Lemon Pepper Poems
Dec 6 2020
Velvet texture of my thought streams
Honestly speaking i’m no poet
Probable best on pretty language
Worship, blessed eye
Answer why with love
Active hand who’d found a
Probable better future today
Changing minds, changing hearts
Loose verbatim –
We in the flower field
Watching the flowers really grow
Glowing in the setting sun light
On your face.
Nature shows us as we are
Illustrates our truth in and out.
The sun flickers in the tree leaves
Blowing in the wind
Dancing colorful light all over your face.
I don’t know
If i’ve ever been here before.
All the flower fields
Feel the same.
I sit outside Lux Cafe
On a green bench;
Light changing in the leaves
Playing colorful shows, plays of transcendence.
Sends me into the present.
Music drags on. Woman on the phone –
Purple dissonance scattered
New light through my veins.
Pulsing forgiveness – for i know nothing;
I feel everything, everything helps.
Lonely shifts, perspective bliss
Blowing steam from my coffee,
Girls “smile” for the picture.
I’ve been here with her
Before this life, the love light.
Suns setting smooth cast cool shadows
Leaping yellows and dormant blues
Shift on the old metal seat.
“Does my hair look good”, cars hum.
Music for improbable time.
And my space, the lighting so good
Ripples and waves from nothing
Intellect could cohort.
So feeling abstract
Supports the lonely seat with me
The people on the otherside
Posing for photos, thousands of shutters
Love on the shadows, the good lonely lights.
Berries from the bush tumble
Tumble and roll along the earth
Little sienna chickadee chirps;
Flutters branch to branch in the berry bush.
A drunken clap wine glass clicks another at
The empty bar.
One and two and three – and pause –
In the cafe music beat
But someone steps on a sewer cap – four.
Sun is swinging low
Birds solemnly singing,
“Shes so very lovely”
Cars whooshing along, tumbling
From their bushels of hope
Into the night.
I write, putting the last lights
Into word, flickering on
Thought to thought;
Stumbling alone. In this universe.
They save me a seat
In the sunlight, i collect fractals
Of dismantled angel drops of light
Left like dimes ringing
And ringing like music
In my head. I remember us
The togetherness in soliloquy:
But i hold forth tears
Dripping on my page,
Like last lights of sunset.
White, black, joy and jubilee –
A languid lyricism, steps up in
Up on a speech
The sea of shades.
Me, a sunken suns swoon.
I just reach and reach.
I pray God meets me
:On the seventh;
Here. In shattering sand smelts
And stupid swirling hour glasses –
Swift, see me here in the desert –
Alone. Cactuses are green and long
In the garden. It’s a party;
The cactuses wear styrofoam cup hats.
The bulb lights flicker. Pink sunsets
Stuck in the autumn grove. Lady
In the pink chair
In the tan corduroy
Melts in the light,
Try to build a sand castle
Use the skies turquoise
Atop the timeless pyramid
Build into the silent desert gold sound.
Another hour stilled
Karla behind the bar’s
Wore a sun tattoo on her back when
Her shirts up. Off and through
The rectangle, pink eyes voided.
Cafés lively! World’s best dads black
Wears all black, and it’s not even yet
Night, and it feels like night.
Now i write about writing lonely poems
In a book of lonely worlds – with
Or without myself. So pray
The Lord my soul to keep, please
Entertain me, oh my this discord
Don’t let me, go silent.
Let me occupy this soliloquy
Sounding my paginated life –
On page infinity?
The colorful world of sound,
Better now then not nor never
I’m alone: when God is love.
And i do that which most stirs me to love.
Writing, but i feel all alone though.
Watching just the evening sky purple
Just for me;
My mind cries, fucks a star, sleeps
Western yellows stroked about blue,
Dappled her with red.
Sun shines on an oriental boy
Walking a dog named cowboy because
It looks like a cow.
And there are pink clouds, poesy in the streetlamp.
Yellow horizon, slow steps, worlds
Again. Man in a motorcycle helmet smokes
Straddles a bench by the bush and he nods.
Curb stops are city lilypads, the floor is lava.
But i’ve got fireproof spirit, a
Skip step and spirit sound beat.
Oranges in a green basket
Hip hop music, a sun necklace, eye ring
And checkerboard black and grey flannel.
Starlight in my pants, shooting stars
For a mouth, lips eternity wet. A
Rounded line, oval feeling and
I’m circling the room, twirling my hair,
Sitting sideways, feet up, in a green chair.
Green white, blue yellow.
Oh! The same feeling, so old in
That shrugging flower field mouth, smile,
That leg cross.
That southern rhythm shake,
She writes me in japanese art history.
Cuts me deep in trance, she is grace.
So the hazy angels are singing on sunday.
Everything is as it should be.
She’s playing light, silently smiling to herself:
Does he see at all though? With eyes peeled
Back into an echoing soul
Crashing along the insides of my mouth,
I let out a sound –
Lemon pepper poem
History is art
Nature truths physical and heart
God speaks through people
Masks only slow backward vocals
Tilling a garden prepares.
Too much fruit, green ladder into the red sun.
Breasts squiggle a body moving, section era
Sort of piece titled nirvana, bell chimes
And boy whistles pays off, flips a
Word into the well. Light ripples.
Is both a wave and a particle,
Is comfort physical and mentally
I’m all spiritual alone in the cafe.