Wednesday, February 02, 2011

poem: bliss minuet

guano on the fire
meerkat shuffle

it's a Sansabelt kinda night

the bludgeon tools

need a feeding: if you

wrestle your demons

in the midday, the forecasters

ramp the dizzy doodles,

answering the full of love

cashmere sweaters

not a snowball's chance

they lay the other way

casting calls

redeye gravy

pinch the bottoms of all they gals

in fashionary bliss

minuet on the boardwalk

the teasing's in the saucy sauce

little miss teentown

box your socks

with nary the second glance

falling severance pay

egalitarian passion play

get that marimba on outta

here, the curves

say angular, but

you haven't guessed them,

guessed their weight,

guessed the nearest

whey, guessed how

the ample

maples the rest of all

your ubiquitous



wide world economy

righteous brontosaurian

rusty, crusty




Blogger Teresa said...

Well, guano on the fire is definitely a rusty, crusty mess. Your beginning and your ending certainly connect, but the meanderings in between are quite amazing! Loved the gals doing the minuet on the boardwalk.

10:23 PM  
Blogger anno said...

Clearly, I need to reschedule my demon-wrestling sessions: been missing out on those dizzy doodles and razzy dazzlers, and lord knows, we could use them these days.

Despite the guano, despite the brontosaurian rusty, crusty mess, there's something light and skippy about this one, more connected in spirit to the gorgeous photo and beautiful song that frame it ... Makes me wonder ... been making snow angels lately?

1:24 PM  
Blogger MichaelO said...

I think I've pinched a few bottoms on the boardwalk myself. Hope the floodin' down in Texas ain't too bad for ya this winter, Pascal.

Great song from a great record. Part of my soundtrack from the early 90's for sure. Peace, amigo.

1:38 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Teresa: I'm not sure what to make of this poem. I likes it just fine: I know that junior high and high school years and themes are creepcrawling through these years - reminiscings, blushings, etc. All distilled through these Sansabelt ancient of days . . .

6:11 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Anno: I plan to make plenty snow angels with the Resident Beauty and Youth tomorrow, when your care package arrives on the overnight express . . . (:-D)

6:15 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Welcome back to Tejas, Miguel. Floods are fine, hoping for snow overnight: PM fits the musical moods just about anytime. Peace back to you, amigo.

6:18 PM  
Blogger Dee Martin said...

I picture you huddled over a magic 8 ball that you shake and new words pop up. Atrementarious? You made my spell check go into therapy. Don't know where you were going in the beginning but the news of war is indeed everywhere (if I am reading that right)

Hate it when the guano is in the fire but when you go pinching bottoms of dancing girls you take what you got coming tot ya, lucky to get severance pay.

3:55 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Dee: Poet's dirty laundry: ain't no magic 8 ball I'm huddled over; when we're skidding to a poem's end halt, more often than not, it's a rhyming dictionary I'm scrying.

4:15 PM  

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