To beg or not to beg
that is the question
for proofs that don't
make you spin
and get dizzy

Another day playing chicken
in my head on the tracks
laid out strategically rich
through fog .. woods and city.
I follow nothing but the tracks
today, a few times hitching pretty,
sitting in an open car to smoke
and watch the land and water flash by,
now sunny, then rainy ..
I stay south in the summer climes.
A fight with a Wabash Cannonball
wore me out enough to make me smile,
hands on hips, I ran a mile to get hit
but the train lost again.
Having fun in my head, wanting
to be dead tired, and I am.

you pose proud
in gentle soft
candles

before my rigid
consonance and stringent need
flickering

gracefully sweet
you proffer
as I savor
deep

you flow
we merge
near rage
enthralling

together rage
my sweet,
my sweet.

http://hellopoetry.com/poems/daily/

perhaps,
a secret Soviet
double latte
ordered
on what was supposed to be the
"secret" channel?

only as good as truth
as strong as my conscience
flesh and bone and blood
with something other
a goal

"  it is well war is so terrible, lest we become too fond of it..." - robert e. lee
leader of the confederate army.

something is fundamentally wrong
with the world with humans
with our societies
when we have so many dead heroes
I have spent all day remembering
memorializing the heroes
now I have started crying for
the Mothers and Fathers
widows those children
never to know their fathers hug
let politicians fight for God's sake
I am out of tears .
getting angry at
those who push or
pull our nation wars

all ******* most

they
just wanted to be back home
I can hear them
now
still
saying

won't it be a greater day some  bright morning
when we have no more dead soldiers to mourn
at the end of each May?

In the recent round of changes to HP
was the folding of the Selected category
(The Daily Poem  page)
into the Front Page.

Are you in favor of this change?

Comments appreciated.

just one solo  on one guitar string
a shame to be a song
sung so much
so often

one psalm on Sunday yelled
by a preacher loud
hung over the
sinner's heads

belated condolences to a loved one
when they lower  that casket
down to the
bottom

a fish swimming upstream I seem
to be without sane direction
or a site to spawn
again

a singer singing to the choir
off key a different song
then what they are
singing

a child full grown a lost baby boy
a weather vane in the storm
a mast of a boat
broken

got several keys I can make a
duplicate  but no lock
or safe to
open

a  road leading off somewhere
gravel leads to nowhere
never seeing the dead end
sign

al kinds of dichotomies
rash decisions had a chance
to lead me
away

everywhere used to be my options
they somehow suddenly
got so ******* narrowed
down

often there is an echo
to what happens now
foreshadows cast a long darkness
the pause palls gives one a hint
the mercury in the bulb
goes higher when
and we ignore defy look away
no  the instruments
can't be trusted  
this time
as our plane circles a spiral we feel
the same as level minds
and crash headlong
the river rushes by
feet get wet
the trees on the shore bent downstream
a precedent
but we go on in definite
ignorance a human thing
that evolutionary flaw  of
near-sightedness a myopic
kaleidoscopic happy thing turned back to make us
colored like fools
in "fake news"

hmmmmmmmmmmmmm
where did the Daily go??

singing is not a profession
songs are not only beauty
the two are entertwined
like lovers under the bluest skies

style; perhaps my frenzy unedited
kind of poetry contrasts with
those whose whims are more whimsical
a four line acbd or my liberal taking of conjunctives
and splices my way
contrasts ;
tell a story is my parody
give a scene make it half real at least give character
with ambiguity, let the reader finish it:
prose a theory argue it halfheartedly
when the theme is never that ,
between lines is much of
the daily things, so in my poetry.

reading someone , is intimate
her words are her heart
I try to take that in account.

why do I when someone dies I know
stop for a thought of eternity
when everyday I go on without a thought
just work the day till I get off to
grab a six pack a dame and get along
is the end such a bad thing
it might be grand
after so many years children grown
on their own
what hell why do we go on
fooling time and destiny
might be better than what we have
the daily grind
insecurity
the nose and grind
you know
or not
the end is all of  it
and can't turn back
I guess

found she had broken in
was naked but for my dress shirt
unbuttoned but covering her shoulders
on my bed
reading  my copy of Dostoevsky

