Start Posting!

On Thursday, November 3, 2022 at 10:50:18 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> Start Posting!

Stranger Through the Night

Without fail, the name is there,
this stranger carrying an unloaded shotgun,
firing at the old and new
but always missing the mark.

Sleepless, mindless,
this lame Zombie pours a cup
of keep awake while others
plump a pillow and count sheep.

Nothing more than an ambush,
no one to fire back, safe in the darkened shack
of make-believe.

One wonders at the aloneness,
the sounds coming out of shadows,
the get-even, correcting the broken record,
a shell-less shotgun aimed
to scatter those that knock down
the invisable ladder of success.

It's almost day break, a time to see if fly fishng
has landed any keepers or scatter-shot good mornings
no matter the time of day or night.

It's where the lame Zombie lives, content
to be worthless.

Edward Rochester Esq.

On Thursday, November 3, 2022 at 10:50:18 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> Start Posting!

Stranger Through the Night

Without fail, the name is there,
this stranger carrying an unloaded shotgun,
firing at the old and new
but always missing the mark.

Sleepless, mindless,
this lame Zombie pours a cup
of keep awake while others
plump a pillow and count syllables

Nothing more than an ambush,
no one to fire back, safe in the darkened shack
of make-believe.

One wonders at the aloneness,
the sounds coming out of shadows,
the get-even correcting the record,
a shell-less shotgun aimed
to scatter those that knock down
the invisible ladder of success.

It's almost daybreak, a time to see of the fly fishing
has landed any keepers, scatter-shot good mornings
no matter the time of day.

It's where the lame Zombie lives, content
to be worthless.

Edward Rochester Esq.

On Thursday, November 3, 2022 at 7:39:20 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> On Thursday, November 3, 2022 at 10:50:18 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail..com wrote:
> > Start Posting!
>
>
>
> Stranger Through the Night
>
> Without fail, the name is there,
> this stranger carrying an unloaded shotgun,
> firing at the old and new
> but always missing the mark.
>
> Sleepless, mindless,
> this lame Zombie pours a cup
> of keep awake while others
> plump a pillow and count syllables
>
> Nothing more than an ambush,
> no one to fire back, safe in the darkened shack
> of make-believe.
>
> One wonders at the aloneness,
> the sounds coming out of shadows,
> the get-even correcting the record,
> a shell-less shotgun aimed
> to scatter those that knock down
> the invisible ladder of success.
>
> It's almost daybreak, a time to see of the fly fishing
> has landed any keepers, scatter-shot good mornings
> no matter the time of day.
>
> It's where the lame Zombie lives, content
> to be worthless.
>
> Edward Rochester Esq.
-----------------------------------------------

The Birth and Death of Monsters

Outside they pushed the bones
and flesh and teeth into piles born wrong,
nothing more than land fill in the land
of the chosen.

Inside a little mustache enjoyed
the Bratwurst, his hair swept into
a black winged image of an insane bird.

A mistress rubs the neck after the sun
sets on the cooling ovens; difficult work for
the CEO of annihilation for tomorrow brings more
as they fuel the dozers and polish the Jack-boots
and a young girl writes the last page
with her last breath.

They grow still, those little moustaches,
hovering under the night light planning
the cleansing of all that doesn’t meet the criteria
of purity.

And growing now from the piles of bone
and flesh and teeth, Evergreens take back
the stink of hatred but beware, heed the talk
of those that polish the new boots,
they yearn to march through the streets
of calm.

Edward Rochester Esq.

On Thursday, November 3, 2022 at 7:48:02 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> On Thursday, November 3, 2022 at 7:39:20 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> > On Thursday, November 3, 2022 at 10:50:18 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> > > Start Posting!
> >
> >
> >
> > Stranger Through the Night
> >
> > Without fail, the name is there,
> > this stranger carrying an unloaded shotgun,
> > firing at the old and new
> > but always missing the mark.
> >
> > Sleepless, mindless,
> > this lame Zombie pours a cup
> > of keep awake while others
> > plump a pillow and count syllables
> >
> > Nothing more than an ambush,
> > no one to fire back, safe in the darkened shack
> > of make-believe.
> >
> > One wonders at the aloneness,
> > the sounds coming out of shadows,
> > the get-even correcting the record,
> > a shell-less shotgun aimed
> > to scatter those that knock down
> > the invisible ladder of success.
> >
> > It's almost daybreak, a time to see of the fly fishing
> > has landed any keepers, scatter-shot good mornings
> > no matter the time of day.
> >
> > It's where the lame Zombie lives, content
> > to be worthless.
> >
> > Edward Rochester Esq.
> -----------------------------------------------
>
> The Birth and Death of Monsters
>
>
> Outside they pushed the bones
> and flesh and teeth into piles born wrong,
> nothing more than land fill in the land
> of the chosen.
>
> Inside a little mustache enjoyed
> the Bratwurst, his hair swept into
> a black winged image of an insane bird.
>
> A mistress rubs the neck after the sun
> sets on the cooling ovens; difficult work for
> the CEO of annihilation for tomorrow brings more
> as they fuel the dozers and polish the Jack-boots
> and a young girl writes the last page
> with her last breath.
>
> They grow still, those little moustaches,
> hovering under the night light planning
> the cleansing of all that doesn’t meet the criteria
> of purity.
>
> And growing now from the piles of bone
> and flesh and teeth, Evergreens take back
> the stink of hatred but beware, heed the talk
> of those that polish the new boots,
> they yearn to march through the streets
> of calm.
>
> Edward Rochester Esq.
-------------------------------------------------------------

