Quick Carl and The Wolf Man

Wolf Arm - I remember the day you brought dynamite to school...
what was it...1975?
You wanted the man..Quick Carl, you wanted him bad....
I knew you were nuts man, but Jesus brother...

The day you took me to the trunk of your Blue Nova death mobile....
2 stix of High Velocity DuPont Dynamite....stolen from the mine
you said you were going to place it under the bridge and wait for the son-of-a bitch
......damned Tommy!
You are both long gone now...you & Quick
maybe you've settled the score..or are still at it on the other side
....if it's the latter, the give it to him once for me too wolf man,
for pulling a gun on me in his office
....HS Principal my ass...paranoid megalomaniac with sociopathic tendancies...
hey you... Quick ... man, I know you paid a due

The South Side

Cronk,
tall and thin
hair electric stood on end
long and straight down the reverse
shirtless man - acid trip, an icon to us all
we called the cut 'the Cronk' - outta' respect

Kurtz - kept Berlin Wall distance 'cause you was verboten
Cropped blond hair and Frankenstein grimace
just like Lou - velvet & CBGB's - walking wild
white lightning and leathers on 16th street - summer time stench
sex in the backrooms no time no dime
a real hard street fucker you is

Psycho, you were the naz
absolutely genius psychotic
'25 and Leary fried your mind
satin pants and way cool hair
eye shadow like a queen of drag
ghastly ghostly Ozzy image dread of undead
asylum or earth man. to which did you go?

Mau Mau...wasn't sure what you was man
Hard-core for certain - didn't fuck wit you
Larry Fine Stooge hair
dark skinned Croat, Bosnian maybe
Maletinski - Mau Mau, jesus man the name
nose broken how many times, none could know
1000 yard eyes of gray blue death stare
what'd you see now Mau Mau
what do you see?

Rough times, hard times, good times and bad
Never should've walked there
Would've regretted had I not
We was all dead men walking
We all got what we got

How many still breathe?

Russian Roulette

Tommy 'WolfArm',
Played with a .38
Spun the cylinder too many times
The trigger was kinetic...it was too late

Chicky chicky chee, chick chicky cha
Look into your eyes and see the other side
Man, you was a work
You, and Stanley 'Psycho the Gork'

AladdinSane

Chai,

Man, I'm sorry I wasn't there that day
Kismet or guardian angel, or neither
Seems it's always been that way though

I have carried your ghost since that day in '76
Not a single day has past that you aren't 'here'
I can't get the thought out of my mind

I know you were really busted up
And help had to come from far off
If I was there, I think I could've kept you going
Instead of carrying you to the grave

But I think you knew it was your time to go,
I think we knew it was your time to go
I tried to carry on without you here
But in the end I self-destructed

You always said at 18...damned!

We spun heads man,
We were the Bewlay Brothers...

2 magpies

stoney joanie and brother mark
one so far out there
one so in the dark
both of you gone now
livers' destroyed
with too many illicits
we all toyed

sorry that rhymed joanie, but it is all too dark as it is to add anymore. anyway, it rings..yeah, it rings. hope you both found that rush. candy kilt me too...that pus gut whore!

Alice in Wonderland

'Way-out Alice', you were a trip
lived life in Wonderland
and sweet as wildflower honey
as caring as the Salvation Army

met you on a summer junket
what a short-bus of a ride it was
two misfits, peas in a pod
both so unfamiliar, so damned outright odd

...I wonder where you took your art; I wonder where you are

misfit toy

gotta’ be somewhere where a guy like me can fit
the circle square peg ... misfit toy
I’m not understanding that much of anything
... that damned much anymore

bail out bail out bail out [sic]
if only for a ‘chute
thought I’d jump without
... still may someday

this side that side what side
fuckin’ green eggs and ham
Sam I am…yeah, Sam I ain’t
red white blue, blanc gone blank

Georgia, Wasilla, Qatar, Korea
all fucking loons if you ask me, ah
... ah, but you didn’t
so go ahead man and do it

dual trigger finger man do it do it do it
squeeze off the red lever round of hell
take us all outta’ here with one big flash
I’m ready, I’m ready, bail out bail out [sic]

blah fucking rah ooh rah doo dah day
gotta’ be somewhere where a guy like me can fit
the circle square peg ... misfit toy
‘cause I’m not understanding that much of anything
... that damned much anymore

A Talking Head Jones

The buzz is wearing off quickly
Like the the crash from a sugar high
What news will be the next addiction
What fix will now give fill to the void

November 4th, the day I went sober
After near two years of the same daily dose


well well, it did not take long:
http://greggorywcrow.blogspot.com/2008/11/here-we-go-again-2.html

what is this thing

what is this thing
that has called me back
my attention awakened
now what do I do

simple sweet taste of taboo
or birth of the perfect poem
what brought me back
for more, more, more

warm moist lips
in my mind's eye
scent of wildflower honey
I drink in the nectar

what pheromone is in the air
from across neighboring border
that dares to me the risqué
of the morphing of Gregor Samsa

