There was a ping pop and fizzle, I heard my new born grizzle, like fine rain it started to lightly drizzle.
There was a fizzle pop and ping, the force upset my ring due to the sting.
It took on a life if it's own and the poem went out the window.
It crawled out my ****** like a possessed rabid zombie, the worm had turned and gave a wink as it continued to slink out of my hole.
I swallowed the air which had thickened as a result of the gas creeping out the pores of the beasts own ***.
This thing was a body in my body but nobody knew not even me!
I fell to my knees face to face with my creation not born from my mother but sort of like my brother.
Good grief! I had eaten a KFC bargain bucket the night before, I smiled and it smiled a gob full of corn on the cob teeth.

As the bread is warmed by the sun and
Then drizzled with the green oil I straddle
The old blue rickety chair peeling this tomato.
The juice joins the oil as I add salt and garlic and
As I flick away seeds to the earth I feel ready
To look more about me but first I must pulp this red flesh.

The sunflowers throng about me nodding yes-
This is as you thought...here is the breeze from the west
Caressing your shoulders. Here is the sun at her gentlest.

Unwashed, indolently swaying, barefoot as ever
I grizzle a tune half remembered as I pour the coffee.
Later when it is hotter than blood and the light is sharp
I will look about me and see this field of sunflowers swaying
And be momentarily soothed. I should go now, but stay
With my feet in the dust watching a lizard emerge.

Once more I dream of Istanbul where light perfumes and Eastern tunes conspire to set my sleep on fire
in my dreams this city seems to sparkle in the evening sky and as I wander by Topkapi,
I see treasures in the architecture
and jewels in the very stone that builds into the home of artefacts and in times gone by, this building was the East of many men who desired to steal what was within.

I always dream of Istanbul when my life is not as full as I think it ought to be
and I see it as a mental therapy that helps me sort the wheat from chaff,and
belly dancing girls who laugh and serve up raki , I see pearls that peep from midriffs bare,
a kind of reiki for the mind which I don't mind at all nor care if this is not politically correct
in my dreams,I elect the law stands silent to one side so I can ride the currents of the night that flow in cities of delight.

I wake to drizzle,one more grizzle of the day in which I get up out of bed but should really stay and replay Istanbul once more.
In the palm of my left hand I find a pearl (which is not good) a memento of the Eastern Hollywood
tonight, I'll have to go back there and find the girl who shared this treasure and has stolen at her leisure
my heart away.

I was angry when I saw her dancing.
She had no right.

Just last night she danced with me,
turning blues to pomegranates
and stepping on the seeds.

She walked through my corridors
(dim lights, bright-eyed)
painting the walls with broken expectations.

She whispered like a secret
she was now laying bare
at the tongues of anxious barbarians.

This morning her hips repulsed me,
churning smiles from grizzle
and burning coffee beans.

She had no right.

He sees the world in corners and edges
And life is lived in still shots

Past the grizzle and grit he sees
The lovely framework
The bones of the earth

That sparkle of brilliance
Crashes in his eyes
Wonder colored blue

A little mind races
And I watch as his hands try to keep pace
A heart of glass and gold
Transparent
A prism of possibilities
The light it throws
Colors us in day dream