I had the NY Times in my hand
the cigarette burnt down
my finger like a
reminder to wake up
let it burn

pain had left my being
blonde and sweet , not the blonde of Marilyn
Bridgette but the sanctified
sweet of Faye Dunaway , smoke lingered

wafted tobacco and burnt flesh simmering
told her, anytime, didn't expect this,
she paid me  no attention acted
or read like she was engrossed

in the greatest thoughts of social reform
or the realisms of crime and punishments
maybe debating socialism and capitalism
there naked in my shirt

taking the novelists cue I undressed
laid down acting casual worldly when
she asked me the oddest  question
you like  Dostoevsky

we debated the rest of the day week
night dark and days bright
she left such a sweet scent
on my shirt

the window she busted has never
been fixed

years fall fast almost as tears on the bass players
deep strum hum
people come
go
like a rift from a lead guitar
fast fingers drums keep a heartbeat
going all along there and to and fro
singers make sounds like angels singing on the ridge
call ******* calling
you home
organs praise the goodness of all
in  unreality
saxophones are just a moon song sent from little
green men found on their way from mars
girls sway and dance like
zephyrs too beautiful for touch
lord have mercy
gotta find my baby soon
going blues crazy

one day someday has her way
the end of the string runs out
find yourself facing inevitability
you don't even know anymore
but those left in  your wake do
I don't judge satan or hell
or heaven or god's will
just know
the guitars harps songs are all for you
for once
and you go peaceful
to where?
wish I ******* knew
you do now

cadences seep like cricket legs rub

along my left leg up my spine

to cerebral cortexes like dipthongs

uncoordinated half  there half gone

into  electrical and chemical

impulses

and what am I

in Ali Ahkbars chariot rode
Iscariot to the ruins of
Rome
had ten gold pieces
in his hand
or twenty forget the rhymes
it's more important we change the
elegy the caricatures to fit modern modality
he met Julius who had  not been born, still the story is better if,
and the Editors  of the Bible know this , will edit it
lets say a real young Julius
with Cleopatra sultry and suave dressed in the best  
designers of the time Togas
his power ascending
had no idea
the thumpers would thump
the Nazis would come he had Cleopatra's ***
on his mind
and say
history has been remembered ,
or not,
let's make haste of frugality
and really get down to the
gist of it,
brutality, fear of the unknown,
worship of gods we dont know exist.
If I were around then, who is to say I was not,
I'd slap Cleopatra on the *** pour wine down her throat
and watch Julius make an orange smoothie
out of Icarus or **** I forget , who he was.
Started with an I.

if I says I hot for you and you shout go away, hee
at least I won't stay in a dream wondering, that
is the good thing about brash
no false hopes hanging dangling down
to impede me or you as I go to next
in line make her slap me , haha,
red cheeked not by being shy her *******
hand hurts but not as much as pretending

predisposed to seeing things more real
than ghostly
having been on trips afar
where mushrooms are a delicacy
and LSD stands for Lands So Dreamy
I came upon Priscilla
this slight ****** high **** just right
hips swerving *** two handfuls
dream
that asked if I were hungry
I drooled yesp
she laughed
we hit it off
a high time had till
I found she lived with three
young disciples of the darkness
devil's spawn and mortal dread
having our way at dawn her children called upon the
cake and ice cream demons  to deliver silence
as they crept
around the house twinkies flying and cake sans icing
ice cream suddenly disappearing
the next morn Priscilla showed her true colors
flew into a frenzy the broom spun as she flew the vroom of
the broom spinning twixt her legs
all hell breaking loose
the black cats
hid with me beneath the coffee table
I had to pay the neighbor ten dollars and pledge
I had not seen him
to call me a cab to get home.
From Faydette.

when I get to heaven, gonna seek out
Janis first say to her
or ask I might say
let me hear them pipes again

gonna see if Johnny Guitar Watson
is around,
to show me the secrets
to his licks

find Moses and John
Martin Luther
find Joy , she still haunts me,
bet she up there as bad as ever

little scamp,
walk around see what they think of
medicinal marijuana
and the KKK

feel my way around just test
the predominance
cause where I was before
am now,

ain't there yet, there is like
some ******* thesis
of how god is on their side
only

see if that is blasphemous up
there,
you know be cautious , at first,
feel things out

if them bigots haters and
saints on Sundays only
were right
gonna take the next train

straight to Hell

est
unnerving a bit of arcaness
has a touch of Shakespearean folklore but
say that on my corner
the ******* gonna creep all over you
take for granted pass you along to the next
***** **** badass
that don't know
Poe from Ivanhoe.
You gonna end up on that corner barefooted in briefs ,
if you lucky,
broken glasses ,
they ain't gonna take your Thesaurus,
but gonna take
every god ****** thing else.
So thou art the fish, say it loud!

one day has passed and your leaving has not passed
still as thick as molasses
a badgered  beavered up creek **** it
puddles thicken flood
and their a'int no levy
to catch the overflow
gonna be
moss on every tree
vines grown like spiderwebs
Magnolia leaves floating down the creek
like paper plates
snakes enjoying a bath and guppies
on the banks flopping
in ecstasies jumping in like
we did way back when
on those banks of the Chatahootchee
a rope hanging
foreshadowed
something we knew
but ignored
you took a way I me mine
chose to see
yours and my  destiny
we all die
someday
but my burden
seems to be I am still alive

have concentric circles
bullseyes
people don't

My eyes get adjusted to dimness
the twilight makes me grimace too much bright
success , ha
it makes me blind

