~Subterranean Junket~
By WordWulf, 9th Feb 2011 | Follow this author
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Posted in WikinutWritingPoetry
~ Epic Avant-garde Poetry ~
~ Life is a cross ties ~ footstep on the moon ~ sadder than spilt water ~ funnel of mercy ~ Intent of counterpoint ~ duelists in the dawn ~ portrait silhouette ~ baby is crying~
~Subterranean Junket~
There’s a white woman in the room
shampoo
you can’t judge speed from a distance
come on down
There is no ending
but I do appreciate your rejection
beauty abounds on the face of youth
freefall
Tiger loose in the woods
midnight fisherwoman
lines on water
waterline
She hid her spirit
sun-streaks on the garden
submission
will of masters
A tongue in the cave
tasteless commentary
witness wisdoms
damned to be thirsty
Fellow witnesses
all hail
bride of satan
to wings aspire
Shallow aurora
shadow of eos
no time like now
some thing fishy swim
I don’t understand you
thank you
your applause
might unearth me
Respite of tyrants
from mouths of babes
epithet
lullaby
A mother to strangers
orphans of choice
voice of descent
six cubed down
Decision to wear my motor
a free and separate passion
dizzying rain
dithery doo
Unclear as stark light
a bug on the windscreen
this dream sequence
leggy bits of goo
The cueing of partners
frazzle of thread bits
bananas on a plate
speaking of winter
Four times a dollar
quarters of century
ill spent years
praying for mother
Who will hold us up
robbers upon closing
death is a whip
nine bells down
Prisoners of light
moth conspiracy
war men fan the flames
sense of dignity
Left and right crosses
requirements of requiem
asleep in the choir
voice deeper than stone
Let us taste his beans
the door of opportunity
three winds in a vacuum
outside waiting four more
We were passed by Dilbert
a tin-can tuna melt
tryin’ to live in the hills
a writer of camp songs
She has fish eyes
ducks swimming ‘cross the sky
each drawer wears a masque
alone in the room
Life is a cross ties
footstep on the moon
sadder than spilt water
funnel of mercy
She listens to voices
owls sleep in the afternoon
for a slice of white bread
dreams of the kill
Intent of counterpoint
duelists in the dawn
portrait silhouette
baby is crying
A city on the move
weeping of mountain
witless romantic
the emperor sighs
Legends of God-speak
thin binding flesh
Momma’s smoking a cigarette
laughter from the whiskey bar
We slept in a roadhouse
the moon is at seven
with some consideration
a sharing of wounds
Raccoons crossing the yard
the wife and I drank tea
her personal favorite
what children don’t know
The clamor of legion
awaiting window
wooden never bored
phat pulpit dancers
He was eight parts wisdom
the rest must come before
a howling of madmen
presumptuous creed
There are more white cars
China is down under
kangaroos are not
whiskey men philosophers
The angel risks
imagination
shoestring around her throat
progression of aims
Don’t hold me up
sharpen your whistle
lay down your weapons
anticipate this
The little man is unbelted
we got laws to prove you
three times protector
bullet in the brain
Ain’t no wax dummy
there are porcelain lips
who sings the heart song
we are too sick to beg
She would rather walk
paddle canoe oar else
come fathom the morrow
we is in too deep
Time out for prayers
they’re digging trenches
television snowstorm
resolute madness
An eye on the storm
shuffling gait
twisted scenario
truth
Teasing the pickpocket
no crowd control
so help us God money
fresh folding
When praying is preying
man beneath the robe
don’t climb into the box
willing prisoner
We police ourselves
1-800-to snitch
you ain’t no bargain basement
small wonder price we pay
Nestled on a hill
hugged in a closet
Children are glad houses
ante up everyone wins
Traffic is a phat truck
a snail crawls our brain
either no leftovers
or that’s all there is
A treatise on selling out
snowmen in the dark
stick figures and angels
homesick at home
A juried selection
prisoners executed at dawn
the art of living
and of living art
An eager applicant
bottom line aficionados
three monkeys for lunch
acute indigestion
Mother spoon nipple
simple garden rape
pure of poison
deadliest sin
Don’t make those faces
injurious by design
listen to the song of your loins
a children’s choir
A lavender sunrise
midnight promises
house of whispers
where lovers reside
No thing is perfect
such drift of cloud life
change is on the wind
a likening to sorrow
Some thing’s eating his brain
doubt and melancholy no
not what might have been
what must have been yes
~Tom (WordWulf) Sterner~
~Esplanade~
~We Poor Rise~
~Blessings of Phaedra~
Comments
10th Feb 2011 (#)
Darn that was a lot to take in. To be quite honest, I don't know what it all means. I must re-read it a few more times. Nice darn flow though.
Thank you for sharing.:)
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10th Feb 2011 (#)
It goes all over the place. I appreciate you taking a whack at it.
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