Thoughts like the tide
Rise and fall
Carving out the shoreline


An exquisite curse
A hideous blessing

A beautiful mind

Blow a dart through the eye of a needle
In a beetle's bull's eye's eye of the fetal
Position used to permission the perspiration of children
Flowing from the cycle wheels on their next revision-
Intermission-
The cat walks in the bathroom with the lights off,
Cat's cough, drops his neck soft loft, STOP
His paws from picking it and licking it off the top
Shelf of the urinary depository shelter shop-
Cat's pleasure walk-
The beetle's wife still cries to the beat
Beating butterfly kisses on the front left cheek
Tongue out, pierced through nose ring bling
Shine bright like the glossy wet stain, sting-
Half a toe dream-
"We call this recession", session dismissed for obsession
With questions about lessons learned by sections
In the left hand direction weeping willow pull our pension
From the pockets until the rocket red will start suspension!
Skin peeling regression!
Drizzle dribbling brizzles of bad mouth grizzle
Fat down throat smoke sizzle with frizzy hair frizzle!
Blood suckdown proud pretzel frazzle
Flowing mud slug suction cup dry slump saddle!
Have you watched your mind battle
The thoughts of many cattle
Pronged along like kids caught by tattle
Tale stories of dead bodies and hastles!
Watch them rattle-
Shattered glass got caught in the brains back
Spinal chord twisted in two ways tied around a racetrack
Task force grants permission for the Hazmat
Gas mask, tear burning sensation, blood, sweat and gun caps-
Gunshot whiplash-
Pulling out the hairy back hand wrist rip
Falling out grey death, black heart, sunk ship
Flipped over the backside walls to pavement
Too hard to bouncy ball back up to save it-
What a world we created-
Cracked skull thought shots, drink down the toxic
Hot spit, words flowing through split tongue box fit,
Cracked teeth lost kids, babies ******* down bottles lost in
Jungle jam, juicing through the ice box foxes sneak  in closets!
The world's spinning so fast, there's no way to stop it-
It's surprising how we don't see that we're all lost yet!

There is garbage in and garbage out,
more of it stays in, leaves doubt,
what to think of life and there about,

the cost of msinformation

when you lay down your head for bed,
and your stomach is full, there is no dull lull
in the energy, inside see, oh there is a problem

the cost of winding down, the clock that
goes tick tock, ticktock, all night
as you glow in the dark, from metabolic sparks,

fitness hits every attribute of your life,
physical,
emotional,
spiritual,
social,
intellectual,
mental,
vocation, in no particular order,
adapt or become fossiled grizzle,
life will go on while you fizzle
out
of
existence,

It really is about knowing when you are full, and of what,
It really is about knowing when you are empty and need a refill,
of what won't make you ill kept, ill tempered, ill so others do not
keep, their distance... by the way
how are things in NYC to night? One week to go...till that Big Game
What about Australia and all points between,
and how is that other side of the Atlantic doing,
I won't go further than that because I have to riot,
and I am having one writing this.



©DWE012014

Within the grip of unfamiliarity, pestilence
Sits in grainy aloneness gritting the grind of teeth
Breath does not penetrate much, it holds itself
Still with unconscious perfect effort. Tired eyes
Sift through video tracks clutching crossed
Out sections edited randomly, leaving fingertips
Polished perfectly familiar, yet not so, as mouths
Spit flaky sentences bowled over in turmoil

If crossing the road would the eye of difference
Change perspective, grant peace...permission to digress
Into roominess without challenge, would calling out invent
Comforting echoes to rally.  Yet.....would they shake their
Snaky grizzle....grinning vapidly, unexpected tongues sizzling
Forking their way across tight lips......slither
Their purpose across fugitive bodies and minds....crushing

Resplendent in his sweep he stalls in mid air still
as if the sun held his talons to sharpen the  winds verb
against the shrill bursting from this tensed lungs
splitting the arc of swoop into perfect symmetry

He sweeps in one long delicate swirl
and spot on the talons clutch at rushing fur and bone
crushing as it lifts the hare, head darting
this way and that. Up, up and away

into the sky's arms. He opens the chef blades
of his beak and delicately strips flesh even
as the dying hare struggles to crawl back
into life. But its windpipe shatters with a squeeze.

The hawk circles high, testing thermals
watching as the cotton clouds gather around
him and blanket his feast with a light shawl of wool.
He knows his domain well. From here he sees

the hurrying feet amidst bracken and bush
and with mathematical precision he plans
his next course from the skies. Even as grizzle
and unchewable hare bones and soft fur tumble
to earth for other predators to salvage.
Majestic Hawk. Master and mystery.