Like a *** I stumble around grinning
most often not seen a drop of water
in ten weeks, smelling myself
goes after one

songs are my attribute
my condolences  
a seance to that ringing
in this head

money comes and goes
loves become entangled
like wild roses
left untentended

thorns hook make blood
rise and people
to me are
so much like

a grappling thistle crown
of thorns under
the trees I bed down under
sleep awoke

Don't think you understand,
no one does, Not me,
not the trees the underbrush
or skies

just briefly, had a weird thing happen to me
I got jealous, wanted to take down my adversary,
thought to slur her or him,
get others on my side by telling
revealing or made up things, thought of many ways,
like our President, well I have to try and take that idiot down,
but this has to do with
the vitriole the competition on HP,
where some gang up like M-13
banditos and sling words like
bullets toward passersby or innocents
like AK 47 shrapnel.
Listen please. If you insist on being right always ,
better just shut up, then you have a chance.
What you say can be taken apart , bit by bullet.
Spit back here.
On the streets is the same.
Just idiots and lame egos competing on
some ladder , the top rung. **** Idiots,
listen to some classic rock, jazz, pop,
hiphop your ******* *** off. Just stop
trying to tear others apart.
Manchester is an infamous example.
How stupidity is our HP, our society ,
our world?
Just Love.
Live and Let Live
for our sake.

Crossroads, seem to come and go, yeah.
The gypsy flies from coast to coast

Knowing many, loving none,
Bearing sorrow havin' fun,
But back home he'll always run
To sweet Melissa... mmm...

Freight train, each car looks the same, all the same.
And no one knows the Gypsy's name

No one hears his lonely sighs,
There are no blankets where he lies.
In all his deepest dreams the Gypsy flies
with sweet Melissa... mmm...

Again the morning's come,
Again he's on the run,
Sunbeams shining through his hair,
Appearing not to have a care.
Well, pick up your gear and Gypsy roll on, roll on.

Crossroads, will you ever let him go? (Lord, Lord)
Will you hide the dead man's ghost,
Or will he lie, beneath the clay,
or will his spirit float away?

But I know that he won't stay without Melissa.

Yes I know that he won't stay without Melissa.

once so such a goal ultimate had
a temporal design a lust
had three score frames a rhyme at each pause
made sense if not had timing down to
syncopathy right on
came around from a saneness start
to an anticipated foreshadowed ending
made sense when on the first perusal
no need to read ten times and still be
confused
but then
new
like
the birth of pointilism
became a dot
a new thing I thought of
had to do
make something no one else
had not too
in the  end when not is compared to too
the differences make none
or few

someone asked me once
what is it you love about life
had to think  long and hard
it should have been easy

if any musician can
in his hands I die
go to heaven gratefully

if I ever find it
gonna reach down
and grab your hand sweetness

light explained be told desribed in physics books
photons waves and quantums
has no
shine like your eyes
gems dug from ground the biggest diamonds
no gem shines as bright
as your smile
lights up the night shinier
than stars or moons might ever do
no nuclear reaction is more reactive
or powerful than the
slightest touch of your flesh
on mine no
Shakespeare and me might come
close to painting in words
we pale
and wither in
your glow
sunshine tongues cannot
say how much
or letters portray
I shut up
you are ecstasy know now how
sun light moon stars
quantity functioned
to a point of infinity has  never known
you your face or time like this
Where light exceeds its speed and time stops
physics fail to describe
art strives to portray
man seeks everywhere.
Heaven only promises.
I found it.
here in you

Heard a voice made the sun come up in
the middle of a dark night
a guitar that closed the Dow Jones
made us all just mortal in
comparison
saw on YouTube  no one plussed it
and I was not
tripping yet
tried to share it round
then woke up
it was me
and EmmyLou in her prime
in my dream
and as always
I woke up too soon

yesterday's barely gone
been only
like ten minutes and I
am wanting more of her
glory

we both glazed over but
her nakedness makes
it all stir again
I reach over
touch her ******

kiss the nape of her neck
grasp her fine *** cheeks
in both hands  she gasps
half closed eyes
I see

her melt again and me splash like
the crest of waves on the shore
arm in back arm around my neck legs
entangled  in wet bed sheets

the dawn arises bangs yellow brightness
on two naked bodies
trying to become one

so many versions of sad songs
and can't find my way home
rhythms but they all have
this way of touching my soul

just as much as the original
just different
keys a woman's voice can make it
angelic as much as Blind Faith's

