PREACHER OF WALL STREET

RWP#92 using all of the 13 word gems shown




PREACHER OF WALL STREET


Trapped within the head of his madness
contemplating thoughts of poetry
never written
a temporary remedy for despair
for last nights death confection
a hip hop poet
a scofflaw
who would rather drink plum wine
than sleep
or conform to the laws
of prohibition
or be in the limelight
for killing a snake with a bible
at a born again funeral
or having a blockage of the bowl
and starting a war in Iraq
or extend a hand
to the preacher of Wall Street
who has only a pittance
for the poor poet
but bails out the vomitting multitude
bourgeois bankers
who run off with the money
and burn in their fields of clover
with the preacher of Wall Street
a husk of himself
afraid he might be liable
for the poets madness.

MEMORIES OF AN OLD POET

RWP #91 using the two photos Light Window and Light and Trees as prompts.
credit Greig Fraser for the photos



MEMORIES OF AN OLD POET (Draft)


The old poet remembers
the memories he memorizes
forgeting the dream
he forgot he had
but are there in his mind
as he rests on the bed
as the night light shines
on the early snow
reminding the old poet
of the first morning in Old Havana
open window
full moon shining
rooster crowing out of tune
with last nites musica
the olor of last nites rain
sweet diesel smell
from morning autobus
the olor of petrol
from Miguel's 52 Chevvy
smell of cigarro
mixed with olor of last nites rum
as the vendor on calle Consulado
cries pan pan pan
as the smell of his fresh bread
means desayuno will be coming
and the fresh jugo
looking at my lover
smelling her avocado cream
I close my eyes and doze off
travelling to some other place
down some dusty road
the dead woman
lies under the trees
one leg flexed
the other extended
pointing towards the early sunlight
as her red robe flutters above her head
there are more dead ladies
scattered under the trees
with one lost dog barking
and running all around
if anyone had the power to wrench me through despair
and arid helplessness
and into prayer
it would be them
but it is the beautiful lady beside me
in perfection
that holds me to the ground
with grace
as I awaken
to the barking dogs on calle Consulado
and the start of a new day in Habana Vieja
an old poet who likes to remember
even what he might want to forget.

RINGS OF FIRE

RWP #90 inspired by this photo (bradleyolin's photo)



RINGS OF FIRE

Sunday night church
rings of fire
town of multitudes
under a full moon
howling hosannas at Johnny Cash
as the church lady balances the glowsticks
to the new ritual
everything is lost
nothing gained
as greed is the new law
opened then closed
by the rings of fire
chanting
burn
burn
burn
sureal and romantic
rejoicing with Jesus and Shiva
drunk
with Brahma beer
cheering Johnny Cash
and the ring of fire

THE GREAT DIVIDE

RWP prompt #89 was to use a headline. I used the headline THE GREAT DIVIDE. We live in the Rocky Mountains with a small creek running through... down to the Columbia river then to the Pacific ocean. Other creeks run down the eastern slope of the Great Divide to the East..North and South.


THE GREAT DIVIDE

Gentle creek flowing
westward
towering Rocky Mountains above
broken ridge orange and black
where the goats
believe in the mountains
and dance
clear as a glacier ridge
pyramids of spiritual evolution
summits that view
the precise chaos of creation
a combination of emotional challenge
and physical survival
romance and beauty filling my heart
gazing at the creek
as thoughts run deep
old memories
new thoughts
forming more wisdom
then thoughts turn away for a moment
to man's eyes and hands
and his monuments of foolishness
homes with no space or heart
like caged up chickens
pecking and scratching
with broken beaks
divided
in their ideologies and fears
our home in the mountains
beside a small creek
flowing from chaos
gently
naturally
Westward
as the creeks on the other side flow
to the East North South
gently
as man divides on this dying world.

MAN IN PAIN

ReadWritePrompt #88 using all the prompt words




MAN IN PAIN


lights out
ready to rumble and BRISTLE
his hi-fi microphone
sitting on the lazer structure
with its organice DIODE on

biting his bloody lips
FROTH coming from his mouth
ready to RANT
spoon feed his faithfull listeners
with rancid ELOCUTION

ridiculing the loony left
as they HITCH-hike their free ride
FLINGING his COARSE insults
with words that COAGULATE
like RANCID butter

always preaching his SALACIOUS desires
that echo to the converted
then rushing out HOMEWARD bound
elizabeth alexander's poem on his 8-TRACK
and more oxycontin for a man in pain

hOt cOrner

H
ola, buenas dias, hell
o he replied. My name Julio. Y
ou speak english g
ood me no spanish. H
ot corner here, do you come
often? si, every m
orning to talk baseball. W
OW Im a baseball freak too like Castr
o
Orestes Minnie Minoso...you remember? si
outfielder infielder Chicago White S
OX. I watch Cuba play D
odgers in Havana in 1947. W
OW. I remember Jackie R
obinson his first season with Br
ooklyn played in that game. H
oly cow!..what you mean H
oly cow?
Oh just a saying scooter Rizzut
o use to say. Who best Cuban player? N
o problem...Marten Dihig
o. W
OW. He is in hall of fame C
ooperstown with T
ony Perez I saw at the big
O no in Montreal in 1977 with Expos. H
oly cow Julio said. We both kn
ow beezball. I scout Washington Senat
ors 1950s. H
oly cow. Pedro Ramos, Jose Valdiviels
o, Carlos Paula, Camilo Pascual, Evili
o Hernandez, you scout these? Si..W
OW, unbelievable. We could talk
old baseball all day long. Si..t
onite we meet at La Bodeguita del Medi
o where Hemmingway and the great p
oet Wallace Steven hung
out...Babe Ruth the Bambin
o drank there when in Havana t
oo. So we will drink mojit
os and talk beezball all night l
ong. Si..see you t
onite. Adios amigo.


RWP prompt 87.....vowel "O"
NOTE
Photo of me at hot corner in Havana where Cubans have PASSIONATE
discussions/argument on baseball EVERY day. Every time in Havana
I go there. Last year met this old guy and u guessed it talked
beezball. This poem reflects some of what we talked about.

JOURNEY OF TWISTED BEAUTY

Closed lips hiding behind darkness

death fresh like the last rain

finding salvation in a new language

no guilt no anger no regrets

today my seventy first birthday in the mountains

breakfast and the tart sweetness of fresh raspberries

fragrance of the new rose

looking at her wondering if love is blind.

the rumbling before the storm

twisted poetry of Ginsberg howlin and Pollack dripping

the jazz stylings of Farlenghetti

on the road again with Kerouac

painting writing loving

Dylan's the times they are a changin

Beatles and yesterday

memories some vivid some hazy

the first train and the lower birth with my mother

before she died

being Jackie Robinson diving for a ground ball

desired street car in Vancouver

leaving home for Montreal, then New York and the village

Haight Ashbury

a mystic swimming in the space of time.

............Read Write Poem prompt #86