Elevator Ride to Nowhere

I hit three in that grey elevator,
should have punched a four to my door
but today I'm overdue riding to three
with a weekly dream and bottle of grape
with mood set from a two-inch speaker
crackling out an Artie Shaw concert
with a simple close of steel baton
but down I head to basement cement
someone beating me to the punch,
late for lunch and he doesn't know
my hunger is as real as full house
on Saturday night.
 
Out I say to no one but the inner ear
as that slow ride down, soon turns up
to one, to two, to three
and that steel curtain parts
as I enter the green carpeted path to afternoon
in the sun, fun. No,
the morning paper remains where dropped
as I hit that ding dong, rejecting what I see,
could it be, yes, that paper says Thursday,
missed Wednesday when the deal was done
with a come-on wink
and I'm left with a quart of grape
and today’s news,
"Fool Misses His Shot."
 
Back to that elevator cell,
bang on the four but no,
someone beat me to the punch
and down I go, the basement calls
as Shaw repeats and I unscrew that
vintage and toast the fool headlining
on that extra extra, read all about it
paper up on three.
 
Think I'll walk back up
to where I belong,
belonging nowhere
on a day that should have been
everything dreams are made of.

Edward Rochester Esq.
 

On Thursday, November 3, 2022 at 10:50:18 AM UTC-4, michaelmalef...@gmail.com wrote:
> Start Posting!

Fünf, sieben, fünf.

soon it was the end
gold searched in remaining teeth
gas hissed with a smile

Could I interest you all with concepts and precepts?
It won't cost you a dime, just a moment of your time
And I have rhyme for just a nominal fee of more of your time.

Like old people with palsied facilities
self proclaimed wise men postulate needlessly
so proudly heedless of Life's one certainty
that we will always piss each other off- endlessly

On Friday, November 4, 2022 at 8:55:35 AM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> Could I interest you all with concepts and precepts?
> It won't cost you a dime, just a moment of your time
> And I have rhyme for just a nominal fee of more of your time.
>
> Like old people with palsied facilities
> self proclaimed wise men postulate needlessly
> so proudly heedless of Life's one certainty
> that we will always piss each other off- endlessly
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

City Bowels

I sit and hear the words of a frightened man,
his furtive poetic plea, "Can you hear me, Can you hear me?"
echos throughout the sewer system.

And rats hear him, while scampering into dark shadows--
their fur glistens as if faux leather, "Can you hear me?"
escapes from manhole covers but the city sleeps
as Dominic cleans his fingernails with a penknife, thumb and forefinger
guiding the sweep.

Dominic tossed all turncoats into the sewer, lifting those solid iron
manhole covers that have been there since the end of WW2, old Buicks
from the 50's to today's electric things, polishing the date.

At times, parades march,
Thanksgiving being a time for family
but family is delicate with today's 'omertà', no second helpings,
no fluted Apple Pie, it's to the sewer where one has to dodge
the big cities flush.

Those Christmas shoppers never know how many bones
are beneath their feet.

Edward Rochester Esq.

On Friday, November 4, 2022 at 5:07:40 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> On Friday, November 4, 2022 at 8:55:35 AM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> > Could I interest you all with concepts and precepts?
> > It won't cost you a dime, just a moment of your time
> > And I have rhyme for just a nominal fee of more of your time.
> >
> > Like old people with palsied facilities
> > self proclaimed wise men postulate needlessly
> > so proudly heedless of Life's one certainty
> > that we will always piss each other off- endlessly
> ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
>
>
> City Bowels
>
> I sit and hear the words of a frightened man,
> his furtive poetic plea, "Can you hear me, Can you hear me?"
> echos throughout the sewer system.
>
> And rats hear him, while scampering into dark shadows--
> their fur glistens as if faux leather, "Can you hear me?"
> escapes from manhole covers but the city sleeps
> as Dominic cleans his fingernails with a penknife, thumb and forefinger
> guiding the sweep.
>
> Dominic tossed all turncoats into the sewer, lifting those solid iron
> manhole covers that have been there since the end of WW2, old Buicks
> from the 50's to today's electric things, polishing the date.
>
> At times, parades march,
> Thanksgiving being a time for family
> but family is delicate with today's 'omertà', no second helpings,
> no fluted Apple Pie, it's to the sewer where one has to dodge
> the big cities flush.
>
> Those Christmas shoppers never know how many bones
> are beneath their feet.
>
> Edward Rochester Esq.
----------------------------------------------------------

Infidels

They thrive in caves
along with bats and cell phones,
weaving webs of carnage,
bringing to modernization
the stench of home made bombs
and blood splattered windshieds.
 
