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file 13 or saved pristine for the ages? – you decide. Poetry dump. I’m looking through just that an old old version online me. it ends late june of 2011 when *that went south.* a minor mix of what was well recieved or strangled so it didn’t breathe.

You Old Pearl.

it’s hard to admit that they’ve won
Oh, it’s long since been decided on
It’s you and I don’t mean maybe or
some other suck me off, lied insult
me running to your water’s trough
am I happy with my choice?
sure. I want you and need you
of course, it’s about needs
you can sing to me birdsong true
vibrating within me what bleeds
some are dying to compliment or complain
love is a game for the vain
but Pay attention to hows
you took away my fantasies
and inserted plain
You wondered how you’d fit
you don’t
but your a glove
comfortable and all around
shut up about the metaphor leather
so what if you are old
so what if you are plain
you glow in a way I can not explain
the way a dawning day does within rain
the way sunshine is a bright smear from behind a cloud
you are whatever I said I wanted
and perhaps more of a soul of worth
I’m supposed to tell you these things
yet I’m wont to smile sometimes like a curse
I love you scenes of my words, Queen of my verse.
and because you are older
perhaps a little truer, bolder
i can’t think of anything to offer but a shoulder
And lets be honest now
I’m but the field’s cow
MOOO! what world did I move around?
Should that matter – why, YES
each of our caresses blesses
and with luck there is a certain justice
no no, I’m of legal age you fuckers
too young yes but a prize ripe for you cougar pluckers
but I’m well past legal age, suckers.
but what honestly have I to offer past company
that certain kind of somethingee
a shined penny ciderella coloured pumpkiny
“But even a poor taylor deserves some happiness”*
maybe the inner critic would slap me less
You, Sweetheart, make me a champ- nothing less.


Sing to me of spuds, browned by coal-red light
Steaming hot vapors, Rising to the sky
Eve’ning Chill beck-ons, Moonbeam’s silvered bright
Scheming up visions, not of what to fry
Just wipe me one clean, seeing glinted gleams
Trust your oven’s roar, heating up for more
More of what but stuff, stuffed with soured cream
Maybe butter or, maybe salt from shore
Cut down its middle, revealing each half
Scoop out and drizzle, dollop and dust thus
Stirring in liquid to smooth out the path
Sailed in crisp boats, this delightful must
Romancing tummy, which warms many hearts
Those echoing mem-ries tossed in the cart.



picture from:
There, the altar Hope
assends, spiraling
two locomotive
shells and five more souls
purified from life
Just before sunset
one gravel mover
close to clear sailing
put tthe hammer down
here comes hell’s sunshine
This ain’t no special
we are so scheduled
We’re the ev’nin freight
we’ll make our next break
heaven equals three
Is it worth one more?
to be pencil pushed?
one more wagged finger?
toasted s’mores roadside?
a trainer’s punchline?
Wreck Survivable
protocalls ignored
coffee and doughnut
Your lives tossed asside
too few fucking died.
You dropped the highway
hospitalized some
called for over-time
made my biggest sound
made rushing a sin
Bet you’d rather life
Guess what Blue Collars?
You suspected knives
“ain’t my fault!” hollers
You made New York Times
Sev’n fourty pee em
Around a blind curve
you said, “c’monbaby,
grab hold LOCK&SQUEAL”
it took all you had.

I’m a bit bummed this was daily news once- I heard the crash and saw the smoke, but i cant find any online documentation of a news article any more what follows is a map location- remember it was half that infrustructure existed….
I can’t find their names. this saddens me. so does the callous way it must be the dead’s fault. it takes over a mile to engage the brakes of one train and two we coming head on with less than 4 miles notice both speeding….whatever you can read for yourself the ntsb report.

Christmas Presents… (12.22.10)

Onan ‘s Broken

I can’t use my right hand

cat fight gone wrong

and I’m the loser, DAMN!

I almost would have preferred
 sand in the Vaseline

oh sure that ain’t keen

but imagine this pain’s scream

I have work

a rare enough feat

to carry about an old sheltie

and I’m dripping tears

I get to await but jeers

what moron risk’s himself

to avoid one mess

only to incur fate

no one handed heroing

Wanh! for goodness sake!

and I more Christmas misery

oh us big brained humans?

just guess who wants to be loved

that hateful furry loser

lost to a kitten half his size

oh he ain’t powerless

shake hands with me

I’ll literally cry.


no sour cream soloing

that little bastard

chewed not just me,

but my week.

he even tried to swallow his frustration

oh these thoughts of his upcoming castration

I lost to a feline

let me hear those laughs

-those crimes

that little fuzzball weeny

done in my dignity

it isn’t you

that earned hisself

a wrist full of teeth

yes, a “boo boo”

