Poetry With Hart

Old sort of stream-of-consciousness poetry from 2009. Enjoy 🤗

___

Lost in West Coast Dreams

the same four blank walls
Crack of Dawn phone calls,
McDonald’s French Fries
spirited drunken highs
and drinking games
accompanied by
the nicknames,
that beg to break
Her silence.

curiously cold coffee and
bountiful brownie breakfast,
smoking in the kitchen
mid-afternoon
to the tune
of Eternity against
spit-shined countertops,
happiness sought
bought at the corner shop.

cat in the fiddle case
with his silver spoon,
the dog runaway
wooing the moon
pull out an ace
start the chase
toward a homeward ideal,
what makes home real?

the evening meal
intoxicated fuck-happy zeal,
deflating airbed
where masks are shed
and love-making
soul free for taking
is lost before you know it,

lost in Good Morning sex jokes
midnight bong tokes
lost without cost,
cigarette bumming
humming to every song
on that God damn radio,
lost in thunderstorms
self-proposed bed ridden
from dawn to dusk
and back again.

lost in someone’s arms
who knows only half your story,
lost in missing him the most
lost in West Coast
dreams, heart seams
poetic journey romance
train cross country
exploration of Life’s dance.

lost in leaving
falling in love
behind
.

____

Because the Gates Were Open

I have married the cities
where green glass flowers grow
and because the Gates were open,
I have gone where
demon smiling Angels are Executed,
toe to nose.

It is the frozen rose
that is still ripe when Winter weeps
and maintains its full pink rosary cheeks
and because I do not care for sidewalks,
I have rested beneath the stairwells
that lead to where the Holy Grail bleeds
and Idealists pause to read
Sideways.

I have marched up to the
Kings and Queens of Beggars
of Nowhere and Mishap
and have gotten drunk
on the sweet sap of
sleeping under starsong.

Dreams of Disappearance
cast a spell, cast a trance,
resist Medusa’s glance.
I have owned nothing
yet everywhere my feet have touched
I call home –

Gods
I wish
this were
the truth.

_____

Nin Finnegan

It was the summer they hung the Madman
and Sunshine stole her heart
Nin Finnegan wrote her future,
traveling downhill fast in a shopping cart.
She found without looking and saw without seeing
that the whole world was waltzing.

It was the way the backpack felt
kinda like the way blackjack is dealt,
the chance for failure flavored by fortune.
It was the way aimlessness was blessed
like eternal rest in commotion.
There is no human emotion
that can accurately describe it.

Trance
Join the dance,
she took the world by the hand
counted her stars out the window of a Greyhound
bus number forty-two
“You know someone once said the world was round.
How many people though, have found themselves going in circles?”
she said with a smile
while crammed catty corner
to the living dead.

It was the way the backpack felt
kinda like the way blackjack is dealt,
the chance for failure flavored by fortune.
It was the way aimlessness was blessed
like eternal rest in commotion,
No human emotion . . .

Leprechauns count gold but don’t spend it
Men grow old trying to make it
Because we are told it makes us truly happy.
But Nin Finnegan knew better.

Because it’s the way the backpack feels
kinda like the way you deal blackjack,
the chance for failure flavored by fortune.
It’s the way aimlessness is blessed
like eternal rest in commotion,
And Nin Finnegan knew it.
______

Insert Your Skee Bop Here

Random drunks
kid drummers with spunk
Funk, these are the bartending sprites
of thirteen o’ clock on a mourn of night.
triple Threat and don’t forget
the saxophone is the only key to atone
for the wretched sin it is to be happy.

Bar napkins and torn tank tops,
hidden bears and the sly stares
of airplane brain-drained technicians.
it is the renditions of Soul’s true song
that hint at the glint of something
less of more or less, or less is more.

Insert your Skee Bop here
and your knight in shining armor
will appear, dressed in drag, married to a hag
life’s a Great Gag anyway –
so go and play in traffic.

Quick! Quick!
someone find the stash of
guitar picks at the end
of the Lucky Charms rainbow.

Jam Bam!
and the guitar screams
and the sax cries and the drums are beat all to Hell
and while it could put more bread on the table,
no one gives a shit

Because they’re all LIT UP
on cheap lights and honey and
an internal bonny thing,
more fulfilling than a meal
because it’s what’s REAL in life,
more than just living it
till you rust

______

Sit Simply

I.

