Up I conjure gift rapt down
Full of sour sweetened void.
In not lying you walk out
On me, giving getting off.
Now sew future summer past,
Here a humble stumble gone:
Live-in maid made furnace die
Black the grey, doom-bloom, bleached white.
Hush the instant droning sound!
Start to measure leisure's end.
Back when battles had no front
Sky cried coddled, cobbled ground.
Learning inner whole,
Creating game's transitional
Room doorway, talking.
Riding French questions,
Twilight columned writing
(Cross-nailed language):
Endless experience vehicle.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Atoms Moving in the Carpet
Alcoholic sink table vision
of teeth in Popeye's mouth
toweled bookshelf isolation
while watching atoms
moving in the carpet
and daddy's angry fists
on mommy and my
disillusioned tears
childhood hula hoop invaded
toothbrush drop drills
coerced sirens'
rabbit eared chair pillow
molestation promising death
after life in Davy Jones' Locker
while freedom found hope in ideas.
of teeth in Popeye's mouth
toweled bookshelf isolation
while watching atoms
moving in the carpet
and daddy's angry fists
on mommy and my
disillusioned tears
childhood hula hoop invaded
toothbrush drop drills
coerced sirens'
rabbit eared chair pillow
molestation promising death
after life in Davy Jones' Locker
while freedom found hope in ideas.
The Hill of Desire
I knew a man
who liked to say
"He's so full of shit
his eyes are brown"
I think it's the opposite
when you're full of shit
all the melanin
is sucked out
of your skin
and your hair
it drains into your feces
I used to masquerade
as white
but the pay wasn't good enough
now I'm not for sale
I'm not a high
dollar hooker you know
I give my poems away
to everyone who wants one
freely baby
for free
guess that makes me
a common street whore
Parents teach their kids lies
about the birds and the bees
Flowers never say no
they don't share
their sex directly
flowers make love
in a ménage à troi
they need a third
to inseminate for them
See the roamin' Roman kat
combin' his cat
in the catacombs
I'll let Will
take me until
I surmount the hill
of desire
who liked to say
"He's so full of shit
his eyes are brown"
I think it's the opposite
when you're full of shit
all the melanin
is sucked out
of your skin
and your hair
it drains into your feces
I used to masquerade
as white
but the pay wasn't good enough
now I'm not for sale
I'm not a high
dollar hooker you know
I give my poems away
to everyone who wants one
freely baby
for free
guess that makes me
a common street whore
Parents teach their kids lies
about the birds and the bees
Flowers never say no
they don't share
their sex directly
flowers make love
in a ménage à troi
they need a third
to inseminate for them
See the roamin' Roman kat
combin' his cat
in the catacombs
I'll let Will
take me until
I surmount the hill
of desire
Labels:
Don Coorough,
impressionism,
symbolism,
The Hill of Desire
Always, Never Again
Goodbye
but not for good
only never
again always
always
never again
Hello
amid blue skies
and warm winds
you returned
and my smile
came with you
Goodbye
this time for good
I know never
again always
always
never again
but not for good
only never
again always
always
never again
Hello
amid blue skies
and warm winds
you returned
and my smile
came with you
Goodbye
this time for good
I know never
again always
always
never again
Labels:
Always Never Again,
Don Coorough,
loss,
perpetual change,
personal poetry,
poetry
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Without a Lighthouse
Grinning innocence
broadly disarms
the recalcitrant; while distant,
bright, wide eyes
capture the periphery
nakedly unaware.
Pastorally pristine
property pockets
pantomime, partially
premiering play's
partitioned preference.
Unrewarded redemption's
fog bank snares
without a lighthouse.
broadly disarms
the recalcitrant; while distant,
bright, wide eyes
capture the periphery
nakedly unaware.
Pastorally pristine
property pockets
pantomime, partially
premiering play's
partitioned preference.
Unrewarded redemption's
fog bank snares
without a lighthouse.
Among Faceless Immortals
Your soul runs, aimless
and frantic,
a yet nomadic melody,
incognito
through starless nights
among faceless immortals.
You are the daughter
of a fathomless pool:
eternity's treasure.
What key fits your lock?
Whisper to me,
kiss the breath of life
into me, shadow
me with your embrace.
Aspen leaves quake in your
wake, like sound fragments
drifting on a high tide
without a current.
Impress upon me a knowledge
of every curved indentation
in your fingerprints.
Let me count your freckles!
A rocky cave cliff-dwelling
stands sentry over eons,
even as thunderous waves
splash their salty, foamy
essence into a luminescent
halo, a planetary tribute
celebrating tomorrow's birth
simply because you sparkle
among faceless immortals.
and frantic,
a yet nomadic melody,
incognito
through starless nights
among faceless immortals.
You are the daughter
of a fathomless pool:
eternity's treasure.
What key fits your lock?
Whisper to me,
kiss the breath of life
into me, shadow
me with your embrace.
Aspen leaves quake in your
wake, like sound fragments
drifting on a high tide
without a current.
Impress upon me a knowledge
of every curved indentation
in your fingerprints.
Let me count your freckles!
A rocky cave cliff-dwelling
stands sentry over eons,
even as thunderous waves
splash their salty, foamy
essence into a luminescent
halo, a planetary tribute
celebrating tomorrow's birth
simply because you sparkle
among faceless immortals.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Chocolate
Overwhelmed by the scent
Strawberries named Paula
The salty Venice Beach
Taffy air wizzed by
An August sunset
That 1971
Blurred lights led
Up the walkway
To my hippie beach pad
In the later moonless depths
We all shed our clothing
And ran to the dark
Red tide phosphorescence
Stars glittered
The night reflected on the sea
As she hummed
In candlelight shadows
We swam naked and alive
Together with Hershey kisses
Stolen from masculine jaws
By delicately feminine tongues
Strawberries named Paula
The salty Venice Beach
Taffy air wizzed by
An August sunset
That 1971
Blurred lights led
Up the walkway
To my hippie beach pad
In the later moonless depths
We all shed our clothing
And ran to the dark
Red tide phosphorescence
Stars glittered
The night reflected on the sea
As she hummed
In candlelight shadows
We swam naked and alive
Together with Hershey kisses
Stolen from masculine jaws
By delicately feminine tongues
Labels:
Chocolate,
Don Coorough,
imagery,
impressionism,
sensuality,
symbolism
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