Je sui prêt
Elle est prete
C’est tout pres
C’est loin d’ici

poem©GW Crow 2008. all rights reserved.

somehere up around Canada

Chill (e) in the air mister
As the heat from flame rose red
Ballast increased and the thin skin swelled… viva, viva… Viagra
Word of a nor’easter was spreading… yes spreading about
Protected I felt, as I cast cares to the breeze and lifted off
Gander

The higher I reached, the greater was the blow
I had anticipated being rocked… I knew I would be stoned
Northward it seemed I was going, or at least high to the Gods for tea and a chat

As fate would have it, the ballast was lost all too soon
Perhaps a hole in the skin had opened and relieved the pressure
The skin deflated, as it were, and the flight was over
“All too soon”, she said, “all too soon” … “you have invaded the shallows of my bay, goose”… “now penetrate my depths, else I let you drown”
to me, this was…
New Found Land

poem©GW Crow 2008. all rights reserved.

Borrow a Line of Cat

morning has broken...like the first dawn ...

moon has covered the shift well
the Eagle has arisen
he stands erect...chest thick and proud
ready to pounce...the maidenhead of sun
to grab yoni flesh with talons
and pull the prize close for the taking

but wait, this roll call is not routine
no, this is unfamiliar formation
something new and fresh...with hint of jasmine scent
a flower red...or creature of ground
sparkling like a jewel, the iris deep as Solomon's mine
and though he has soared high and far
his eyes have not before seen this creature
no, not in this life it seems

no, this time he pulsates with new life and vigor
a curiosity...
his loins are hot, the molten liquid ready...
a entire village submerge he could with ease
but this thing he would not vanquish no
rather keep for admiration.... for study and for frolic...
learn it's ways...write it's lesson's ... a passion play
drink daily from it's pond...lotus of honey nectar
let this creature have its way as it wishes
be at its command...ready to serve

yet weary from the past days' flight
see, an eaglet he is not
on this cold and misty morning
he simply wishes for a spot of warmth
and silky comfort
somewhere to place his head awhile

he could stay inside the warmth forever it seems
throbbing and releasing hot passion
throbbing and releasing hot passion
throbbing and releasing hot passion.....and

at the distant bus stop the eagle hears a voice call out
'Alex, is that you?'....'you've gotten so big'
this beautiful black young mother stands...proud booty round peaks
eagle grins an internal grin
yes, he says, yes I have

poem©GW Crow 2008. all rights reserved.

The Water's Edge

Ship to shore,
Hand in hand,
Together we walk,
This sun drenched sand

Footprints we leave
Water to erase
No sign we’ve tread
This sacred space

Ashes to ashes
Dust to dust
Through that hidden door
Walk we all must

Ship to shore,
Hand in hand,
Cast me on the water
Scatter me on the sand

poem©GW Crow 2008. all rights reserved.

Horace

Twist off the heads
of these Canopic jars
Spill out the putrid remnants
of what once were me
Breathe fresh soul
into this dry corpse of a man
Prematurely buried
from empty years of hopelessness,
sadness and despair
Years of standing naked
screaming into a crowd,
no ears hear - no eyes see
Unwrap these bandage fetters
and set this mummy free

poem©GW Crow 2008. all rights reserved.

Common Sense

That sense is common is perhaps the greatest paradox

Words written between the lines are few and must be chosen carefully…
Words read between the lines are many and must be reaped wisely
If one meditates on nothing, does one then attain nothing?
If one offers too much paradox to the mind, then the mind becomes riddled with paradox
If the perception of what I perceive is to be altered so that my current perception is no longer what I currently perceive, then my current perception must be that of the past which is being perceived in the future
Ah, The impossibility of self-portrayal
The paradox of choice
If we live our lives in uncertainty, then how can we be sure that we are uncertain?
A circle begins where it ends

poem©GW Crow 2008. all rights reserved.

Sun Dance

flesh pierced
sharpened bone skewers
meat pole sacrifice
sinew tugging and pulling
ripping pieces of him away
human kabob...all he ever wanted

To honor the elders
...Leonard Peltier

poem©GW Crow 2008. all rights reserved.

