Tag Archives: o’holy

Tiger

prose or poems.

o’holy find love!

move toward a goal.

what was that she said?

stop now.

maybe not.

continue.

rejoice.

drugs. drugs. drugs.

stop now.

what did I say to you?

I miss the mother and son who sat behind me, my seatmate, the comfort.

No one makes noise from Roc to Cuse. The Lady who took my seat eats

crackers quietly and rubs her finger tips in the aisle. She flips vanity fair reading

the ads and plows another cracker into her beaked face.

15 minutes till noon, when I’ll allow myself to start drinking the booze I brought along in my bag.

9-10 more hours until Boston. I bought the ticket, I’ll take the ride.

she refuses to

hold conversation. I hope

they sell bottled wine.

All stops went quick, hoping to get into Boston early. Slept from Albany to  Schenectady.

Too many hits of tequila in the bathroom. Just left Springfield, headed toward Wooster.

Had noodles and coffee to burn off some liquor. Both were terrible.

Dinner lady, forty something, black and from Chicago.

Hope to find a sandwich shop in Portsmouth and a good coffee and maybe flowers.

I want time to sit and enjoy a Marlboro.

Advertisements

5 Comments

Filed under sangretti

o’holy (a work in progress, of which there are many (continued/continuing))

———-

11/07/12

———-

Days to come, of which are many

I have seen your lies, of which are many.

I have smelt your desserts,

temping on the sill,

and have seen your thighs,

tempting and soft.

and Americas heart was wept with the loss of your s0ns, of which are many.

and everyone I know, their heart weeps with the ever growing emptiness of their bag,

once full and now balled up and placed aside, and of which there are many.

I climbed the hills of small towns and found the left overs of past lives,

walked the streets of the cities and stepped over the left overs of past lives,

swam the waters of the East and had the dreams of the West,

of which there were many.

———-

———-

and if I’ve seen hate, it was of many

and although it may not have outweighed love,

it was easier.

I’ve walked the road less traveled,

hand in hand with those who

look for roads less traveled.

and travel roads less traveled.

and I decided it was not the road less traveled.

and in fact there is no road less traveled.

there are only roads which we travel.

Kerouac wasn’t wanting to be a bum, of which there were many,

hand in hand, being bums with us all,

not being.

Exposing short truths and long lies,

expecting to find Eden,

all gated and pretty.

With Eve,

all gated and pretty.

Expecting our good might outweigh our wrong,

of which there is so many.

Truthfully.

Soulfully.

Sullenly.

Screaming.

We’ll never understand why He forgave us,

but only that his forgiveness came at no small price,

but as:

“Buy now,

limited time only.”

Yet we were all forgiven,

and equally forgotten.

as everyone moves on and tries to remember what they have forgotten.

 

3 Comments

Filed under sangretti

Muse Poem: Revised 3

A muse of writing,

And creativity aspiring,

I think words sound better in my head.

 

Come forth, bright blonde sun,

Push the pedal down, further,

Toward the horizon.

 

The road spits past,

Roll the windows down,

Dirt sticking to our over heated, moon cooled skin.

Turn the radio off, please,

Let’s listen to the wind

 

(listen to it)

 

That’s the speed of Kerouac,

The love in McCandless’ spirit

The pull of the lake to Wordsworth,

The word-smith.

 

Reveling in thought,

Convulsing in question.

 

Late night lullabies,

keep me awake at night.

 

O’Holy: let me sleep.

O’Holy: let me sleep.

 

O’Holy.

 

O’Holy.

9 Comments

Filed under sangretti

Tanka: 13: Waiting For Spring

Fables by Aesop,

waiting for warm-time flowers.

Winter death: o’holy spring.

Show your green grass lingerie.

Help me see what love should be.

4 Comments

Filed under sangretti

I Could Not Decide On A Title: Pt. 2

Muse: writing.

Creativity: sparking.

Where have all the good words gone?

 

Does a great poem come from witty lines and sudden breaks: creating rhythm?

Or

Does a true poem form from,

The dawn on dewy mastheads,

Navigating pretty landscapes,

And showing the world exactly where,

The man met the road so long ago?

 

Or does it contain

Itself within syllables

Slowing being said

Rising in beauty: the sun

Setting in contempt: the moon

 

Are we too contained?

Hiding natural talent,

Scared of what might be?

 

Late night lullabies,

keep me awake at night.

O’Holy: let me sleep.

8 Comments

Filed under sangretti

Space Cadet: Glorious Youth Preserved As An Afterthought

O’holy and high,

Shining without limits.

Do you still gaze at the

Mystery within the moon?

 

Joyous and strong,

And caught up in endings,

That were taught through movies,

To loud for conversation.

Do you stare at the planes still,

And wonder of the people inside,

And the places they are going?

 

Angered and aside,

Misunderstood,

And oh how angry

And loud.

“Forgetting is different,”

This was decisive.

Do you still wait in your driveway,

Waiting for a car to come and pick you up?

 

Hazy and blurred,

Remembered in a dream,

And happy.

Laying in the grass,

In fields, in dirt.

Do you still wake up

And smile?

 

I still smile at strangers,

I stare at the moon,

Dance in the sun,

Feel the grass with bare feet.

 

Do you still dream of the

Things we dreamed of?

 

I don’t know.

I don’t.

Leave a comment

Filed under sangretti

ode to o’holy (a work in progress, of which there are many)

and there are things in this world,

things I’ve forgot.

like this.

and things I remember,

like that.

I’ve wandered nights,

long and alone,

of which there are many.

and heard songs through our collective ears,

stoned and wired,

mouths talking for the sake of talking.

and talking,

talking, talking,

and listening,

listening, listening.

Through nights and days and nights and days.

WE discovered the reasons of life through the moonlights and smoke.

WE discovered the path of the sun through cars and the road.

and WE watched the road unwind beneath us,

the Earth spin beneath us,

pain beneath us.

Joy beneath us.

Life,

beneath us.

Life,

above us.

WE in the middle,

understatements.

Understanding.

Misconstruing reasoning for truth,

and finding truth was never at the bottom of the bottle.

———-

If I’m lucky, I’ll be posting a further completed version of “o’holy” from the one posted 11.07.12 sometime soon.

This is an Ode to that, in the sense that its completion will come with the finalization of both works.

3 Comments

Filed under sangretti