Sit simply for half an hour
before the Moment turns sour
listening to the music of silence.
tik tock, the waltzing clock
the slight shuffle in the chair and
there, the ever-present
comfortable fan hum,

It is almost as if there sits a drum
beating steadily behind life.

Sit simply for half an hour
before the moment turns sour
before the clocks read backwards
swell before morning pops her cherry on
breakfast beer and the movie,
you pretended to watch, but
didn’t really.

There is no exquisite pleasure greater
than dog hair in your mouth
after a quickie on a couch.

II.

Sit simply for one hour before the Moment turns sour
And watch the subtle romance beneath the appearance
Of a flower.

This is the true sight of the poetry
beneath sunlight, and what song that it is,
As it is more than it is.
Poetry beneath the sunlight is the real delight of
Gold sparrow wings gracing Heaven

It is the breath of the breeze
Clouds as mere angels devoid of shape
scoffing at perceiving order as being
the central meaning to life.
Rhyme is the undercurrent to joy.

Order creates the bars
To our self-imposed cage.
This is the way the hour turns dour.

Our focus should be on other things.

_____

Away

The reincarnation of Dickinson
emerged from the sea
wanting to be anything
but explained away;
and as the crow cackles
waking the dawn
(at three o’ clock in the afternoon)
a Fawn stands – a monster in the field –
he does away with all allusions,
delusion, he speaks what’s on his mind
in time or rhyme
when the wind chimes
announce his arrival.

The Backwards Cockatoo
wonders to himself
which way to go
when, as you know,
all roads eventually
lead to the post office.

The reincarnation of Dickinson
emerged from the sea
wanting to be anywhere but here.
Disappearance is a dream
a Scheme to win back
the seams of your soul,
or just pull it back together
with duct tape –
(duct tape is good for everything).

Well-painted Abstract New Jersey sky
makes you ponder about how time
seems to fly, backwards.
Disappearing over the Great Blue
to learn what you once thought
that you knew you knew,
it’s freedom answering to
Spontaneity’s muses.

The Backwards Cockatoo
glides forwards,
following the noise
to achieve the most silence.
decked in red and green
he begs to be
both seen and hidden.
standing on his head
he goes to bed to be awake.

The reincarnation of Dickinson
emerged from Serendipity
wanting nothing,
but peace of mind.

_____

Imaginary Fire Escape

The soul slid out sideways
in disguise as a chewing gum monster
smoking butterflies
on an imaginary fire escape
duct taped to the inside
of the guy sitting next to you’s shoe.

It was the river
blue with frostbite
that reminded me that I was —once.
What was that like?
What was it like to be
the essential essence of me?
I forgot,
wrote it on sticky note poetry
left next to those misplaced car keys.

Gremlins!

Gremlins must’ve stolen them.
Yes I blame the tame
gremlins stealing the keys
to my dreams
driving off with my soul seams
sliding sideways from
chewing gum monster lies.

But I’ll be alright
shut up tight in my tower
(though Prince Charming would rather
save the dragon over me)

Where was the I
in all my past
(though I can hardly say
there’s as much past
as future for me).
But where was the I
where did the I decide
to bungi jump off the roller coaster
to cut the cord
because I happened to be bored on a Monday?

Where was the I
where the soul slid sideways
out of a pack of American Spirits
for a lack of self control
is the lack of self itself.

Why do I smoke?
to inhale death in a paper tube
pathetic cubed
just to exhale the stress
of overcoming the worst
a man can do to a woman.
Excuse! Excuse!


Use youth to your advantage
Nineteen and crazy and lean,
mean –no far from it,
But am I truly young
or is it just a body mask
hiding an old soul
slipping sideways
on an imaginary fire escape?

_____

Imaginary Afterlife Last

There’s a dragon loose in New York City
wearing purple polyester padded pants suits
and pink plaid pleather platform boots
singing pretty hometown ditties
about clowns and Homebody Bittys
–both one and the same
(and both quite lame).

It is the dragon tame
that plays the game–
before today and after tomorrow
the dragon sings his sorrows.
Blues! God of blues
in his pink plaid pleather platform shoes.

