Bones quake,
transmitting a need to
put forth thoughts,
ideas before sleeping
awakes early
mourning.
“I Was Once”, ©Jeff Glovsky
Tag Archives: poetry
Nu Year (Poem)
Let’s just see if I can dream, spontaneous, asleep
while seeming fattish, gaining weight while planning
exodus from messes left another day and time
when I was crazy, youngish, blind and stupid
Just like Mommy said I might be
Words & Image
by Jeff Glovsky
Hear Me (Fall)
<< / >>
In the Midtown bar, the blonde ignores surroundings, blithely chatting on a cellphone, like she’s home alone, or might as well be.
Unlike she, I’ve got no one to talk to. Sitting with the gloaming outside, loud annoying noise within. My head, the music bleeding, pounds right through me, thoughts (not there) receding…
Empty. I look up, and down. The room spins.
No one hears me fall.
by Jeff Glovsky
Through, Me!
<< / >>
A
disgusting filth animal
violates me … My space, my face
as he coughs
into it.
As I walk past, see
him suck his lungs in, throw his
head back, rancidly exhale …
Feel the sick and hear the
wetness gurgle
deep and
through
me.
COVER. YOUR. MOUTH.
a public service announcement
by Jeff Glovsky
Long, Forgetting
<< / >>
I walk with a bittersweet taste
down these streets, too aware
now I’ll never be home again
Can you hear me?
Furious ghost of my youth!
Angry spirit assails me,
screaming in torment!
Through agonizing streets,
down years, I’ve tasted love
and toppled fears, yet lost you
… things I held most dear
Oh, hear you!
Hear me screaming…
by Jeff Glovsky more Random Poetix
Unwritten
<< / >>
No Babies …
* * *
I’ll start it! I’ll start the dance!
Fish twist and wish
to be connected. Primal
tappings into something longing
as the two of us.
Sustained piss shiver, poison throat,
and need. Quake, flop
and sway a little…Heed the drum
and feed the Hunger flaming
up your Soul …
“Conga“
by Jeff Glovsky
I threw a Poem
and no one came …
At the beginning of January, I posted a few unfinished Random Poetix, and invited participation in adding a line or two. Though a few of you “liked” this, I only heard silence … There was not one WordSpeak-ing …
So I’ve added my own lines … I play with myself!
* * *
doodle, doodle #1)
“certitudes, loud ‘certainties’,
across love covered, self-righteous
breakfast tables“
you and I fornever
always
#2)
“I’ve woke up broke
before
but not broken“
beneath
broken promises,
furious eyes
#3)
“In the slice knife that is
A.M., I cut through
to get my things done“
Cross Raspail, boulevard Leclerc
I fax a note to dear old Dad …
* * *
Feel free to contribute still …
&
Always be a poet, even in prose.
– Charles Baudelaire
Virginity
<< / >>
because you never forget your First …
Random Poetix
Anger
Subway’s down there
Hear it comin’
Just been mugged
Suspect runnin’
Don’t know why
I was beat up
Kicked my cane
Stole my cup
Got no money now
Can’t buy booze
Got no future
Got no shoes
Make me want
to kill somebody
Mold they bones
like Silly Puddy
If I’m caught
I might confess
Go to jail
Kill da rest
(1987)
inspired by
Quick Ones (While She’s Away)
<< / >>
In the least green, meanest
streets of the city, trees
preen, praying for
respiration
I remember the hugs I
used to give her;
remember
the love
we would shudder and
be in
Still feel
the warmth of
her body and sighs;
still drown, when
I tap my mind’s eye, in
her eyes
Together is how I still wish
to remain
with, inside, her.
Outside
is unbearable
pain.
more Random Poetix in the Members Lounge; and other unfinished business by Jeff Glovsky
Doodlin’ the New Year
<< / >>
This Happy Nu Year
* * *
I’ll start it! I’ll start the dance!
… then you come in with a line or two and we keep it going: I’ll choose three (3) lines from your submissions to my three (3) poetry doodles below, in January.
At the end of January, I’ll post the nine (9) lines that I select … your best lines, which best seem to flow and complement each set of my words, my lines, below … and then you can vote to help us build …
(y)our new poems.
Alles klar? Alles gute!
doodle, doodle #1)
“certitudes, loud ‘certainties’,
across love covered, self-righteous
breakfast tables“
… what’s the next line, Jaspar?
#2)
“I’ve woke up broke
before
but not broken“
… Yo! help me out, yo
#3)
“In the slice knife that is
A.M., I cut through
to get my things done“
… Where am I? Anyway?
* * *
Send me your orphans — your left lines and Good Ones — or new lines and images you conjure, to complement my three (3) poetical doodlings, above …
&
Always be a poet, even in prose.
– Charles Baudelaire
visit the Members Lounge …
for more Random Poetix by Jeff Glovsky
Members Lounge
<< / >>
Random Poetix from
Writers-Network *** Let's Make Babies in 2 0 1 5
Whore Touches Self
( À Charles )
Whore touches self
on parts infected with
stains of old lovers,
vile caresses…
Moldy lips cleft,
shriveled flesh,
try to smile;
parted thighs repel,
reveal
sadness, sickness, deep inside.
Whore touches self now,
applying youth magic…
remembering long agos,
drying dimmed holes
Alison
Blonde — whiskey-laughing,
nicotine husk and
drunken smile (out of head!)
invites me to a moistened world…
Affirms me and accepts me there;
aroused appraisal,
more to share,
firm curves! And ripened
testament to sin:
Begin with nape,
atingling down to
ridges, bold and true;
still down further,
apple bounty: Pointed,
ripe and two.
From there, we ride
the delta plain
(it’s there where stains are common oopses… !)
Flaring fortress down below
surrounds the place
I want to go…
There!
Yearning long-ways,
smiling pinkly,
inside deep, recurring
nightly in my head,
the chance to bed blonde
Alison, all in
virgin blue and
red from heat
beneath the neon…
Moon and Jazz Blue drift Manhattan.
Mornings out and up
with tea and
thoughts of lustful
revelry, and
Alison.
But not with me.
Hot Nude Fish
Hot nude fish, you know
who you’re, yeah
you, who hotly flop, who
heated, heed the sounds I make
while hinting (hotly)
toward your hed’nist
bents.
Spent, flopping!
heat and fish-like, scent
of learning, seed
of Life up in you
*Kiss!*
To
Hot Nude Fish!
what makes me
vast blue days less
empty…
Random Poetix on this page Long Reads & Short Stories ©Jeff Glovsky
Always be a poet, even in prose.
– Charles Baudelaire