Author Notes

Optional
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, 2 months ago

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/11609440-The-Hawk-by-Marshall-Gass-noguest#sthash.GaMYpzzs.dpuf

We all just long for peace at heart
And for life to allow us a restart
With gazing eyes we start dreaming
Reminiscing times when our cheeks were beaming

The weather outside is a distinct drizzle
Making the world appear like a single grizzle
And you just stand there waiting
Because nothing else seems to be more fascinating

Than the rain drops and their continuous sounds
That just makes you feel so inexplicably profound
And you breath deeply through this moment
Thinking about nothing less but gods dethronement

Me 'r aw gawn a' fer dawn
'cept t'grizzle that passed them bowts on
'n Tangier boys t' young to take t' wooder

Tangier boys and twist knuckle fellers
Gather up t' cafe a'four
fer a soda widda woodermen's beans
'n downa docks a'foive a'clock
for castin' awff lines 'n dreams.
Fer pops gawn out t' bay n' t'oyster beds
over thin lip 'rizon no more t'seen.

Nuttin' but bikes, *****, slap jellies,
'n them ain't hard favored come-ere's
nigh as peas wandrin' the uppards
'til black chug zaust sounds riturn
from Chrisfiel', 'nuther day
jingin' in t'pockets, 'nuther shuck
pall ready fer spoiders  n' hoi wooder.

For too long.
It has been too long...

I sit and flip back through
the scrapbooks collected in my head...

Searching. Reaching. Pleading for one reason,
one touch, one gesture,
one true declaration...

I can't find one, not one.
If one exists, now its gone...

What I have endured
without the simplest sustenance,
not so much as a grizzle scrap...

And still I must give?
I have nothing of worth.
I am not sure that I ever have...


        A willow, wilts and dies
in a neverending drought...

What will I do
when the last drop in the well is gone?

Does the last full bucket look different
from the ones drawn before?

When the tree falls in the woods
and no one cares either way
is it worth the effort
for the poor pathetic thing
to make a sound at all?

Thick smoke spit
My tonic
Swell eyes split
Black cloud fix
Late night drips
Late night sips
Sipping up sap
Sapping up tipsy
Tap taps on the tips
Watch the floor lifting
Shifting
Smash, crackle crispy
Crunch mc nuggets
Four AM grizzly
Grizzle grease griot
Giving slurred wispily
Words like the feet
Falling faster swiftly
Like the head shoulder
Knees toes tickling
The senses of motion
Devotion to sick things!
Sick things!
Sick things!
Few friends out late
Grab a cake
Grab a mate
Grab a bake
Grab a fate
Drive it fast
Make it last
Make it crash
Make it all end quickly!
Quickly!
While she sleeps softly
Coughing up blood
Never felt haunting
Wanting her to wake up
Like the day's drugs scoffing
I'm the same drunk drugged up mug
With a lie stuck to the name like made up love
Like made up stories of truth masked with icing on top
Like the cherry minus vanilla, minus chocolate, minus ice cream, minus nice things
Minus life, minus death, minus point, minus breath, minus art, minus stability, minus self sufficient tranquility!
Find life
Find it right
Find it tonight
Find it before it's time
Find it before it's out of sight
Find it before your friends dead in head lights
Find it before you're a murderer plastered on the headlines
Find it before you find out that you wasted all this time on bad highs
Bad rhymes
Pushing away coffee cake
And pineapple plates
For a daily dose of dead drives.

Why didn’t we do this years ago
all that time now gone for good

it’s green it hangs
flaccid on a door jamb

it's beauty only apparent
in action and the act of shopping

and its fabric
rough to the touch though strong and trusty

but seriously why didn’t we do this years ago
all the time spent now dried up and blown away so

why didn’t we

flush out all the  purple and excess verbiage
and flense the fat and grizzle

my goodness

so many plastic bags
and not enough manure to fill them with

Whit Howland © 2019

a dark house of clay, I turn
into a tavern. Drink the years
and lay down this like a slave. Stalagmites,
my pillow. Head heaving with

heaving billow. A life underground. A stop
in the round. The weathering of this
rock inside walls of chalk. I chip with
fiery chisel, grizzle haired. Carving

hieroglyphics. Noting the specifics
to some passersby. Like trying to catch
a fly in my hand/waiting for him
to land. And clocking his movements. But

seeing no improvement. No windows
or doors. But I've floors to walk,
and echoes to talk back at me.
Lively company!