Tame becomes a name
when sham becomes fame
and damming your dreams
becomes daily routine
preformed in teams
after your first
cup o’ coffee.

The unconquerable sea chuckles merrily
proclaiming “Turn on the news
on channel three,
as you spend less of more time
living your own life
and more of less time
watching everyone else screw up theirs.”

Caffeine IV.
work eat sleep
for this is all it is
to live life today
as the tame dragon
saves all his Lucky Charms
marshmallows, for an
imaginary afterlife
Last.

_______

The Naked Why

The sentient tea is ready
essential eternal enlightenment
sex for coffee see
the lost dog saying he loves you
written in backwards ancient Hebrew speak,
none of aimlessness or fate
hidden beneath the street grate—
Gate of Eden just
around the corner.

Thataway
ethereal beautacious bodacious day
marred only
by monstrous jackhammers’ neigh.

Dreams fulfilled
of stability and self strength
gone the lengths of hell
to appreciate the eventual heaven
even more
subtle
to the naked
why?

you are standing on a bridge
watching yourself go by

why don’t you fly?

______

The Guitars Are Hot Tonight

The guitars are hot tonight
in the soft red bar room light
and I feel like dancing again
‘cause the parrot on my shoulder
is jamming to the blues
wearing brand new violet
polka-dotted shoes
drinking booze and Sprite
and the guitars are hot tonight.

I’ve decided to stick around
this pretty one-horse town
singing little ditties
because I’m a homebody bitty,
stubborn too
though no one knew that they knew
so I’ve decided to stick around
this beautiful one-horse town

And I won’t let nothing get Me down
for I am no longer lost, but found
flying high in the sapphire sky
and my wings ain’t made out of wax
— that’s a fact
but I salute all you flightless birds
because I heard ya let yourself
get down, lost and never found.

But I am high and happy
on all this gorgeous life
I see about me
and I am Me,
an’ not somebody else’s shadow
so you go, smoke your regrets
in a long ass peace pipe
‘cause I have none.

For I am high and happy
on this life I’m living now
and the guitars are hot tonight.

______

The Zero Door

I am knocking on the zero door
asking for more funk with my wine
and sunshine to sooth my soul.

I am knocking on the zero door
asking, “can my soul soar?
I am myself, soul on the back shelf?”

My moves are real
my groves surreal,
the sun is jamming on guitar
the moon is slamming drums

and I’m ramming my pride against a wall
It’s all I can take,
to hide my soul.

There is nothing more addictive
than the nothingness of
doldrums continuation

Can I trade this,
for the stars?

______

Subceller Subconsciousness

I.

Dorothy stands barside
ruby homeward bound quest
she guesses barside bandside
got lost on the way
saving Kansas for another day
maybe hangover Monday
someday, maybe when
tomorrow is today
yesterday’s dream
the seam to the future’s wisdom.

II.

Flash of pink
you don’t think
take another drink
then sink to floor
as if it’s the door
to sub-cellar subconscious-ness,
but what’s the best guess
for the origin of love?

_____

Sub-cellar Soul

Get out! Get out!
The drum screams and it seems
as if the bottle message
has seeped into the seams
of my subcellar soul,
whole it is not forgotten.

The horizon has died, gray
forgotten what it was to say
the meaning of the day
simplified meaninglessly,
to only work and play.

I know I will burn out one day.
what shall they say on that
morning mourn’s Monday?

shall the candlelight of my soul
simply be snuffed out within a night passion,
discarded then as fashion?
or shall it burn as a second sun,
long after its origin diminishes
into nothingness bliss?

How much cash would it take
for me to forsake my principles
and prostitute my Aphrodite skin?
Enough to make me fly
as far and high the sky
will allow me, by and by
to escape on the cape
of poetic ambition.

______

Soul of Starsong

Ink amazes me
feathering soul
seams to a page.

My dear nothingness,
void toyed with by consciousness
I am here
my meaning clear
I wish to sear
my soul purpose, life story
upon the world imagination
generations of ideals
twirling swirling cosmically
to rally serenity for every mind I can find.

Everything has already been said
‘bout being alive or dancing dead
instead I’ll try to cry out
the soul of starsong.