SKY TRUTH To end ignorance A note from heaven bottle of Vermouth When a movie star came by to say must be part of truth he said before the truth he could hook bird he shouted Cross to no one, couldn’t be here Through all my hard knocks She’s gonna testify she heard me
the chef
a religious fellow,
renounced all desires,
but for the wine of truth
in great writings
not a feather
he tried to get
on a beach. With a
he stood in search of truth,
a raw chicken cutlet in hand
looking for a chef’s promised land
that perfect recipe to make ends meet,
to make his cooking nirvana be
the ultimate stew,
but he had only torn pages
missing those spicy truths
just known to a sage,
and only a grappling hook
on a blanket to cook.
the truth is up there in the sky
he threw the hook up in the air
repeatedly despite the stares. My recipe
the root of flavored
cotton candy skies. Although
a bird of hunger just swooped
down on the cutlet
tearing it loose. Foolish
how can you really make out
with recipe not in your snout?
————————————————–
WOOD WOULD KNOW
She’s commin’
in the rain, ’cause
she remembers,
dares to end
this game; there
can’t be a hangin’
to blow away a soul
I’ve been prayin’
a witness
saw me saw wood
way across the hay
by the hardware store
stabbing a man like
it’s been said,
even if I would
want that devil dead
I stayed sane
and could never be mean–
can’t hang me on the hardwood tree
’cause she’s comin’ in the rain
saw wood to build a gallows;
that blind girl knows my trouble
remembrance not crying very much,
but if she cries today for me
my end I wouldn’t know,
’cause she’s comin’ in the rain
—- Douglas Gilbert
(Henry Le Châtelier)
Archive for May, 2008
Sky And Wood Collection
No Money, No Tampons by “Diane”
The bathtub is full of blood I am If I wake Yesterday, you Putting men on pause, Who will wash me no happiness
no money
no tampons
canceling
our meeting
going back to sleep
no money, no tampons
I’ll go to the bank
no money
no tampons
heard my weeping
my crying
fibroids
menopause, and…
No it’s you in particular
I’m putting on pause,
on putting out for you
and you don’t love me at all.
no money — no tampons
if I wake in blood
child grown old to bleed
without love
without child
without Mommy
no tampons
—- by Douglas Gilbert
(Henry Le Châtelier)
Love Collection
YOU IN ME I woke up to my If I dress to seek you You haunt me with I am out to find you Tincture of joy upon my skin Vitamin delight I made We kissed our meal Broken down in Sugar Ditch The documentary camera came I pulled out my crying rag Honking horns daring me But no one told me I reached the skyscrapers After lightning struck this New York Mortar thoughts around me But a steam pipe was hissing Jaws of life jacking time Thought I heard, And when I sang right out Oh magical girl, Now I dream of you deeply: To whinny, my dream horse gallops, your You journey through my mind, your beauty in the hunt I have traveled into you– When I awake to you Enraptured in the blankets Our embrace is We are An awakening peaceful passion not dreaming in the lightness we are warm extremely rippling, Ripples of the day The child’s babble We splash along I will float you Drink me
longing for you; coffee
bit my dream
I stirred your cream
will I know where
passion gallivants
your many haunts. I
feel a phantom kiss
and miss the bliss from
flesh and ardor, belief bones
troubles massaged in a love whisper,
soothing music
melodic compassion
driven like the mating birds;
walking, I hear the coos
but let them fly unknowing
for I have a gift for us:
wait ’til you
see me smile
everywhere I know you
———-
STILL RAPID
For me I flushed, a
cheeky glow on me, when
I heard her
laughing in my heart
her oxygen in my
hemoglobin sanguine
I touched her touch like lunch
of peppers and cherry ducks
in a row of charms
easy to cast as
fruit falling ripe
after blossoms bloom
floating on her river
tanning, burning in her light
to drink the day
a splash of love
in rapids
———-
THROBBING IN CREVICES
Though there’s little food in Sugar Ditch
the rabbit hoped to hop from me
a foolish-stewing-hopeless creature,
who’d let luck go where
fecal creeks don’t drown
perfumed hope
waiting for a scholarship
I was wheeling like
lightning struck me down
just before a thunder wash,
saw the open sewer
that’s home to family shame
time moaning sack of clothes
and the man heard me sing
while driving lightning roads
to dream away from poverty,
I bent my trumpets to heaven’s ears
evil flies to me
every place I go, and
King Sorrow would reign
over sovereign hopes
a tourist of bad timing
had to be the highest
place to see heaven
aside from you
I was lying under debris,
my quilted sorrow bristling
with cast off bricks
being so damn mortal, I
could be thundered away
to the heavenly scene
while lifted stones flew away
like missles whistling
choruses of dusty blues
they slid my body out in time
let the building collapse on through
old Joplin singin’
more on Earth
will be slapping you
if you
dodge more bullets
from another fool
across the clapping crowds,
my best laid blues
went right to you,
New York girl
in a rabbit hat
my new love,
you kissed the breeze
made illusions
fondle my wishes
my salvation laughing everywhere
giggling jiggling in my cortex,
cerebral fondness hunting for you
in pulsing fibers
embedded in desire
throbbing in crevices
of nerve-cell books,
passions hiding in no man’s nook.
scampering mind dancer,
doing wild animal tangos. I embrace
to capture your essence;
my dogs sense your scent,
a presence so foxy,
they transcend all knowing
rockin’ and rollin’ in serotonin.
touch me there
where thoughts are real
and lightning tingles fine:
hats off to
everlasting good times
I am in heaven
————
WE ARE GLOWING
From the journey of a dream
I awoke happy, enveloped in you
under covers
of home
with you
of you
the brightness
of us
with us
the morning together
together in love
is here to be
for real
at home
satisfaction day
but being
of us
with us
being the morning sun,
like banners waving
playfully above
the river of Love
our streaming
child to the river
we stream
like banners waving
playfully above
a gentle brook
child to the stream
joyful enough
to be a gurgle
in a float-along morning
embraced
by immersion
and the kiss of the day
fantastic
better than a dream
———
OF INK
For you in my pen
my river meanders
into loops who spell me
spell you
flow so fondly
if you’ll swim
into my envelope
open my
drawing of you to me
read me
come splash me in the delta:
an ocean of love awaits us
—- Douglas Gilbert
(Henry Le Châtelier)
