waggingtongue
Opinions From My Mother's Grave
--MARK-- writer, actor, standup comic, poet and proud to consider myself, "circus people." I care nothing for political correctness and consider the words, boundaries and art, as a contradiction in terms. I love creative people almost as much as liquor. Those who are weird, different, odd, unusual, outcasts, misfits, rejects, loners and hear different drummers. .
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Writings of a Robotic Variety
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Once dead, immediately put me on the northbound side of I-35 with the other feral roadkill, just on the shoulder close enough to be recognized.
Let em all see
Let em all feel free
to wave or spit
Let em all laugh
Let em all cry
obscenities in a celebratory fit
Careful not to run over me, might get a roofing nail in your tire. Just leave me there and let the buzzards and highway department posture for the best parts. And no bother if any words spill out of worn pockets; let them sail, they’ll be okay.
Ashes to dust to a
smear spot on the road
that served as my lifelong friend.
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Common courtesy and common sense are good common denominators for the common good of common man.
Rare are the practicioners of this common solution to the common ills of the two legged beast.
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seek neighborhoods where
men wear makeup
women wear the balls
poets rhyme in 6/8 time
and the streets cheer the peculiar
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let me die with grace
like autumn foliage
in harvest colors
of red and gold
splashing freely
reminders of
childhood
comfort food
blessings of innocence
decorative and ornamental
even in death
let me fall next to friendly gourds
and accessorize our mutual
journey into the dormant season
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Progress: when you finally feel comfortable being uncomfortable in your own skin.
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hurt
they hurt they do...(that’s what they do)
they hurt
.
words spat from bowels in 6/8 time
over lips absent of prayer and opinion
lightening rounds of descension to the dark
til dark offers purple...never seeing gray
never hearing the mona lisa
back alley places never told to others
..
(shown to even fewer) who hark warnings
to the foolish remaining at the watering hole
soon to be gator food
words for every feeling...solutions for every word
hurt and go dark
deeper til you see violet
...
talkers and barkers and
walkers and stalkers and
mockers and fuckers and thieves
oh, my…
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We men can have a strange way of showing love. Waiting in a three-blocks-long, two hour line for weekend brunch at some trendy eatery with our "sweetie" probably qualifies.
Tell death I found her sting.
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The end is near
and coming soon.
If true, might it wait
til Sunday afternoon?
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On the plains of 1960 Oklahoma, the only skyscrapers were silos and grain elevators where farmers stored feed and crops.
We lived in town, but kept a silo for family secrets.
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“…why then oh why can’t i”
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More shade is delayed
due to budgeting issues
Feral citizens threaten to leave town
Poets retreat to metaphor
groveling to the goddess of autumn
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Struggling for ideas and words is as common to writers as nosebleeds to a fighter. When afflicted—often in a coffee shop like today—I pass the time treating my senses to nearby stimuli. Like now, I’m eavesdropping on two conversations while trying to hear Anita O’Day sing “It’s De Lovely” in the background.
Looking out the window, I watch the sidewalk commuters feeding their phone addiction while shuffling to a job most don’t care for. My heart thanks the barista for the aroma of roasting beans creeping from the back room while I continue to taste a bitterness I’ve carried for years for those I’ve chosen to despise.
Somehow, this is all magical because I do it from an abandoned hobo camp—miles from any man or his made objects—known only to me…and a few imaginary friends from childhood who have been kind enough to keep in touch through the years.
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you forgive your government
then take it out on me…
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Former kings leveling bubbles hammering guilt into nails— self imposed hard labor for nutant choices time refuses to forget
.
Pound your shame
Bang your pathetic record with
Sequined nostalgia
..
Pewter and rice
Two into six thrice.
Martha won’t be here— farewelled adiosed vamoosed to future taboos of thought and folly
...
Out of town previews— advocates of hollow lustings dream dryly from the pressure of peers and inferior fetishes
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Hank’s Coffee Shop
Again, you provide a seductive ambiance for gypsy hearts: a light rain, cloudy with soft, low lighting inside and out; the most comfortable chair - not too pretty or smart, but a friend to all - massaging bottoms and egos through the years and owners. Hank’s is my creative sweet spot in this city of a million pinballs where I can mind my business…and everyone else’s.
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" One friend in a storm is worth more than a thousand friends in the sunshine. "
# happymorning
# rain# rainymorning
# stormsandrain
# friends
# happysaturday
# happyweekend
08Jy23
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a few chores while the town still sleeps
a bowl of freshly ground blue haze
then to the coffee house with
my favorite picture window
.
fellow fops
lounge lizards
community creatives
know it alls…and
..
all who know it
busy milling words
posturing hipness
wearing acquired trinkets
…validation they belong
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