Robed in body odor and verse,
they pose for the cameo
telling all infidels: black widows,
capable of carrying life,
can also take.

Edward Rochester Esq.

On Friday, November 4, 2022 at 8:57:23 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> On Friday, November 4, 2022 at 5:07:40 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> > On Friday, November 4, 2022 at 8:55:35 AM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> > > Could I interest you all with concepts and precepts?
> > > It won't cost you a dime, just a moment of your time
> > > And I have rhyme for just a nominal fee of more of your time.
> > >
> > > Like old people with palsied facilities
> > > self proclaimed wise men postulate needlessly
> > > so proudly heedless of Life's one certainty
> > > that we will always piss each other off- endlessly
> > ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> >
> >
> > City Bowels
> >
> > I sit and hear the words of a frightened man,
> > his furtive poetic plea, "Can you hear me, Can you hear me?"
> > echos throughout the sewer system.
> >
> > And rats hear him, while scampering into dark shadows--
> > their fur glistens as if faux leather, "Can you hear me?"
> > escapes from manhole covers but the city sleeps
> > as Dominic cleans his fingernails with a penknife, thumb and forefinger
> > guiding the sweep.
> >
> > Dominic tossed all turncoats into the sewer, lifting those solid iron
> > manhole covers that have been there since the end of WW2, old Buicks
> > from the 50's to today's electric things, polishing the date.
> >
> > At times, parades march,
> > Thanksgiving being a time for family
> > but family is delicate with today's 'omertà', no second helpings,
> > no fluted Apple Pie, it's to the sewer where one has to dodge
> > the big cities flush.
> >
> > Those Christmas shoppers never know how many bones
> > are beneath their feet.
> >
> > Edward Rochester Esq.
> ----------------------------------------------------------
>
>
> Infidels
>
> They thrive in caves
> along with bats and cell phones,
> weaving webs of carnage,
> bringing to modernization
> the stench of home made bombs
> and blood splattered windshieds.
>
> Robed in body odor and verse,
> they pose for the cameo
> telling all infidels: black widows,
> capable of carrying life,
> can also take.
>
> Edward Rochester Esq.
----------------------------------------------------------------

Comfortably Numb

She lived in a shit hole
on the lower east side,
usually having a smoke
out on the stoop, complaining
to those that would listen
about rats as big as dogs
keeping her awake
through nights, some afternoons
but all knew better, those tracks
telling us she lied,
the rats, just a withdrawal from sanity
no traps to set
but the one she's caught in.
 
I offered a sandwich once,
"No, the belly hurts today"
I offered a paint job to dingy walls,
"No, the landlord will get it done."
 
She offered me a blow job for twenty.
I gave her the twenty keeping it zipped.
 
"I owe ya."
 
"You owe me nothing but you're gonna die
you know."
 
"Everybody will die."
 
Yes, everyone dies, some surrounded
by loved ones, some put into
marble crypts, some over in potter's field
where dogs take a piss on the unknown.
 
Why, I wonder, the injection of slow death,
the slow rotting of teeth inside cheeks
as hollow as canyons.
 
I popped a beer one night in my place,
hitting play on "Comfortably Numb"
and thought of her, comfortably numb,
seeing rats that weren't there
and soon enough wouldn't be there
herself.
 
The TV blared war was imminent,
roads buckle, bridges collapse,
murdered girl found, seven-year-old missing.
 
My toothless friend
was given little choice, reality
or comfortably numb.
 
She chose the latter.
 
I choose to fight it.

Edward Rochester Esq.

