Honestly, I'm a Liar, & Other Balances & Imbalances

March 22, 2017

Birthday Tribute

Filed under: music, poetry, rhyme, Uncategorized — Tags: , , , — namelessneed @ 12:52 pm

It’s likely/ It could be

That when Leonard Bernstein,

At his piano bench…

It was very late when he,

In a creative trance,

Had opened an envelope

From a Mr. Stephen Sondheim,

And started to work on

A musical phrasing for

“There’s a place for us”,

He eyedropped a gold teardrop

Into a test tube, & heaven reacted,

 

& now can make me ache

20,000 late nights after

.

,

.

.

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Happy birthday, Mr.Stephen Sondheim

November 13, 2012

My Own Parade

Filed under: fragments, rhyme — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 1:58 pm

 

 

 

 

Walking, mostly in clockwork close meter,

Warmer ghosts  from my former  features;

All the roles, All the resume’,

Falling in line,  just the crew to rescue me.

Faded as sad old soldiers,

Vain fantasies say old glories.

Again, always, They had  heaved it all in a chest.

Again, always, they had heaved in their chest

& took it to heart.

.

I’ll call it for you  my own VFW

hall. I have my own tall tales to tell,

We’ll share lies, & libations.

I’ll wear my  mightier  pen.

I’ll share  sham wisdom  wide open.

But first, false memories in verse.

& what’s worst,  I’ll con, & confide  open.

.

.

.

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“I’m ready to go anywhere/ I’m ready for to fade/ Into my own parade”

—————-Dylan (the troubadour one), from “Mr. Tambourine Man”

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.

.

.

“Every hero becomes  a bore, at last.”  -Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

 

August 17, 2012

INVENTORY

Filed under: fragments, poetry, prose, rhyme — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 8:05 am

 

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It’s not been my story  to take inventory/

It’s  I can’t even fake  worry

About what I have, What I would want/

I suppose  I could pose  but I can’t/

It’s  said/

An  unexamined  life

Is  good  as  dead/

I said/

A body afloat, & solid thoughts will float too, y’know/

Lofty thoughts  not  caught  can ride

On all tides  High and low

February 7, 2012

loft

It might seem

All this wretched week

I’m nights dreaming,

‘Till their drench ed sheets

Drape their flushed & fleshy souls

In the same town

Wet, & yet

Won’t drown

In deep waters

Just out the door, around.

.

They’ll soon drift,

‘Till noon, a different drift.

At long last They’re lift ed

A strong  love’s loft,

Soft, &

Gifted.

March 29, 2011

something

when i  kicked something at work,

it was an unsafe area & i  hurt myself

so i  kicked something at work

they walked me off the floor & now i  hate myself

so i’m off  for some time  at work

they’ll drop all charges if i  damn myself

when i kicked something at work

i was no fool for those rules  myself

a perilous  future

presently  at work

my past actions are passed factoring in for myself

i don’t know what to do   what will work

since i kicked something at work

February 22, 2011

Ann Serves Up & Verves Up

Man, she’s a looker &

Men,  do we look.

She’s there by that window

(At last,  She broadcasts

“Breakfast in my Nook”)

She’s there by that window

Daylight  delicately  shone

Through shade, chemise,

Through thighs,  so high

You sigh,  low moan,

Your  eyes  go  feast.

.

What Ann serves up  for free

Warms, and verves up me.

.

(As Ann  fleshes  it all out,

You benefit too, without one doubt.)

February 1, 2011

No Cakewalk

Filed under: poetry, prose, rhyme — Tags: , , , , , , , , , — namelessneed @ 7:59 am

When I don’t hear from her

When we don’t talk

Instead of what might

just happen in late night

screwball comedies,

A black & white

Cakewalk

Where he keeps just missing her,

& unknown to her,  her one & only is  so near,

& you watch  & wait for them to wise up,

For when their timing improves.

When I don’t hear from her

When we don’t talk

Instead of just sitting tight,

& trusting the plot twists,

& our protagonists,

& all that insignificant subterfuge

Until it all plays out that

They can take cuts in the

Everything’s-Fine   waiting line

Instead of that

He keeps just missing her.

.

.

.

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Yesterday at the yoga class

I was asked to  exhale out

All inside I saw as unsettled.

And all this matter  turned to air.

Then, intake air. More awake.  More aware.

January 28, 2011

Words Fall, Spaces Would Fill

A man in a dilemma

A fool in such a fix

You’ll expect such a trainwreck

You’d see a face transfixed

And  torn.

.

but

Emboldened by her shine on him,

Words fall into place & into spaces between them

Would fill  with good feel

Comprehension.

Words Go  &

Cohesion,

Not torn.

January 12, 2011

Coffee Break Theology

The sight of a meteor

Might signal us

To kiss and cuss.

You’ll utilise your

Cues-to-Be,  or tries

To be..the spiritual

Realized

Beast  the best

Of us are.

.

We’ll take it.

July 31, 2010

“Bridge’s Out”

.

.

“Bridge’s out”

A boy in a blue scarf shouted.

But a girl with high boots and a cape

only whispered  “Icy  isn’t  safe”.

Both their lines seemed to lift steamlike,  upwords,

opposing  most all  downfall  white

(On his hair,  in her eye lashes).

White  lit it all,  it meant to mask the night.

.

Ethereal, yet so real, their faces were so pale.

They are, I thought, not far from fainting.

I strained to scout beyond them,  they stood out

Stark against wood and trail.

It confused me, admittedly, I might see a  painting.

.

“Watch yourself”,  their voices, close,

It sounded some  like me  who

confoundedly joined their chorus.

Starting down to the river,

I shake off a shiver under my clothes.

I take a deep icy breath, then take a step nearer chaos.

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