Onan’s broken

laugh at my twice “withouts”

no deed however good

goes unpunished

but seriously, it’s more like

like good deeds pave the way to hell

um, two cliches in a row
I’d tell on myself!

yes, good deeds made it certain

my week of shambles

searing pain

one more

yes, as if I haven’t enough

one more disability

no, not jerking off

boo hoo to a little enforced restraint

you try drawing insulin through ampules

through needle to the syringe


I have to do it one handed

and it ain’t no sinch

yeah, merry Christmas

the fuzzball thought me
the dinner of his sorrows

I lost, I was lunch

Originally Posted 8/17/2009 7:25 PM – 4 Views – 0 eProps – 0 comments

a proper parody (complete) of “Fire” by Bruce Springsteen but popularized by the Pointer Sisters in 1978.

the hiss as the lid pops off
two scoops in the basket paper
I connect the machine
and wish it to “brew”
oh it so healthy
quintessential desire
soon I’ll be wired

Up all NIGHT
I’m staring at an ashtray
contemplatin’ a wasted day
I swear I’ll quit tommorow
I feel it with all my heart
but on sight of sun’s fire
those blued smoke rings
I was sold on these
right from the start
vices so blighted
I didn’t pay heed to my heart
my nerves all calmed
blissful synaptic fuel
it so much a part of my life
but its just got to GO
Coffee, Tea & Cigarettes
and my alcohol’s fire
I know just the stuff to get
but not how me to deny
my health’ll be shit
and we all know why
but just one taste
I say NO, LIAR
get me a grab’n’go WIRED
Suckin’ down my FIRE
Woo! and am I feeling no pain
killing me, I’m
no pain, but killing me
Who’s hooked on the stuff?

(the ‘coffee, tea and cigarettes/mired” theme has plagued me now for about 17 years….somebody is just friggin’ slow to do his own honey do’ list of projects.)
seppuku by cylinders

gold-eyed goddess storms

judgment day’s sinister turn

our love now for worms

cold, this hand pressing

caressing this thread and its truth

click. chances progressing

wednesday night whiskey

fiery courage torch-lit truth

click. this life’s risky.

whiskeyed words hang

damning one in the balance

believe, I love you

daggered truths be known

I shiver replaying ghost
our love on rocks shown

click. echoes return

time soon sums up sentiment

salvation ‘s deferred

March 12th, 2010.

I pick a peck of thrice flung twice of my thoughts on themes. You old pearl was about the highest rated poem I had on that version of xanga me…and well who it’s written of had a nice southerly breaze in store for me. 😀 it’s love pair is next with? a nice sonnet that just so happened NOT to get selected for top prize or any prize in a poetry contest 😉 it’s original named author might have sometthing to do with that…kiss rogue miaz or kiss red my ass. ooopie.

our second pair of themes is christmas gifts. onan’s broken was well recieved except by me as I literally did get cat-bit and it took well over 3 weeks to heal and pissed my doctor’s off fiercely that I didn’t seek aid for that one. Sepeku or however it’s spelt by cylinders is also another christmas gift in that it literally was cashiered no pay thanks anyways christmas eve…the project it was included in that is. awwwww. poor me gets the boo boos for 2010 christmas 😀 heheheh.

our third theme present is the fell on deaf ears theme. 8.2.85 and mired both recieved ZERO interest, at least any I was informed about 😉 one archetype of parody was instituted to much of MY amusement and the other a memorable moment in my life as I saw that chimney to heaven – smoke…and drove by the fallen highway bridge. the links may or may not be active but I bet they were, a few didn’t survive saving/archiving but I just edited that away…excepting the waco one of the trainwreck poem… I can’t find that one again.

so there’ you’ve three double plays on themes and a six pack of fine malt josh. errors are all mine. talent mine and there’s just room enough for you to get a sense of whether I’ve changed in upwards of 5 years.

About Starman Jones

Everything and Nothing interests me. I cook read, write and even have to clean. I SHOULD NOTE: I'm 40 something.

4 responses to “archival

  1. Some over-long and make sense. Good word play amongst the cliches. Mature finger pointing questions (self-conscious? perhaps) in the younger you, and the older you shows brave reason and action (in spite of the damaged hand).

  2. I’m glad you shared these poems here! I enjoyed reading them.
    And I’ve always loved your haiku. You are King Haiku! 🙂
    I think reading a person’s poetry, over a period of time, always shows growth in the person and in them as a writer!
    I’m not sure people on Xanga (or anywhere…HA) really know how to appreciate poems that are posted. I always got less comments there when I posted one of my poems (Well, except my one shape poem! 😉 )
    HUGS!!! 🙂

    • I recall that shaped poem 😉 if you haven’t already noticed, you have that particular archive parts 1-5 I have only just waltzed in the door so I haven’t got to email yet. but such should keep you busy thinking about what casued all that to be said. 😉

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