On Friday, 4 November 2022 at 22:17:59 UTC-4, blackpo...@aol.com wrote:
> On Friday, November 4, 2022 at 8:57:23 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> > On Friday, November 4, 2022 at 5:07:40 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> > > On Friday, November 4, 2022 at 8:55:35 AM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> > > > Could I interest you all with concepts and precepts?
> > > > It won't cost you a dime, just a moment of your time
> > > > And I have rhyme for just a nominal fee of more of your time.
> > > >
> > > > Like old people with palsied facilities
> > > > self proclaimed wise men postulate needlessly
> > > > so proudly heedless of Life's one certainty
> > > > that we will always piss each other off- endlessly
> > > ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> > >
> > >
> > > City Bowels
> > >
> > > I sit and hear the words of a frightened man,
> > > his furtive poetic plea, "Can you hear me, Can you hear me?"
> > > echos throughout the sewer system.
> > >
> > > And rats hear him, while scampering into dark shadows--
> > > their fur glistens as if faux leather, "Can you hear me?"
> > > escapes from manhole covers but the city sleeps
> > > as Dominic cleans his fingernails with a penknife, thumb and forefinger
> > > guiding the sweep.
> > >
> > > Dominic tossed all turncoats into the sewer, lifting those solid iron
> > > manhole covers that have been there since the end of WW2, old Buicks
> > > from the 50's to today's electric things, polishing the date.
> > >
> > > At times, parades march,
> > > Thanksgiving being a time for family
> > > but family is delicate with today's 'omertà', no second helpings,
> > > no fluted Apple Pie, it's to the sewer where one has to dodge
> > > the big cities flush.
> > >
> > > Those Christmas shoppers never know how many bones
> > > are beneath their feet.
> > >
> > > Edward Rochester Esq.
> > ----------------------------------------------------------
> >
> >
> > Infidels
> >
> > They thrive in caves
> > along with bats and cell phones,
> > weaving webs of carnage,
> > bringing to modernization
> > the stench of home made bombs
> > and blood splattered windshieds.
> >
> > Robed in body odor and verse,
> > they pose for the cameo
> > telling all infidels: black widows,
> > capable of carrying life,
> > can also take.
> >
> > Edward Rochester Esq.
> ----------------------------------------------------------------
>
>
> Comfortably Numb
>
> She lived in a shit hole
> on the lower east side,
> usually having a smoke
> out on the stoop, complaining
> to those that would listen
> about rats as big as dogs
> keeping her awake
> through nights, some afternoons
> but all knew better, those tracks
> telling us she lied,
> the rats, just a withdrawal from sanity
> no traps to set
> but the one she's caught in.
>
> I offered a sandwich once,
> "No, the belly hurts today"
> I offered a paint job to dingy walls,
> "No, the landlord will get it done."
>
> She offered me a blow job for twenty.
> I gave her the twenty keeping it zipped.
>
> "I owe ya."
>
> "You owe me nothing but you're gonna die
> you know."
>
> "Everybody will die."
>
> Yes, everyone dies, some surrounded
> by loved ones, some put into
> marble crypts, some over in potter's field
> where dogs take a piss on the unknown.
>
> Why, I wonder, the injection of slow death,
> the slow rotting of teeth inside cheeks
> as hollow as canyons.
>
> I popped a beer one night in my place,
> hitting play on "Comfortably Numb"
> and thought of her, comfortably numb,
> seeing rats that weren't there
> and soon enough wouldn't be there
> herself.
>
> The TV blared war was imminent,
> roads buckle, bridges collapse,
> murdered girl found, seven-year-old missing.
>
> My toothless friend
> was given little choice, reality
> or comfortably numb.
>
> She chose the latter.
>
> I choose to fight it.
>
> Edward Rochester Esq.

Deep and Dark….

King of Egypt then
Reduced to a golden mask
The guide said, “Tut, Tut”

Wurthering Heights
by NancyGene

Dour Ashcliff was raised at Wurthering Heights,
though he wasn’t born an Earnedshaw.
His love was Cathy and auditory frights
but when he was spurned, he saw

that he needed to make a considerable fortune
to win over Cathy and be lord of the estate,
to act the gentleman but still torch all the sons
of bitches, while keeping an eye on the bank rate.

Ashcliff emerged a candy billionaire in pounds
but returned to find that Cathy was inaccessible,
having fallen for a famous metal rocker’s sounds.
Ashcliff was furious and increased the decibels

on his music and soon he only saw black
and tombs and Cathy, who was then in her grave.
He married the rock star’s sister and bounced back
to claim her land and establish the enclave

of Wurthering Heights with its plots for two
where caskets had but three sides built--
no walls between your loved one and you,
and death would never cause a sour jilt

of love and sweets for a brooding Ashcliff,
who is sometimes seen as a spectre of s’mores
and is said to prowl with a ghostly mastiff,
bellowing Cathy’s name and settling old scores.

On Saturday, November 5, 2022 at 4:12:19 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> Wurthering Heights
> by NancyGene
>
> Dour Ashcliff was raised at Wurthering Heights,
> though he wasn’t born an Earnedshaw.
> His love was Cathy and auditory frights
> but when he was spurned, he saw
>
> that he needed to make a considerable fortune
> to win over Cathy and be lord of the estate,
> to act the gentleman but still torch all the sons
> of bitches, while keeping an eye on the bank rate.
>
> Ashcliff emerged a candy billionaire in pounds
> but returned to find that Cathy was inaccessible,
> having fallen for a famous metal rocker’s sounds.
> Ashcliff was furious and increased the decibels
>
> on his music and soon he only saw black
> and tombs and Cathy, who was then in her grave.
> He married the rock star’s sister and bounced back
> to claim her land and establish the enclave
>
> of Wurthering Heights with its plots for two
> where caskets had but three sides built--
> no walls between your loved one and you,
> and death would never cause a sour jilt
>
> of love and sweets for a brooding Ashcliff,
> who is sometimes seen as a spectre of s’mores
> and is said to prowl with a ghostly mastiff,
> bellowing Cathy’s name and settling old scores.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crossing that Bridge to the Borough of Burroughs

 
It was shoulder bones that accented the suit
complete with a thin slur under the Fedora, a loneliness
hidden by needle point and need
and where to turn, away or toward the dark side
of Sunnyside or Beat of the drum into the whirlpool
of a curious world and Warhol factory workers; fooling the masses
behind dark glasses, smiling at Capote lisping his way
toward Tennessee while checking out his Williams
bulging out from the drawl of drunken whiskey speak.

