STUTTERING

RWP#101 Prompt using all these "P" words

STUTTERING

He was that unhappy stranger

grooking on some street in Brooklyn

stuttering

cheering

for the posthumous Dodgers

with some forgotten platitude

speaking without aims of words

unable to prevaricate prayers of the preacher

stuttering

speaking

his transformed theology

walking his lonely processional path

unable to procrastinate his endless effort

breathing the poets' polyglot poetry

stuttering

answering

lost lovers with charitable progressions

with their porous plaster

and bleeding words of pernicious pimps

unable to turn on and tune out passions

stuttering

trespassing

the stolen parallelogram poems of prayer

and empty plethora of unseen sight

withholding the lost prickle of judgement

blinded by speakable poets

stuttering

stuttering

stuttering

with the pppppppppppppp pea words.

DREAMING

RWP#100...Prompt is dreams


DREAMING

I left home a long time ago
in a tin cup on the track
with a suitcase of emptiness
looking for a landslide of answers
from the preachers of truth
dreaming
to be a madman painter
like Van Gogh
burn words of sick poets
like Kerouac
shoot crap with drunk hobos
like Mr. Mudd
stop pucks from the Rocket
like the eccentric Sawchuk
throw sliders and screwballs
like spaceman Lee
remaining speechless forever
because it takes two to talk
become more boring with time
to attract the ladies of the lost Zodiac
forgetting all the grades failed
because the schoolyard was a horror show
disturbed by my friends in prison
who couldn't be trusted to conspire
dreaming
to sing Your Cheatin Heart drunk
with the great Hank Williams
to be a drunk writer in Havana
like Hemmingway
to be a stoned jazz singer
backing up Billie Holliday
to be a poor elevator operator
stuck on the ground floor
to be a gigolo in Montreal
unconscious and healing the unknown
eating a smoked beef sandwich on the Main
with Leonard Cohen without his hat
migrating to some unknown land
with a ceiling higher than Christ
pouring whiskey to the converted
so they could thrive in the cold
listening to Trotzky and Marx
as they talked to the spirits in Moroco
sitting in Casablanca drunk
with someone called Bogart
travelling the unknown highway
unaware the party never ends
dreaming
of the broken radio
and all its guts
with closed eyes
not being afraid of travelling blind
with the Boys Of Alabamma
holding on to nothing
but the bruises caried inside the suitcase
unpolished
transparent
lonely
dreaming of home
dreaming.

BROKEN GLASS

RWP#99... using the prompt... two people stting
at a table with broken glass on the floor.


BROKEN GLASS

There is more than memory
when it's lost
Edie and Jack
sitting
at Figaro Cafe on Macdougall street
staring
at Washington Square.. speechless...hopeless
hiding
thoughts never spoken
forgetting
promises never given
remembering
lost moments of yesterday
waiting
for the old dead poets
sitting
on their suicide pact
dreaming
of their sexual repression
discovering
Jesus had no religion
praying
for mysteries and non believers
smelling
their smoke and dirty feet
hating
the Yankees and their stolen bases
pretending
the past had square faces
hurting
in unknown places
singing
with sounds without noises
running
with bare feet and bleeding noses
waiting
for the desired streetcar
taking
shortcuts to empty spaces
struggling
with no memory
talking
without tongues of the church
staring
speechless and hopeless
searching
for lost tears
holding
emptiness of broken glass...Edie leaves
walking
towards lost memories and forgotten fears.

ROLLER COASTER

RWP#98....using this photo

by auburnnewyork

ROLLER COASTER

It was the year I ran away from home

leaving my rotten days of boredom behind

to join the bright-lighted carnival

the year the clown interviewed me

smiling and smelling of wine

with a perverted look in his eye

the year I traded my wool sweater

for a leather jacket and black denim jeans

and the lady of nicotine

the year I failed juggling

but passed kissing the elephant girl

with her fragrence of mustard and fries

the year the hot dog-faced boy

locked me in the monkey cage

barking with an illegal smile on his face

the year I walked the sideshow alley

mingling with the freaks

howling with the alley cats

the year I found the shooting gallery

where the clowns shot heroin

while eating cotton candy

the year I rode the ghost train

before falling from the roller coaster

twisted

the year I won the doll prize

kissing the bearded lady

where nobody wins

the year I learned games are honest

but the carnies steal candy apples

from kids

the year I woke up in some alcove

under a roller coaster

wrapped in feathers and caramel

the year I ran towards the sombre sunrise

like a monkey through fires

towards a fortune of boredom

leaving a broken roller coaster.

ISAAK

RWP#97...using the cut up technique
I cut up a page of Sailor Song by Ken Kesey
page 371 and randomely using words for this poem . I added the word
SKIN.....after slicing my finger with the scissors.

This is a draft



ISAAK

Ike had suspicions
about everybody in Kuniak
especially that goddamed newshound
who stood still
publishing dirt
about
green stuff
about
the dead friend in the limousine
about
the old squid
about
Isaak's soul
about
the old dog in the limousine
about
skin in the poem
about
the carcass in the limousine
about
the dead brain with no glasses
about
the dirty dish with paranoia
about
seepy skin in the limousine
about
the poor that conquer skin
about
his maniac brother without skin
driving the limousine in Kuniak.

SUMMER OF LOVE

RWP#96
using all the prompt words
in bold


SUMMER OF LOVE

Rolling up into the land of purity
searching for that awakened state of bliss
and some cosmoramic exhibition
of shocking enlightenment
listening to Mother Tuckers Yellow Duck
giving us insight into irresistible false kisses
from their invisible memory candles
before it exploded inside the jars of our head
then surrender to the long tailed thrasher Bill
and his non vowelized poetry
who would always croak in a language
of a capricious professor
from the progeny of some learning school
then surrendering in vehement denial
to Mock Duck and circumcisions
while bleeding insolent behaviour
towards the prison farms
and asylums using a therapy of chelations
to detox the chemicals from brains
not allowing a socially responsible investment
in free speech
we were the Kitsilano reprobates
exulting peace love and pot.

THREE AMIGOS

Amigo on seawall

Wayne and amigo on bench

RWP#95.."mash" 2 poems together. Poems not satisfied with. I mashed SLEEPING ON THE EDGE and OPPOSITE SIDES OF BENCH (in italics) then every 5th line I added a new line (BOLD)..anyways this what I came up with

.

THREE AMIGOS

Above the saffron pavement

sitting on a bench in Havana

all I can see beyond him

drinking rum

I am a happy stranger

with Jesus lying on the malecon seawall

we talked about poetry

the Havana coastline retreating like a hem

like beat poets

getting drunk to get thirsty

covered in the cobwebs of the breeze

cultivating a rose by Jose Marti

enclosed in turquoise they slept

revolutionaries in love

having nothing having it all

along the malecon

we attracted kindred spirits

from the patches of seaweed

and Hemmingways for whom the bells tolls

writing when the writing was done

I saw at first glance

baseball Castro and Cuban music

azure ripples of the Carribean Sea

a common destiny

three amigos rum poetry and dreaming.