Twelveth Day of Aprileth

Twelveth Day of Aprileth
Drafty by WordySWorthington

I wandereth lonethumb has this cloud
above the snow lines
That float on high rilles o'er vales and hills,
on wings of turtle doves
When all at once I saw a crowded hillside,
a bunch of skunks
A host of white stripes, of black furry creatures;
Beside the streaming, beneath the tree of aging,
Fluttering and dancing in the wafting smell oh my god that odour.

Continuous as the eyes that shine
And pissing on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a hayfield trampling all them mice in way:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves of amber grains beside them wilted at advance, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves did weep at smell of cats;
A poet could not be but gay and very handsome man,
In such a jocund buzzard company!
I sniffed—and gagged—but little thought of smell had penetrated brain
What wealth the show of all them kitty buzzard skunks to me had brought:

For oft, when on my side of tent I lie
In vacant or in sniffing mode,
They flash upon that inward eye of love them most
Which is the blissters of the solitude of nose;
And then my heart with pleasure fills the lungs,
And silences the coughing choking charlax withe his skunks.

Eight Days Of April

Eight Days Of April

eye was ai only child true story ewe this old man picks up sticks he got eight up on his plate when eye went innside the City Market store eye was noticing the basket cause it was in the middle of the aisle where there was no one there the thing looked forlorn and abandoned just waiting like a bizzaro bird to be plucked away from love the woman on the aisle was there she told me plainly the cart does not belong to me but so what said eye the carts belong only to the store the young men working there cared nothing for the thing at all they chafted at this old gray headed man telling them anything at all it came to me they was trying to catch a thief they mabe planted a dummy purse and cell phone in that cart just like in real old life you get old every day you did your time and then its over its time to go thats just life thats how it comes the end after the starting gun the race is fixed the thief is caught but eye won eye turned it in eye told on them they said it has been like this for a very long time grasshodder old man and eye left and noticed the cart was no longer there all proud of self all happy that eye had won escargo out the door but wait this twist of fate they swept me out with the cardbored lines of food in the cheaper bins are gone there is none and so when eye asked for a Rain Check she said OH NO you can not have this stuff free it is already marked down to non existant ???today eye decided to no more be a customer on the floor swept past the door and gone away.




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onetoo

onetoo

one two buckle mye belt
three four move the computor to the door
five six pick up the belt pouch next
seven eight get the black bag straight
nine ten off to town again
eye do this every day
to make the poems that we
love to line the cages of the birds upon
them crows you keep to make you sleep
the later then you think it was
the air is all eye need to fly

Garbeyeled

Garbeyeled

Constant bombardmeant of the sinuses pressure on the frontal lobe area increased incremeants of poetry is gain. Birth will come today to a new poem most poets have some sort of affinity with and love for and wish for comments and for feedback however some poems stand alone all alone in the corner. This is one of those. IN 1592 the Cardinal Pope of Rome was Benidictine Arnolde. He was standing near the painting of Leonardo. He was straining the eyes like a chinese in disguise he never did quite look Italian. He wanted to get a close up of the plate of lamb chopped he saw near John the Babtist there near where Jesus sat. He called for his pipe of instrumeant was a long telescope. He moved back to the third row. Then something happened to change all of historical events into the presented modem day times. He created a secret law using only his Vatican powers of Representation he penned a missive in an envelope sealed it in a massive honey jar and airtighted the lidd then had it buried in the Catacombs of Roman Iter roads. It simply said something must be done so people can see this painting of Da Vinci must have been myoptic what a nerve he had. We will hire men threw the ages make the food more varied make it larger on the table. Amen. Jesus surley would have had more stuffins then the bread and more to drink then wine. Place some meat there from time to time. Larger portions as we near the end of time. Make it noticeable only to the computor users they will never be able to make much of a THING out of it after all who would be able to place this info into a prose poem who who who is able to do such a THING as a~ that. CharlaX Garbeyeled.

CatcherInTheWry

CatcherInTheWry

I took mye mitt into the wilderness the empty lot had grown the weed were over my head and gone from everyone eye played alone. The game was mine one batt two balls. The smell of weed is strong in empty grown up lots near home. Never mind. The further out in the field eye got away the weed is gone the near decay is summer come. Long ago in a place so far away the end is the new beginning in place of home no where to hang no where to roman road away the wilderness near houses beckons me today. "Life is a game, boy a game iff played alone you loser you become. Life is a game that one plays according to the rules of otheres."
"Yes, sir. I know it is. I know it."
Game, boy my animal is a donkey you knoe an ass. Some game, boy. Iff you get on the side where all the hot-shots are then a stupid hot-shot you become, then it’s a game, all right—I’ll admit that. But if you get on the other side, where there aren’t any hot-shots, and you alone are a loser then then what’s a game about it? Nothing. No game.

The pitcher in the rye is the winner then the Catcher in the rye is only the loser then then what differance can life make to the game then, alone you are a boy, it is only a game then then you finally become a man a loser then. Gone from everyone. Leave me alone.

CitEScapE

CitEScapE

The semi-permanent landscape of anytown USA anytown anytime anywhen anywhere you look to the right of the roadaway is the rightofway is what they call that; on the left just a little past the roadway is the barren space in every city has them. There is what is called the other side of the tracks is over there past the roadway now on the right side looking back out over that expanse there is usually a house there past that rightofway. The house has a barren yard a porch of empty and the sidewalk makes a tee up to that paintless door. No one comes near to the visit no one is ever there home. No lights at night are visible corner has no shelter from the storm. Inside the foyer is mold and mildew extrapolated ferns out of control growing up both flights of staires pushing up out of the windows now and then coming up out of the basement roots in cellar starting there. Iff you could yank away the ferns the whole house just would collapse the walls pancaking near the kitchen sealing all them shuts away. Hangging by a large knotted rope to replace the hangging by a thread or sealed upside down with tape. Them ferns reiterate. A fortress of tension near the rear of the portico a courtyard of drear. This roadway turns one way each way on every CitEScapE.

CitEScapE

CitEScapE

The semi-permanent landscape of anytown USA anytown anytime anywhen anywhere you look to the right of the roadaway is the rightofway is what they call that; on the left just a little past the roadway is the barren space in every city has them. There is what is called the other side of the tracks is over there past the roadway now on the right side looking back out over that expanse there is usually a house there past that rightofway. The house has a barren yard a porch of empty and the sidewalk makes a tee up to that paintless door. No one comes near to the visit no one is ever there home. No lights at night are visible corner has no shelter from the storm. Inside the foyer is mold and mildew extrapolated ferns out of control growing up both flights of staires pushing up out of the windows now and then coming up out of the basement roots in cellar starting there. Iff you could yank away the ferns the whole house just would collapse the walls pancaking near the kitchen sealing all them shuts away. Hangging by a large knotted rope to replace the hangging by a thread or sealed upside down with tape. Them ferns reiterate. A fortress of tension near the rear of the portico a courtyard of drear. This roadway turns one way each way on every CitEScapE.