It is wonder that brings my wander, speaking of the ‘greats’
and how misguided, how a crutch holds up some that impress,
the heroin muse, a drunken drive down ‘On the Road’,
the wonder of artistry bringing mental exhaustion, the fix
before writing the novel or painting a canvas of curious birds
pecking at Picasso lines trying to ward off starvation.

The invitation of creativity seems to say bring demons or don’t apply.

Edward Rochester Esq.

On Saturday, 5 November 2022 at 16:12:19 UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> Wurthering Heights
> by NancyGene
>
> Dour Ashcliff was raised at Wurthering Heights,
> though he wasn’t born an Earnedshaw.
> His love was Cathy and auditory frights
> but when he was spurned, he saw
>
> that he needed to make a considerable fortune
> to win over Cathy and be lord of the estate,
> to act the gentleman but still torch all the sons
> of bitches, while keeping an eye on the bank rate.
>
> Ashcliff emerged a candy billionaire in pounds
> but returned to find that Cathy was inaccessible,
> having fallen for a famous metal rocker’s sounds.
> Ashcliff was furious and increased the decibels
>
> on his music and soon he only saw black
> and tombs and Cathy, who was then in her grave.
> He married the rock star’s sister and bounced back
> to claim her land and establish the enclave
>
> of Wurthering Heights with its plots for two
> where caskets had but three sides built--
> no walls between your loved one and you,
> and death would never cause a sour jilt
>
> of love and sweets for a brooding Ashcliff,
> who is sometimes seen as a spectre of s’mores
> and is said to prowl with a ghostly mastiff,
> bellowing Cathy’s name and settling old scores.

On Friday, 4 November 2022 at 20:57:23 UTC-4, blackpo...@aol.com wrote:
> On Friday, November 4, 2022 at 5:07:40 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> > On Friday, November 4, 2022 at 8:55:35 AM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> > > Could I interest you all with concepts and precepts?
> > > It won't cost you a dime, just a moment of your time
> > > And I have rhyme for just a nominal fee of more of your time.
> > >
> > > Like old people with palsied facilities
> > > self proclaimed wise men postulate needlessly
> > > so proudly heedless of Life's one certainty
> > > that we will always piss each other off- endlessly
> > ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> >
> >
> > City Bowels
> >
> > I sit and hear the words of a frightened man,
> > his furtive poetic plea, "Can you hear me, Can you hear me?"
> > echos throughout the sewer system.
> >
> > And rats hear him, while scampering into dark shadows--
> > their fur glistens as if faux leather, "Can you hear me?"
> > escapes from manhole covers but the city sleeps
> > as Dominic cleans his fingernails with a penknife, thumb and forefinger
> > guiding the sweep.
> >
> > Dominic tossed all turncoats into the sewer, lifting those solid iron
> > manhole covers that have been there since the end of WW2, old Buicks
> > from the 50's to today's electric things, polishing the date.
> >
> > At times, parades march,
> > Thanksgiving being a time for family
> > but family is delicate with today's 'omertà', no second helpings,
> > no fluted Apple Pie, it's to the sewer where one has to dodge
> > the big cities flush.
> >
> > Those Christmas shoppers never know how many bones
> > are beneath their feet.
> >
> > Edward Rochester Esq.
> ----------------------------------------------------------
>
>
> Infidels
>
> They thrive in caves
> along with bats and cell phones,
> weaving webs of carnage,
> bringing to modernization
> the stench of home made bombs
> and blood splattered windshieds.
>
> Robed in body odor and verse,
> they pose for the cameo
> telling all infidels: black widows,
> capable of carrying life,
> can also take.
>
> Edward Rochester Esq.

