one post - eleven poems
an old bag of crisps
one is a fall into no good
I dreamed once I could fly
high above a coniferous forest
making speed with my hands
today all is fence
and blue skies for sale
on a market to die for
***
sultry sunday on the rebound
steepled and died for
in aisles of stale ceremony
run child run
there are collars on the prowl
collecting all one wind can muster
I saw a poor man folding waves
just to keep busy
as day turned into more fish
and wine flowing freely
trees congregate on the run
music is admonished with water
pools of liquid knives roll
with a watery punch
hidden in days of sweet talk
there are men hoisting dark flags
others bind books for the blind
there are so many shadows
***
amongst the princes of all
that really matters
one might dial 911
just to make sure
there is a clear passage
between sorrow and edge
rebels of respectable taste
ride a virtuous ride
spanked in long advance
for good measure
just in time for pale infidels
to settle by the fire
***
they congregate in visons
of blood that will not coagulate
they dare the rest of it
to follow dark suit
it is a mad input indeed
that comes with the territory
often dire men in I condition
lean towards the blame
solemn and so tired
one I is more than enough
to drive a silvery nail
through the wet canopy
scratched dumped and
left for dead
the flourishing abides
in temple-times of furtherness
one man is not enough
to strike a final blow
two might play checkers
into the falling night
***
there are laps to be found
running like rivers
at the bottom of all say so
who cares will find reception
in flames of hot Wi-Fi
doing the connection
I will not park this poem here
I will not pay for a ticket
perhaps you can see me
***
solitary men cry for more fish
in parks where young mothers
dangle with limbs pointing
to the certainty of all ends calling
there's no day like today
rolled into yesterday's joints
moved by chords of dry leaves
there is no need to foresee
or look for a different way
to meet the coming of darkness
ramified into a billion suns
racing through the dark longing
of being one step closer
to the incubated sleep of books
as yet unread and still humming
redeemed it seemed one man
stripped into pale skin leaking
fluids of unfulfillment
amongst the children laughing
to the die another day
***
wish me suns and stars
an ivory smile at the end
of any blue given day
rosaries held tight
backwaters overflowing
there is no redemption
sold by the fire of mischief
one told the other
the secrete of trees in adoration
there's going to be a full moon
at the end of this week
the green is not ready to bend
ceremonies turn day to dark
men will still march for the sake
of one more shield
wish me suns and stars
a bottle of old imaged serum
opening eyes to the flower
***
do not celebrate tungsten
though it will boil last
and is essential to
any living organism
do not party for the sake
of more iridium
too dense to catch a fire
more beer to the suburbs
more lustful spreading's
hoisting flags of surrender
there is a wanted station
just beyond the second thought
where rhythm guitars
find solace in the inexplicable
***
it's all about the weed
the speed of perception
the layers upon layers
of straddled reality falling
unfolding remoulding
scaffolding reaching
for modest time
to warp between the eyes
of the ones imbibed
inhaled rolled into carpets
from the far east
in the end it will be said
one man died on a Saturday
another pleaded with night
just to get ahead
there are moles in the clockwork
red sand in old bottles
remarkable futures ending
fish that jump
gargoyled and silent
in streams of better men
***
better men dance in streams
sung by creatures of no evil
randomly intercepted by pillars
falling like an old Greek rain
over wild camomill
senators of inhaled religion
prohibitors of the holy intake
rainmakers with bills and coins
etched on the retinas of love
will all melt at sundown
jars of incompetence roll
like dead wishes going nowhere
serpents of male religion
skulk in left over shadows
expecting to score
Poetry by Bob
Read 925 times
Written on 2017-10-09 at 20:44
Tags Life Poetry Now
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11 poems later...
seamless like air roundingan old bag of crisps
one is a fall into no good
I dreamed once I could fly
high above a coniferous forest
making speed with my hands
today all is fence
and blue skies for sale
on a market to die for
***
sultry sunday on the rebound
steepled and died for
in aisles of stale ceremony
run child run
there are collars on the prowl
collecting all one wind can muster
I saw a poor man folding waves
just to keep busy
as day turned into more fish
and wine flowing freely
trees congregate on the run
music is admonished with water
pools of liquid knives roll
with a watery punch
hidden in days of sweet talk
there are men hoisting dark flags
others bind books for the blind
there are so many shadows
***
amongst the princes of all
that really matters
one might dial 911
just to make sure
there is a clear passage
between sorrow and edge
rebels of respectable taste
ride a virtuous ride
spanked in long advance
for good measure
just in time for pale infidels
to settle by the fire
***
they congregate in visons
of blood that will not coagulate
they dare the rest of it
to follow dark suit
it is a mad input indeed
that comes with the territory
often dire men in I condition
lean towards the blame
solemn and so tired
one I is more than enough
to drive a silvery nail
through the wet canopy
scratched dumped and
left for dead
the flourishing abides
in temple-times of furtherness
one man is not enough
to strike a final blow
two might play checkers
into the falling night
***
there are laps to be found
running like rivers
at the bottom of all say so
who cares will find reception
in flames of hot Wi-Fi
doing the connection
I will not park this poem here
I will not pay for a ticket
perhaps you can see me
***
solitary men cry for more fish
in parks where young mothers
dangle with limbs pointing
to the certainty of all ends calling
there's no day like today
rolled into yesterday's joints
moved by chords of dry leaves
there is no need to foresee
or look for a different way
to meet the coming of darkness
ramified into a billion suns
racing through the dark longing
of being one step closer
to the incubated sleep of books
as yet unread and still humming
redeemed it seemed one man
stripped into pale skin leaking
fluids of unfulfillment
amongst the children laughing
to the die another day
***
wish me suns and stars
an ivory smile at the end
of any blue given day
rosaries held tight
backwaters overflowing
there is no redemption
sold by the fire of mischief
one told the other
the secrete of trees in adoration
there's going to be a full moon
at the end of this week
the green is not ready to bend
ceremonies turn day to dark
men will still march for the sake
of one more shield
wish me suns and stars
a bottle of old imaged serum
opening eyes to the flower
***
do not celebrate tungsten
though it will boil last
and is essential to
any living organism
do not party for the sake
of more iridium
too dense to catch a fire
more beer to the suburbs
more lustful spreading's
hoisting flags of surrender
there is a wanted station
just beyond the second thought
where rhythm guitars
find solace in the inexplicable
***
it's all about the weed
the speed of perception
the layers upon layers
of straddled reality falling
unfolding remoulding
scaffolding reaching
for modest time
to warp between the eyes
of the ones imbibed
inhaled rolled into carpets
from the far east
in the end it will be said
one man died on a Saturday
another pleaded with night
just to get ahead
there are moles in the clockwork
red sand in old bottles
remarkable futures ending
fish that jump
gargoyled and silent
in streams of better men
***
better men dance in streams
sung by creatures of no evil
randomly intercepted by pillars
falling like an old Greek rain
over wild camomill
senators of inhaled religion
prohibitors of the holy intake
rainmakers with bills and coins
etched on the retinas of love
will all melt at sundown
jars of incompetence roll
like dead wishes going nowhere
serpents of male religion
skulk in left over shadows
expecting to score
Poetry by Bob
Read 925 times
Written on 2017-10-09 at 20:44
Tags Life Poetry Now
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
 by Bob Latest textsI seldom walkthere’s a rumor there will be no full stop so many regrets who am I |
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