If you will play when you transpose the glory it was a mystery that she plays with her pet cockatoo The bird said, “Leave a tip” You nagged the feathers off it After you played with your pet cockatoo I said then I, with fragrant soap, in the shower from your diaphragm taxi to the terminal where in trepidation offering you You undress in my river Like a mallard All goes swimmingly,
I will kiss your tune lips
’cause anything goes when
slinking down your keyboard
tickling doleful note doodles
plinking your chords
caressing pianissimo
bopping forte, top a’ ya board,
chording love accolades
staying for improvisations
when cool mistys get hot. I shall be cool
keys to high toned harmony
that sees me exposed
with whistling kisses blown
all sax-ified, but that’ll
be after a race. Y’ know
birds of a feather could
get the winner’s name
from the horse’s
mouthwash, but
I heard them say
at the piano bar
down by the racetrack
at the end of the race, and
I saw you
I said, “Baby Needs Shoes to win,
place, or show me a new tune”
to snatch bills
out of patrons’ hands
I tipped it into a snifter
hoping you’d play with me
’cause I bet on the nag, then
I said
to the showers
To install the clean
in a froth of warmth
above a soapy love,
join me in the shower stall
by the steamy wall
where flights of fancy
are never scrubbed. If you will,
will wash in tribute
the toe that tested my waters,
cleansing the foot feats that two-stepped
when I was a mere calf
and you were knee high
to a love
like a soap opera. Sing
where no melting soap is barred
while I swoosh below your breasts
with swirling helicopter hands
taking off with haste
as whirlybirds land
on nipple pads. When you say
the refueling hose can dock
and the passengers can be served
hot blessings, but remember
the fifth race is soon,
time to place bets
by the river
on the sailboats, although
we could check out
the entries
swimming in the
racing waters
you can put a toe
in the water of my soul
as I kiss it as
I would a child’s boo-boo
a future, a splash
of my essence; I
breathe your perfume
a cherry-flavored love
and I kiss your thigh
in baptism before lips
I swim aside,
a breast in hand
worth two in the bush
as I reminisce
first kisses
raising my mast,
sailing our ship, and
now anything goes
even past
the sunset,
in moonlit tunes
splashed across the stars
—- Douglas Gilbert
(Henry Le Châtelier)
Archive for Z-Various
Sax Piano Bird
In A Posh Elevator
For Christmas I’ve ducked into the posh department store I could have taken The elevator jams, I’ve got my frozen chicken Into labor – Natural easy birth – Everyone who I am reaching in I push my hands It is a breach birth I am so full I am sick, and
I’ve shouted a poem
on a street corner
because I have no stage presence
except desperation, awkward
where I hear passerbys say,
what’s he doing, and
only my sign clues them in, and
they say, oh it’s poetry, but
I’m taking my frozen
spicy chicken home –
haven’t had such luxury
in a while
because I need to find
a bathroom
a single urinal
for the piss of a poet
the stairs to the third floor, but
thought I’d be posh
be nonchalant in an elevator
as if I’d buy gold things
stopped, of course, with me
and a pregnant lady in a crowd
of indifference
which says, fully cooked
and none of us will starve
I’ve heard of this
I’ve heard of that
could be sued, has
turned away
beyond what is proper
into her vagina
in an indecent way
and I must
turn the child around
of blood and sorrow
that the child cries
but I am not
turned around
only glad
the paramedics have arrrived
and I can get to the bathroom
before security
throws me out
for not buying any gifts
—- Douglas Gilbert
(Henry Le Châtelier)