On Saturday, November 5, 2022 at 6:55:46 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> On Saturday, November 5, 2022 at 4:12:19 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > Wurthering Heights
> > by NancyGene
> >
> > Dour Ashcliff was raised at Wurthering Heights,
> > though he wasn’t born an Earnedshaw.
> > His love was Cathy and auditory frights
> > but when he was spurned, he saw
> >
> > that he needed to make a considerable fortune
> > to win over Cathy and be lord of the estate,
> > to act the gentleman but still torch all the sons
> > of bitches, while keeping an eye on the bank rate.
> >
> > Ashcliff emerged a candy billionaire in pounds
> > but returned to find that Cathy was inaccessible,
> > having fallen for a famous metal rocker’s sounds.
> > Ashcliff was furious and increased the decibels
> >
> > on his music and soon he only saw black
> > and tombs and Cathy, who was then in her grave.
> > He married the rock star’s sister and bounced back
> > to claim her land and establish the enclave
> >
> > of Wurthering Heights with its plots for two
> > where caskets had but three sides built--
> > no walls between your loved one and you,
> > and death would never cause a sour jilt
> >
> > of love and sweets for a brooding Ashcliff,
> > who is sometimes seen as a spectre of s’mores
> > and is said to prowl with a ghostly mastiff,
> > bellowing Cathy’s name and settling old scores.
> -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
>
> Crossing that Bridge to the Borough of Burroughs
>
>
> It was shoulder bones that accented the suit
> complete with a thin slur under the Fedora, a loneliness
> hidden by needle point and need
> and where to turn, away or toward the dark side
> of Sunnyside or Beat of the drum into the whirlpool
> of a curious world and Warhol factory workers; fooling the masses
> behind dark glasses, smiling at Capote lisping his way
> toward Tennessee while checking out his Williams
> bulging out from the drawl of drunken whiskey speak.
>
> It is wonder that brings my wander, speaking of the ‘greats’
> and how misguided, how a crutch holds up some that impress,
> the heroin muse, a drunken drive down ‘On the Road’,
> the wonder of artistry bringing mental exhaustion, the fix
> before writing the novel or painting a canvas of curious birds
> pecking at Picasso lines trying to ward off starvation.
>
> The invitation of creativity seems to say bring demons or don’t apply.
>
> Edward Rochester Esq.
---------------------------------------------------------------------

Full Stop Café

Beyond lies the desert
and it is wise to stop, though the coffee
is bitter, the eggs float in grease and bits of shell
but what opens up after the Full Stop
is cactus country, plump rabbits,
scorpions and cold nights after the boil.

It’s risky, you dread the flat tire,
fear the hombres you’ve come to know,
though spaghetti westerns were more pasta
than stick em up, with apologies to Eastwood.

You gas up, thanks to the eggs
and slip it into drive, past that sign of ‘now leaving’
and wonder how that city girl O’Keefe
found adobes and rattlers, required living.

L.A circled on the map, straight ahead
to the walk of stars, under the stars of midnight
and it appears, the skyline of easy living; the tires have held,
though now they sit on a freeway, where freedom
chokes on diesel and four lanes.
going nowhere.

The Hollywood sign appears,
handsome Mr. Dean had it going on right up there,
Ms. Wood sparkled years before she drowned—
Dean? well he went too fast breaking that movie star face
and I think I saw Brando but it turned out
to be a large Donut atop a take out..

It took longer to get down Wilshire
than navigate the desert ride and I was beginning
to understand O’Keefe, making a U-turn
at that sign saying, ‘now leaving’.

On Tuesday, November 8, 2022 at 10:59:41 AM UTC-5, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> On Saturday, November 5, 2022 at 6:55:46 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> > On Saturday, November 5, 2022 at 4:12:19 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > > Wurthering Heights
> > > by NancyGene
> > >
> > > Dour Ashcliff was raised at Wurthering Heights,
> > > though he wasn’t born an Earnedshaw.
> > > His love was Cathy and auditory frights
> > > but when he was spurned, he saw
> > >
> > > that he needed to make a considerable fortune
> > > to win over Cathy and be lord of the estate,
> > > to act the gentleman but still torch all the sons
> > > of bitches, while keeping an eye on the bank rate.
> > >
> > > Ashcliff emerged a candy billionaire in pounds
> > > but returned to find that Cathy was inaccessible,
> > > having fallen for a famous metal rocker’s sounds.
> > > Ashcliff was furious and increased the decibels
> > >
> > > on his music and soon he only saw black
> > > and tombs and Cathy, who was then in her grave.
> > > He married the rock star’s sister and bounced back
> > > to claim her land and establish the enclave
> > >
> > > of Wurthering Heights with its plots for two
> > > where caskets had but three sides built--
> > > no walls between your loved one and you,
> > > and death would never cause a sour jilt
> > >
> > > of love and sweets for a brooding Ashcliff,
> > > who is sometimes seen as a spectre of s’mores
> > > and is said to prowl with a ghostly mastiff,
> > > bellowing Cathy’s name and settling old scores.
> > -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> >
> > Crossing that Bridge to the Borough of Burroughs
> >
> >
> > It was shoulder bones that accented the suit
> > complete with a thin slur under the Fedora, a loneliness
> > hidden by needle point and need
> > and where to turn, away or toward the dark side
> > of Sunnyside or Beat of the drum into the whirlpool
> > of a curious world and Warhol factory workers; fooling the masses
> > behind dark glasses, smiling at Capote lisping his way
> > toward Tennessee while checking out his Williams
> > bulging out from the drawl of drunken whiskey speak.
> >
> > It is wonder that brings my wander, speaking of the ‘greats’
> > and how misguided, how a crutch holds up some that impress,
> > the heroin muse, a drunken drive down ‘On the Road’,
> > the wonder of artistry bringing mental exhaustion, the fix
> > before writing the novel or painting a canvas of curious birds
> > pecking at Picasso lines trying to ward off starvation.
> >
> > The invitation of creativity seems to say bring demons or don’t apply.
> >
> > Edward Rochester Esq.
> ---------------------------------------------------------------------
>
>
> Full Stop Café
>
> Beyond lies the desert
> and it is wise to stop, though the coffee
> is bitter, the eggs float in grease and bits of shell
> but what opens up after the Full Stop
> is cactus country, plump rabbits,
> scorpions and cold nights after the boil.
>
> It’s risky, you dread the flat tire,
> fear the hombres you’ve come to know,
> though spaghetti westerns were more pasta
> than stick em up, with apologies to Eastwood.
>
> You gas up, thanks to the eggs
> and slip it into drive, past that sign of ‘now leaving’
> and wonder how that city girl O’Keefe
> found adobes and rattlers, required living.
>
> L.A circled on the map, straight ahead
> to the walk of stars, under the stars of midnight
> and it appears, the skyline of easy living; the tires have held,
> though now they sit on a freeway, where freedom
> chokes on diesel and four lanes.
> going nowhere.
>
> The Hollywood sign appears,
> handsome Mr. Dean had it going on right up there,
> Ms. Wood sparkled years before she drowned—
> Dean? well he went too fast breaking that movie star face
> and I think I saw Brando but it turned out
> to be a large Donut atop a take-out.
>
> It took longer to get down Wilshire
> than navigate the desert ride and I was beginning
> to understand O’Keefe, making a U-turn
> at that sign saying, ‘now leaving’.
-----------------------------------------------------------

