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Open Poetry #38
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Perpendicular Lines to Meet.....(a walk in my mind)
| Open Poetry #38 |
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Perpendicular Lines to Meet.....(a walk in my mind) |
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Joe Houck Member
since 2001-04-23
Posts 324california 
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Perpendicular lines to meet I’m Stepping across this threshold with a crucifix and a pitch fork, ready to dig up these roots, find my nitch, for all the unborn’s cursed with a dim stork, or point the finger at that proverbial poacher peaking his barrel out da window, replace it with an arthritic catalytic grandmother’s apple pie on the seal, court that for awhile, see what spawns of it, like HEY! Let’s make a deal! Scoot on the fate, grace the peasants cooler populous amen to sin, Caligula, here I go again contradicting my contradictions again, I’m evil, your evil, the women’s evil. The Evil women with jagged intentions calls me out beneath the hollow tree, but I see the serpentine, circling my mezzanine, slithering into my bed to cuddle up close while she peals away pieces of my lucid dream, I don't think so, I walk with a big stick through life that peddles the onslaught of thought to no wife, back off while I sleep woman, can’t get to comfy, plus how am I supposed to spoon with a jack knife? tell me that, tell me what you think. of constellation stars that stretch as you can sink. Uhhh….Well….. Now that wasn’t a rhetorical question but ill lend you some 1eway, study these pencil sketches and sell them on eBay, for some profits you can reap and see right away, you subsidiary ghouls can’t see the power it poses anyway. What I’m I doing here, I beg your pardon? I’m rolling Kansas in search of this secret garden Bite your nails cuz this scribble's not what you're useta, raise the colored threat level to fuchsia! I spit hell fire and brimstone in omitted center sin poem, from the depths of the unknown. branch a geriatrics brain to the fountain of youth and throw them back in a convalescent home, lobotomize the offspring and spit’em out as affluent celebrant clone. it’s sad really...ok, I’m over it. Cuz you see, I’m whipping the spittle off my chin with an acrimonious next of kin, apple advised to fall far, but landed deep within. Sunny boy, bite down on a couple of these supple roots and suckle the sweet nectar we call mortal sin. Ok, Stop, I want a woman whose kisses are sweeter than my cigarettes, till then I’ll take a pack of Camels, make my lungs pay the cost for bitter lips, though I ain’t no saint, I’ve succumbed to forked tounges with curvy hips, lust boat, for love boat, same vessel, different colored paint coat, her loose lips sink both ships not me, scapegoat. why can’t you just be perfect, I got patients, can’t conform then salutations. perfect storm alert the nations. I’ve come full circle now better to drink wine from paper cup, than staunch the heart turned purple now. But it’s just like that, Always one notch below on this totem pole, but what really matters, in the grand scheme of things, it’s how much you tithe, how many experiences you suppress to pass the test to prove you’re not really alive...yet The hell with that. I sit and wait for these perpendicular lines to met, sipping on fine wine discreet, that’s two buck chuck, with some limburger cheese, to put your senses in orbit, halt to speed, for the next best dressed score, you know you adore it, who’s the next to perch up on the pedestal? search with a fangless comb, victim of hodgepodge assortment, walk to invite the splints to the shins like side show freak contortment. Now I’ll admit that I’m judgmental, but I promise with a scalpel and a smile I’ll be gentle. There’s Raindrops on the Doppler screen, dew point peaks, turns my stretches of my sneakers into splashing arid seekers, sit soaked and wait for reinforcements running their tires down to the cotton wires, Spinneret informant. Patients is a virtue? Pshh, that trait is a tramp out way past its curfew, morph your favor into a bird coo, I know why it sings, the cages concubine perched on its fixed wings, my instincts hack the pass of mogul saints per folly, haste them all to the gallows pole, lift the lever, push the button, pull the rip cord, but alas, dogma stuck like magic granite clung to holy sword, what a beautiful concept. But naw, my role is specter spectator, apparently transparent but too rusted for ironclad folklore, save my disobedience for the battle of evermore, immersed in a skirmish were both sides think they know the final score. I sit and wait for these lines to meet, I sit and wait. "A witty saying prooves nothing" (Voltare) |
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| © Copyright 2006 Joe B. Houck - All Rights Reserved | |||
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LeeJ Member Patricius
since 2003-06-19
Posts 13296 |
ahhh, the wisdom and justice of it all soul to soul, this was great |
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Earth Angel Member Empyrean
since 2002-08-27
Posts 40215Realms of Light |
And the beauteuos rose and the devil incarnate continue to stand side by side perpedicular to Mother Earth while you, the spector spectator, looks on. Quite a curious scenario you have painted here! May the roses and sunshine win over the dark side!  I think of you more as an angel en garde than a spector spectator! Loving Light, EA |
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XOx Uriah xOX Senior Member
since 2006-02-11
Posts 1403Virginia |
To sit and wait for what has always been. The perpendicular lines are at right angles of the root. At the root...they are One. Where else could one possibly walk, but in the mind? Oh ! Such fun ! ::smiles:: Wonderful write. |
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Midnitesun
since 2001-05-18
Posts 28647Gaia |
"contradicting my contradictions again" chuckling here at that personal assessment  a wonderful read |
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