Monthly Archives: November 2009

Poem: “Snow, Sleet, Ice”, notebooks, Jim Stallings

Snow, sleet, ice

Thawed, frozen again

Into sheets bubbled

With air from last week—

Dusted lightly

With snow confection

Upon which the booted foot

Flies without resistance

To moon surface heights

While the padded coat

Wheels horizontal

The hooded head

Cranes forward

In the instant flash

Between sky and ground

The concussion follows

With the shock of pain.

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Poem: “Convention Dictates”, notebooks, Jim Stallings

Convention dictates

He began…

And then lost his way.

Reprehensible, his buddy said,

Have you no respect?

Given the sacrifices

You’re an ungrateful

Despicable aspersion—

All good words.

The blinking customer said,

So don’t push me.

Reporting you as you are

Will bring repercussions

That may scar eardrums.

You don’t listen, do you?

The damage is already done.

 

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Poem: “A Piece of Sky”, notebooks, Jim Stallings

A piece of sky

Cut by a diamond

Dropped on a plate

Blessed by a goddess

Whose kisses press

My nodding head

Till awake & fresh

The meal is eaten

In calm realms

Far above the play

Knocking at the world

An embrace of arms

Collisions unknown

While ignorance avoids

The scripted future

My celestial meal

Saves me from harm.

 

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Poem: “Who’s In Charge Here?”, notebooks, Jim Stallings

Who’s in charge here?

What’s with bedlam

And broken bones—

Look,

Do I have to—?

No,

I didn’t think so

Okay let’s pick up

And make the adults happy—

After all,

They’re feeding us—

And please stand still—

We’re all in crises here

Don’t make matters—

Hey, put that down—

Help,

We’ve got a problem here.

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Poem: “Against This Sleet”, notebooks, Jim Stallings

Against this sleet

Have you no hope?

Why the cower?

Why the limp?

Cripple in retreat

Even now as bombs burst—

Is this Earth

Not a green white Hell?

And you a subject,

A victim of random

Horrors dripping

Into frame after frame—

Your fear is justified—

You are a target

And your hiding place

Is only a flimsy hut

Against today’s attack.

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Poem: “Put It This Way”, fr. notebooks, Jim Stallings

Put it this way

He didn’t have a clue

Foppish lad in open air

Celestial blue sky

Chromatic angel harps

Quicksilver fingering

And joy was possibility

Even high probability

Attesting to honors earned

The frozen earth held firm

And was remained in hand

Like bank assets seized—

Fear had flown

Into insubstantiality

He lived in Roman order

His cohorts awaited command

While he dreamed of spring.

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Poem: “So It Is So”, notebooks, Jim Stallings

So it is so

You know full well

My demands—

My minimum requirements

But yet you balk

And toss out overtures

Related to trivial pursuits

While this madness

This obsessive Tantalus—

This unspoken pride

This lust for skill

This Sisyphean Rock

Once moved to the top

Well, there it is

And you become mute

And blind & weary

And want to make this fair.

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Poem: “Put the Peach Ripe”, notebooks, Jim Stallings

Put the peach ripe

On the table

In the sunlight

The circle of brightness

Yes,

Where the knife flash

Falls across & through

The rosy red yellow

Apparition fuzzy

With pretension

To tastes delicious

Beyond mortal fare

In its sweet soft gush

Your tawdry dreams

Fulfilled beyond all measure

Of good- or deserved-ness,

And all this & more,

In a ripened peach.

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Filed under erotica, first thought, flash poetry, poetry, prose poetry, works in progress

Poem: “That Bold Entrance”, notebooks, Jim Stallings

That bold entrance

Direct to the window

To adjust the shades.

The dress that falls

Not too far ‘neath

The prix de jour—

As in campy heels

A leg rises to table

And invitations made

Locks & shadows fall

And new entry made

With gratifying wet heat

The gift is given

In mutual parrying

That boils perfumes

To heady ecstasies

And subsides in aahs…

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Poem: “Sad Fact Is”, fr. notebooks, Jim Stallings

Sad fact is

Like bad weather

In your face

Each and every breath

The horns of dilemmas

The standard measure

Has lost its respect

All is rubber sheet

Contortions in alternate

Universes flashing with

Disharmonies that grate

The ear drums with potent

Denials of action

We are listless

Without plan or motive

All pales in twilight

Azure shadows are our food.

 

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