Sweet Cesspool

All landlords lock the doors
at seven but some inmates manage to escape
to the downtown tapestry, as the wail
of a lonely sax hides inside a club's
distorted profile.

On dirty tabletops, those landlords spread
the day's take -- scotch tape the ripped Hamiltons
and hide the stash behind fake Warhols
as John Cale mimics english with soulful Lou Reed
'Wild Side'.

"Where are they dancing, tonight?"

"West of 42nd."

Too far for the weary workboots
but on 7th, the TV highlights the days shoot-fest
as the shot glass is drained clean for another.

You must knock, wake that landlord, think of bed
as the metal lock opens a crack in the door.

"How'd you get out?"

"The fire escape, you always forget the fire escape."

So, you tuck in, remember her eyes that delivered the news
and that bite of the first whiskey shot.

On Tuesday, 8 November 2022 at 17:19:51 UTC-5, blackpo...@aol.com wrote:
> On Tuesday, November 8, 2022 at 10:59:41 AM UTC-5, Edward Rochester Esq. wrote:
> > On Saturday, November 5, 2022 at 6:55:46 PM UTC-4, Edward Rochester Esq.. wrote:
> > > On Saturday, November 5, 2022 at 4:12:19 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > > > Wurthering Heights
> > > > by NancyGene
> > > >
> > > > Dour Ashcliff was raised at Wurthering Heights,
> > > > though he wasn’t born an Earnedshaw.
> > > > His love was Cathy and auditory frights
> > > > but when he was spurned, he saw
> > > >
> > > > that he needed to make a considerable fortune
> > > > to win over Cathy and be lord of the estate,
> > > > to act the gentleman but still torch all the sons
> > > > of bitches, while keeping an eye on the bank rate.
> > > >
> > > > Ashcliff emerged a candy billionaire in pounds
> > > > but returned to find that Cathy was inaccessible,
> > > > having fallen for a famous metal rocker’s sounds.
> > > > Ashcliff was furious and increased the decibels
> > > >
> > > > on his music and soon he only saw black
> > > > and tombs and Cathy, who was then in her grave.
> > > > He married the rock star’s sister and bounced back
> > > > to claim her land and establish the enclave
> > > >
> > > > of Wurthering Heights with its plots for two
> > > > where caskets had but three sides built--
> > > > no walls between your loved one and you,
> > > > and death would never cause a sour jilt
> > > >
> > > > of love and sweets for a brooding Ashcliff,
> > > > who is sometimes seen as a spectre of s’mores
> > > > and is said to prowl with a ghostly mastiff,
> > > > bellowing Cathy’s name and settling old scores.
> > > -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
> > >
> > > Crossing that Bridge to the Borough of Burroughs
> > >
> > >
> > > It was shoulder bones that accented the suit
> > > complete with a thin slur under the Fedora, a loneliness
> > > hidden by needle point and need
> > > and where to turn, away or toward the dark side
> > > of Sunnyside or Beat of the drum into the whirlpool
> > > of a curious world and Warhol factory workers; fooling the masses
> > > behind dark glasses, smiling at Capote lisping his way
> > > toward Tennessee while checking out his Williams
> > > bulging out from the drawl of drunken whiskey speak.
> > >
> > > It is wonder that brings my wander, speaking of the ‘greats’
> > > and how misguided, how a crutch holds up some that impress,
> > > the heroin muse, a drunken drive down ‘On the Road’,
> > > the wonder of artistry bringing mental exhaustion, the fix
> > > before writing the novel or painting a canvas of curious birds
> > > pecking at Picasso lines trying to ward off starvation.
> > >
> > > The invitation of creativity seems to say bring demons or don’t apply.
> > >
> > > Edward Rochester Esq.
> > ---------------------------------------------------------------------
> >
> >
> > Full Stop Café
> >
> > Beyond lies the desert
> > and it is wise to stop, though the coffee
> > is bitter, the eggs float in grease and bits of shell
> > but what opens up after the Full Stop
> > is cactus country, plump rabbits,
> > scorpions and cold nights after the boil.
> >
> > It’s risky, you dread the flat tire,
> > fear the hombres you’ve come to know,
> > though spaghetti westerns were more pasta
> > than stick em up, with apologies to Eastwood.
> >
> > You gas up, thanks to the eggs
> > and slip it into drive, past that sign of ‘now leaving’
> > and wonder how that city girl O’Keefe
> > found adobes and rattlers, required living.
> >
> > L.A circled on the map, straight ahead
> > to the walk of stars, under the stars of midnight
> > and it appears, the skyline of easy living; the tires have held,
> > though now they sit on a freeway, where freedom
> > chokes on diesel and four lanes.
> > going nowhere.
> >
> > The Hollywood sign appears,
> > handsome Mr. Dean had it going on right up there,
> > Ms. Wood sparkled years before she drowned—
> > Dean? well he went too fast breaking that movie star face
> > and I think I saw Brando but it turned out
> > to be a large Donut atop a take-out.
> >
> > It took longer to get down Wilshire
> > than navigate the desert ride and I was beginning
> > to understand O’Keefe, making a U-turn
> > at that sign saying, ‘now leaving’.
> -----------------------------------------------------------
>
> Sweet Cesspool
>
> All landlords lock the doors
> at seven but some inmates manage to escape
> to the downtown tapestry, as the wail
> of a lonely sax hides inside a club's
> distorted profile.
>
> On dirty tabletops, those landlords spread
> the day's take -- scotch tape the ripped Hamiltons
> and hide the stash behind fake Warhols
> as John Cale mimics english with soulful Lou Reed
> 'Wild Side'.
>
> "Where are they dancing, tonight?"
>
> "West of 42nd."
>
> Too far for the weary workboots
> but on 7th, the TV highlights the days shoot-fest
> as the shot glass is drained clean for another.
>
> You must knock, wake that landlord, think of bed
> as the metal lock opens a crack in the door.
>
> "How'd you get out?"
>
> "The fire escape, you always forget the fire escape."
>
> So, you tuck in, remember her eyes that delivered the news
> and that bite of the first whiskey shot.

