saxophoned by the lip-

cranking foot turns-carvin dude-
i recall the conversation-"you cant fall off a mountain. i ride the white wiamea into the perilous shorebreak.


downmountain they just tell you
'youre one vivid dreamer son,"
touched, as far they could tell.


downshifting hard
steady decline
flexy flier headed for the hump
ride till the ride is stopped.

It's better than you think. But that one long line needs fixin.

This I love.

a faceplant a surrender
then saxophoned by the lip-

cranking foot turns-carvin dude-
i recall the conversation-"you cant fall off a mountain

[bogusagain]

the café in Pigalle, you danced
breasts to breasts with Francois
and you, the only woman there
but you were not the most beautiful
you, a cockless stranger, dancing
through a phallocentric world

flamed in red light, your blushes spared
‘They’re not women! You cried
as woman gave head to woman
taking his frustration to her mouth
the stout pipe pressed between her lips
a bull’s horn beneath a black leather mini skirt

repairing her smudged lipstick, she winked
letting you know she ate vagina too
if you dared climb his nyloned legs
and moved him like Johnny Hallyday
pelvis to pelvis in a slow hipped grind
while a kitsch moon ballooned over the Eiffel Tower

[eagleyez]

Originally Posted by Angeline

It's better than you think. But that one long line needs fixin.

This I love.

a faceplant a surrender
then saxophoned by the lip-

cranking foot turns-carvin dude-
i recall the conversation-"you cant fall off a mountain

I fiddled with it a bit. I still think its sketchy, but that the hell, its only Lit.

[eagleyez]

Salt air amusement park
Frozen in January, rows of shister
walkways flapping to the drum of the wind and the
loose dancing canvas.

nobody in sight.

The greygreen ferriss wheel rises
like a european statue and the climbing wall
shows fingerscrapes down cyanide walls.

The bleak view past the pier
to the water, gray as the gulls that
fight with pelicans for the minnow given by the sea.

A dim night air descends and the erected
are now shadows,
backing out of town-
on the watch for cops and
nightbirds.

[butters]

i love this thread. it offers something deeply satisfying to me as a reader. thankyou

[Tristesse2]

I've been looking at ears,
those varied cups of
appreciation. Like snow
flakes or finger prints
no two are alike. Some
truly worthy of poet's praise,
others large and homely.
Yet others, folded and rolled,
softly pink, slightly obscene, not
meant to be seen.

[OT]

Originally Posted by Tristesse2

I've been looking at ears,
those varied cups of
appreciation. Like snow
flakes or finger prints
no two are alike. Some
truly worthy of poet's praise,
others large and homely.
Yet others, folded and rolled,
softly pink, slightly obscene, not
meant to be seen.

ears hear
filtered

imagine instead
what they want

[Tristesse2]

Eyes, eyes can be fickle
fooling the feelings
making fun of faint hopes
yet, here you are
alive and creating
kicking that poetic can
down the littered lane
of Literotica

Don't be such a stranger.

[eagleyez]

Riding with Kid Gavelon Bolero,
Glass jawed roundhouse king,

tearing up the 2-lane,
chasing the storm with full vigor.

Holding teacups out in the rain
To find wine and raining fish,
On Old Samoa cookhouse,
a spit of land
where the wrecks reap burlap and mold.

Ten men to an undercut-
Posed in the redwood shade, tin type photo,
Pies for each table,
For the men that work
In Black and white while

Grunion swept up in clouds,
fall for the cats and possums,
feeding the masses,
with the roundhouse king.

[Tristesse2]

clipped for polishing

[eagleyez]

No thanks to the treadmill,
No thanks to the gridstone,
Take your place on the wheel Son,
All in all and one by one.

Narration comes from the sky,
Pastel memory clouds dripped
In front of the bluest eye.

Leaping off a perilous spire,
You land as if in a dream,
42nd street, Wyoming, Baja, upcountry Maine.
Carry you as you are
And ventilate gently,

Your world.

[eagleyez]

i was thinking of poetry
but i'd rather eat and laze it off.

murder the murderers
with henry miller,
read usa today, oh boy.
gangbanger behind the counter
gaspumps lined up with nigger knockers
on gunracks,
hickory sticks,
Im all dazed out
feeling punk
feeling stupid and intellectual,

Hell, Im only going for breadcrumbs.