Angst and beyond

I wrote this last nite in the wee hours. Bjorn and a friend have suggested we write free verse today in the style of Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg. Free writing is "like playing tennis without a net" to quote Robert Frost. A zany train of thought comes more easily to me than some structured poem. It is a bit long, but the pen took me there.  Check it out others' work for yourself...some are lovely, some are wild at dversepoets.com




Those in between pre-teen years of angst,
thrust upon us__
encroaching on our individualism,
as we watched our father undress,
Occurring unexpectedly,
as we did, I suppose,
from some unknown tower, or power?
Above reproach, of course,
then he placed his children
in the center of a giant bow,
plucked and pulled the cord back,
shot them like arrows into space__
aiming too far to one side,
or the other, no bullseye
Integrity and fairness count,
but blight blew in the windows
and mother made bologna sandwiches
with mayonnaise
Her apron with blood stains on it,
hung from the clothesline and waved goodbye,
squinting in the sun,
not forgotten

Times when a girdle and panty hose
cramped my style,
hiking uphill to the yellow bus,
minding my own p's and q's
What time does the library open
its timeless gates, please?
And who doesn't love a parade with roses
and a bagpipe band?
Forever dancing in the park blocks_
licorice ice cream,
feeding homeless pigeons
We climbed on Thomas Jefferson's
horse's back, sat in the saddle with him,
feeling the coolness of steel
against our legs
Slow music started my heart beating
under crepe paper banners flying
Bounce, bounce, bounce,
from cradle to measles,
to Paul Anka__
How old is earth, the world?
The tan birthmark that covers half
of the psychiatrist's face__
well the other half, matching his,
is on my back

Blow Up was a suspenseful film noir,
filmed in England, if you can find it online
Oh, I do want someday to visit the Cotswolds
High winds take the kite away_
along came a ugly faced hurricane, sucked
all opportunities away, to be swallowed
by the biggest bird you ever saw_
and oh, the swing wants
to go higher and higher!
Those girls who smoked in junior high school
had common sense?
I never quite caught up with them
My bobby sox were good behaved well

Shudder to think how ridiculous
the smelly crinkly perm in my hair__
face unclear of fear,
 "stringbean"
He through me a box of Kotex,
said "Merry Christmas" and winked;
up the chimney he rose

Galloping under me a buckskin mare,
We rode into the woods and poison ivy,
pranced up the mountain, tasted
sweet strawberries on the other side
A clean ice cold stream
quenched our thirst as we lay on our tummies,
kissed Frankie Avalon in the mirror
Talking our hearts out
from dawn to dusk, we rode with
Dale Evans and Roy Rodgers, Elvis,
and Martin Luther King
One giant step for mankind
put me out on a limb with Shirley MacLaine
Girls like me usually go far_
Around the world in 80 days,
backpacking, sleeping in cemeteries
Serve paella in a restaurant,
to pay for higher learning_
Magnum cum laude
Troy Donahue's image,
stuck in her head
"Al-Di-La", 1963
The adventure wasn't advertised,
the King and Queen of hearts married
under burdensome wings,
babes in the woods

Rubbery legs give out some times
but one can ride the ferris wheel
again and again,
upside down one time,
this way, that way,
"my ?? is in a bucket" ?
Old MacDonald had a farm,
cows that type__ee eye ee eye oh?
Recorded somewhere, videotaped,
or in a scrapbook,
all is recorded somewhere by great-great-
great-great-great-great grandfather Fate and
Ms. Faith,
where stories weaves wildly, randomly,
like a serpentine _
No pain, no passion, right?
Red and white graduation robes, tassels
on caps,
no pomp and circumstance,
LSD & pot

Descendants can't tell us what it's like to die,
how we live on
If there is a thread through infinity,
I want to be the a needle
It aches to want to know all the reasons,
 "Why" and "Why not"!!!

Building a stairway to the stars

For dversepoets.com today we are writing about stars, winter skies and the heavens.

Living consciously brings all the stars out,
ushers in harmony to the wintry night
Tiny jeweled windows of platinum pink
and yellow turquoise dress up an
indigo sky
Each one channeling 
its own lustrous voice 

Living in the dark, like unconsciousness,
shuts out light of love's purest spirit
Scientists observe shifts in the
universe expanding , measure 
light years bent into splinters galore



For the soul to be illuminated
the mind must be cracked open, 
precious beams of light must trickle in for all the beauty to shine in
Formulas and equations substanciate love and kindness spreads outwardly, everywhere

Astronomers lead us to 
deep space mysteries, 
present us with a map of stars
glowing in clusters of satin red, 
and laser green.
Glamarous galaxies interact with black holes while
edges of shadows play with 
shades of  light

Starlight is required for 
the souls's journey;
we are miracles of such a light,
criss-crossing trails with those
who have moved on or lost the connection,
wanting, striving to be banded together again__
on the stairway to heaven

Tis the Season

Victoria over at dversepoets.com suggests we write in the poetic form of "Synesthesia". If you have ever given a voice or color to an emotion or thing, this is an opportunity to imagination what you might write and give it a try. Check out what others have written today.















Shavings of sherbet served 

in morning clouds 

play in squinting stained glass 

sail boat skies

Markets below sell wares, fruit

cakes,  freshly brewed art for the soul

Gold leaf ladders lean against

invisible walls as I gleefully 

slide down a long curving chute,

land on polar bear soft,

billowy white drifts of linen, 

scents of pine and tart mulberry _ 

Strings of colored lights adorn each door;

 there stands a thin fiddler playing his lute 

for wars no more

I grab a fir tree swag, swing high above 

on an aerial merry-go-round_

all around town

My hair screams, hints of the midway,

life kaleidoscoping by

There, in a treetop of mint frosting,

I sit with an angel 

at the break of day

Trees bow low in meditation 

as I breeze through them on my way

Heavenly birdsong ties with ribbon

red bows to pin to my heart;

The sea is fully dressed in tinsel

Then with the stealth of a doe,

I weave textures of nature into

holiday mittens, frozen memories

of chunks of coal,

gingerbread images 

of red-cheeked children, 

in tweed hats, cookie size wide-eyed

Holiday bustle meets ancient shamans 

pedalling oils of penitence

"we are all brethren", 

say Myrrh and Frankincense 

And when it snows, 

the bitter taste of foes 

and woes of  yesteryear melt away,

leaving us perched on a mountain 

of purple heather,

overlooking a valley of rugged 

cobblestone where gumdrop

toadstools grow 

and say,"this is home."  

We are all in this together.