On Saturday, 5 November 2022 at 13:19:09 UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> King of Egypt then
> Reduced to a golden mask
> The guide said, “Tut, Tut”

On Tuesday, November 8, 2022 at 10:57:58 PM UTC-5, ME wrote:
> On Saturday, 5 November 2022 at 13:19:09 UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > King of Egypt then
> > Reduced to a golden mask
> > The guide said, “Tut, Tut”

Now and then a King
regales adoring subjects
with tales of a dream.

On Wednesday, November 9, 2022 at 6:11:18 AM UTC-5, Spam-I-Am wrote:
> On Tuesday, November 8, 2022 at 10:57:58 PM UTC-5, ME wrote:
> > On Saturday, 5 November 2022 at 13:19:09 UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > > King of Egypt then
> > > Reduced to a golden mask
> > > The guide said, “Tut, Tut”
> Now and then a King
> regales adoring subjects
> with tales of a dream.

*applause*

On Wednesday, November 9, 2022 at 1:18:48 PM UTC-5, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> On Wednesday, November 9, 2022 at 6:11:18 AM UTC-5, Spam-I-Am wrote:
> > On Tuesday, November 8, 2022 at 10:57:58 PM UTC-5, ME wrote:
> > > On Saturday, 5 November 2022 at 13:19:09 UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > > > King of Egypt then
> > > > Reduced to a golden mask
> > > > The guide said, “Tut, Tut”
> > Now and then a King
> > regales adoring subjects
> > with tales of a dream.
> *applause*

Martin Luther King, Stephen King, King Crimson, the list goes on and on.

On Wednesday, November 9, 2022 at 1:50:00 PM UTC-5, Spam-I-Am wrote:
> On Wednesday, November 9, 2022 at 1:18:48 PM UTC-5, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> > On Wednesday, November 9, 2022 at 6:11:18 AM UTC-5, Spam-I-Am wrote:
> > > On Tuesday, November 8, 2022 at 10:57:58 PM UTC-5, ME wrote:
> > > > On Saturday, 5 November 2022 at 13:19:09 UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > > > > King of Egypt then
> > > > > Reduced to a golden mask
> > > > > The guide said, “Tut, Tut”
> > > Now and then a King
> > > regales adoring subjects
> > > with tales of a dream.
> > *applause*
> Martin Luther King, Stephen King, King Crimson, the list goes on and on.

King Solomon, King David, Don King.

On Tuesday, November 8, 2022 at 10:57:58 PM UTC-5, ME wrote:
> On Saturday, 5 November 2022 at 13:19:09 UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> > King of Egypt then
> > Reduced to a golden mask
> > The guide said, “Tut, Tut”