The Last Waltz (till the 12th of Never)
I never got around to this waltz stufferoo, preferring to do a little
soft shoe, tip of the Hatlo hat toodledoo so to speak
as I sashayed my wrinkled old ass
out the door
off the killing floor
of small town
anywhere better than this
folderol
color me curmudgeon
if you ain't misbehavin"
I ain't having it
Who among this orchestra
with ill-tuned instruments
could tempt me back
to that hormonal sticky mucked-up floor?
Who besides me ever heard
of Neodesha god-help-us Kans-ass?
With its sundowner signs
and cruelties and banality
and Mrs cleaver complaining
about Ward being a little rough
on the beaver last night
and the har hars and the locker talk
so yes I was gone before I went
Wouldn't you?
So, kids, it's been...something
I guess. Gonna miss a few. But here
I am in Waikiki
The Homeless Poet of Waikiki
Too old to dance
Romance you outta yer pants
80 and loving me
Just to finally see
What it's like to be
Free.
(Or at least cheap)
Love you guys. Gonna miss you.
soft shoe, tip of the Hatlo hat toodledoo so to speak
as I sashayed my wrinkled old ass
out the door
off the killing floor
of small town
anywhere better than this
folderol
color me curmudgeon
if you ain't misbehavin"
I ain't having it
Who among this orchestra
with ill-tuned instruments
could tempt me back
to that hormonal sticky mucked-up floor?
Who besides me ever heard
of Neodesha god-help-us Kans-ass?
With its sundowner signs
and cruelties and banality
and Mrs cleaver complaining
about Ward being a little rough
on the beaver last night
and the har hars and the locker talk
so yes I was gone before I went
Wouldn't you?
So, kids, it's been...something
I guess. Gonna miss a few. But here
I am in Waikiki
The Homeless Poet of Waikiki
Too old to dance
Romance you outta yer pants
80 and loving me
Just to finally see
What it's like to be
Free.
(Or at least cheap)
Love you guys. Gonna miss you.
Goodbye Bro'
sitting at the grave marker
didn't know who it belonged to
its peaceful and quiet
riding in something stranger
filling up voids
you were there
clawing up the well
fingers slightly shaking
strange about Marcus
bickering with others
about black tea and biscuits
threatens to self destruct
https://youtu.be/2-BRJgtFyMs?si=NlIA6vtXLBqQQ01c
Black Tea and Biscuits
This combination always hits the spot
on mornings when I drag myself from bed,
resembling more one of the walking dead,
and stumble kitchenwards, to make a pot.
I sip that sweet restoring cup, the shot
which kicks my weary arse, cries 'Sleepyhead,
wake up! You can not laze around! Instead,
you must attack the day with all you've got!'
I listen, grumble, pour a second mug,
then dunk my favourite bourbon biscuit in
and munch, a biscuit welcome as a drug,
and only then I let the day begin.
What makes this wicked world go round for me
are biscuits and a lovely cup of tea.
☕
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=APEhT7DrEq0&pp=ygUWdGVhIGFuZCBiaXNjdWl0cyBzb25kcw%3D%3D
🏝️☕
I'm Not Saying I Disagree with Pound and Eliot, but ...
I'll try the Jackson Pollock way to write
this Onion, chucking words like flicking paint
upon the page. Telephone. Dog. It ain't
the greatest method. Cow. Frog, and the sight
of random words I'm sure will bring complaint
from all those boring fuddy-duddies, who
quite like to read a poem that makes sense,
the meaning clear as crystal glass, not dense
with marmalade and omlettes painted blue,
which to Discernment only cause offence;
but still the art of poems must progress.
They must be 'difficult' to comprehend,
as Pound and Eliot would recommend.
No wonder Poetry's in such a mess!
Such arty bollocks brought about its end.
☹️
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XB-HFM70Rxk&pp=ygUVc3VycmVhbGlzdCBwb2VtIG1lbGx5
🙃
New Balls, Please
I found
that writing
this poem
was a
little bit
like playing
a game
of tennis
that ended
only after
a lot
of sweat
swearing and
effort when
the words
finally went
crashing into
the
n
e
t
🎾
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7InXchA_Ko&pp=ygUSam9obiBtY2Vucm9lIHNvbmdz
🏝️☕