Windwood's  Ginger's drum ecstasy
is Bonnie's version
as tearful
Angel from Montgomery

is taken to a new height by Tedeschi Trucks
Susan do do it justice
Derek is just him
amongst the best

in the whims of a minute
the song of one bluebird
the falling limbs of one
crying willow tree

come visions longing
for long past loves
and the depths of
empty hearts

the sudden expectations
of love that turned into
one

rain clasps her thunder
like smoke around lightning
the clouds disappear

as I declare decry how
many loves are too much
under her limbs

the crying leaves falling down
to cover my fire
the twilight glows

an ember will
always remain

she wore that dress
to the dance
that black tight one

that's the one I
swept her off her
feet in

she swayed in front
of my shadow
with another

the music so loud
they didn't hear me
yell *******

at the top of my lungs
the lounges
still full

emptied when
I busted a 45
in the roof

she smiled
and kept dancing
alone on the floor

the stupidest woman
and the bravest
I ever saw

so I went out
bowed grabbed her hand
then swat  busted in

the tempest of passion
had drowned me again
'tween her dimples

try to cheat the crying again
wake up every day after day
with a stained pillow
I've been sentenced
to life  in this prison
of sunrises on the porch alone
sunsets with ten bottles
serenading me
the paper on the refrigerator
yellowed stained
that says
where she was leaving me forever
still that ring
glistens in the window
and one dead stem
still in the vase
on the mantle
remains beside that wilted
brown brittle rose
the door has never been closed
ten years now
and the sun I don't see
ever shine
don't
need to water the garden
my tears flood them
as the wildest weeds grow
tangled around
my dreams
in them

please be strong the summer breeze
breathe green into my wilting
leaves
my tulip kiss
my sunflower rush
bring bees once more
make butterflies dance again
tame the sun drench with tears
her lifeless form
alone in the dirt
alive her garden refresh
the grass
to stand then bow at
her resurrection
make whole the best
of nature's creations
or blight me then
in deference

sat down on the couch after
feeding the kits some bits
didn't know
they were addicted to it
they turned the house over
pecking for more
until they found the box
of Friskies Variety
with glazed eyed feasted  partied
meowed and purred
when I took it away they
big eyed slurred mmmen wow
and ganged up
on me
with such sorry big eyed looks
I said here
emptied the box
on the counter
been there done that
I said

stumbled once I did I know  I think I am infallible
upon a thing I had no preconceived idea about
I compared projected subjectively conjectured
that this was something before now never discovered
I stood it in bright light studied how prisms changed
the view in telescopes and microscopes
it didn't whatever it was give up a clue
nor shine a light inside my head. Very disconcerted
I went to bed and had this vivid dream
of unicorns small fairies wizards and demons,
I gave them names understandable like Zeus
Mohammed Alijah and Ben,
Ben was my favorite.
He was just a working man
that tripped one day over a stream of
gold and got rich
Not for real he was made up like all the rest.
But Ben gave all his found riches away.
Fed the poorest
and the ****** thieves
and politicians.
Ben was a hero
far and wide.
I woke up beaming , half in sleep half awake
and thought ,
by god
Ben was cool.

to the softest clouds floating
the whitest greyest beings
like I
who look down in reverence

at those pillowed truths
a dream remembering
their beginnings
their everything

try just trying on
to say in the righteousness
of man's limited vocabulary

one thing that echoes
through the last rays
the first of suns
glistening

as much
as bright as blindingly
magnificent

though impossible
much like the draw
of the bridge

the pull of gravity
we don't understand
but strive

to put on paper
I am your
follower

challenged me, the bully did
to describe air
or anything

my lungs filled
and I stuttered
me

I am all I don't know
and everything
is infinity

your hate is real
your hate for yourself
take a breath free

hit what you don't understand,
hate it with every fist
break everything in two.

then look upon that
sudden rush the freedom felt
when an epiphany

is right between your eyes
he stopped
eyes crossed

trying to take it in
and kicked me in the nuts.
Suddenly ,

I knew what air was.
I needed it so much.
A girl drew near.

Asked if I was
all right. I said in
a really high voice

hells no!
I can't breathe!
she placed her lips

on mine
and pushed her lungs
onto mine

then the bully came back
and having caught my
breath , me

and her raced like the wind.

which grasp
has hold entirety
depends
moody I am on
Beethoven
immensely beautiful
wandering amiss in his dreams
I feel voyeuristic
red faced caught
looking in the boudoir
glass at my sister
and her young lover
or among tall grass
with heavenly  harped angels
silent breeze clearing my forehead
on the shore
the birds whistle
soft the surge closes
on sand and makes love
with the sun glistening
rapture
and I blush again

I try to mainline
Ravel ; Dostoyevsky;
Poe ; Dylan
all at once
and my stomach churns
with too much sweetness
I alternate arms daily
and mixtures; at times
it is *** ; *******;
*** ; morphine
it's not my only
addiction
All warm I turn
over over again
listening to
a heartbeat thump
somewhere
so far out there