Broadhead SinTax Dialogue

Living life on the edge of trust
She stands back against the wall…
facing him as she draws the bow towards her breasts
Her, in her summer dress… slightly higher than mid-thigh
A light scent of Jasmine honey detectable in the air

He, looking like Bogey stepped out of ‘African Queen’…
cig cocked in the corner of his mouth… long ash waiting to drop

He holds the nock and pulls back the arrow… broadhead tips the shaft aimed straight at her heart
Taxed to the brink, he takes a drag and inhales hard to steady the hand… fear invades him
Such commitment betwixt the twain
Living on the edge of temptation
She sits, back against the wall
summer dress now creeps higher yet on thigh
legs slightly spread… not whorish in manner, but rather seductress

He, looking like Bogey stepped out of ‘African Queen’…
cig cocked in the corner of his mouth… long ash waiting to drop

He now holds the bow… stretched in full arc of the draw
digits clutch the string and nock
His aim is true, his intent yet unknown
Phallus tips the arrow shaft… sin, they both quiver… lump in throats
A light scent of Jasmine honey now pervades the air
Her heart pounds anticipation… pleasure or pain
He takes a drag and inhales deep to steady the hand… testosterone surging
Does she/doesn’t she … will he/won’t he…
Such commitment betwixt the twain

poem©GW Crow 2008. all rights reserved.

Old Friends

The annual Halloween 'get together'
Even though it wears a mask
...For the kids sake, you see
With old neighbors long moved away
Good nonetheless to see their faces
...I suspect they feel the same
The best treat I could have had
As my mind plays tricks on me

poem©GW Crow 2008. all rights reserved.

American Dream

one lottery ticket
and hand-me-down dishes,
...five year old shoes...
dining on Ramen noodles
and grilled cheese,
living large brother,
living large

poem©GW Crow 2008. all rights reserved.

The Civil One

From Charleston to Appomattox,
Manassas on to Vicksburg,
and all points in between -
'minimal blood' they said,
it was the 'Anaconda Plan'

620,000 dead, all told
...can't even begin to tabulate the injured,
the maimed and distressed

sabots the size of a man's thumb...
heavy of lead, both conical and round -
devastating damage done when bullet hits bone

saber thrust thru the heart of man;
bloodletting on friendly fields -
as family and friends choose sides
...The Civil War

poem©GW Crow 2008. all rights reserved.

mother

Africa, matriarch of all -
Hominid and homosapien - tap roots both of your loam
As I glass the globe, even at this diminutive distance,
I take note of the varying shades of blue
...ebbing and flowing over reef, trench and shoal,
to reach and round your horn
...Indigo, Tanzanite, and Lapis Lazuli...

Arabian Sea lapping at your vulva,
a gentle, yet forceful push, and withdraw, push, and withdraw...
ever widening and eroding the stricture of your gulf -
the scent of your innermost lushness beckons me
...my anticipation on the rise

Ah Aden, open and wanting!
You draw me into the cervix of your Red Sea
I bring fertility and life to your thirsting desolate soul -
45 degrees long and 12 degrees lat,
you will find her there

poem©GW Crow 2008. all rights reserved.

Untitled (3)

fifteen and one fifty, an ambiguous cipher -
an enigmatic strand, of which you were the one...

Tokyo Rose...

I first heard her shrill broken voice there,
raw, lean and scared, barely a man...this wasn't the Iowa I knew
My rifle barrel...hardened steel...and bedroll in hand
A word from the Chaplain (we called him 'Charlie') ,
and then the voice came to 'dismount'...I did not look back

My manhood felt the warmth of your salty water
I was just a kid...only nineteen...perverse in retrospect;
erotic to a nineteen year old at fifteen and one fifty
...to be honest with myself, and to you, I am envious -
envious of the feel of the eroticism, as I recall,
of my manhood in the spring of life

I lay with you on the beach that day,
while the others took their positions
And during the lonely nights I gave you my seed
...several times over...
(loneliness will do that to a man, you know, especially in a time of conflict)
...and many times over you accepted in silence,
as though you never knew you had been defiled -
or as though you approved

I have since heard that a pearl was borne out of wedlock
...in the south pacific

fifteen and one fifty
my Marianas

poem©GW Crow 2008. all rights reserved.

Untitled (2)

Glassing you
from across the room,
trying not to stare
at a lady,
...I steal glimpses

Below the waist
swathed in blue blue -
A fiery appeal;
chili pepper heat
...I suspect

Gently I guide my sloop,
lengthy in the keel,
deep into your basin
...leaving wake as I come

'ah! Brazil'...
south of the equator
...one of many I've loved
from the shelter of this cell

Tomorrow I will be off,
as spin the orb I will

poem©GW Crow 2008. all rights reserved.

Untitled (rev. to 'Replogle')

A mystic she was,
framed in bezel
of pearly white

Exotic woman -
moonlight gave way
to her shapely dark form

Curvaceous and fluid...
thru the mist I could see...
veiled with white tiara

The mist of her warm
undulating and orgasmic
coming and going

She came to me
warm and wet,
licking at my lengthy keel

Whispering 'shhh'... 'shhh',
as if not to wake my mate
...a secret rendezvous

At dawn she withdraws
to her innermost depths,
a brief respite she takes

worn from an evening
of pleasuring up and down
upon my still rigid keel

closing her azure eyes
...tanzanite gems
until the moon beckons

With a spin of the globe
I set sail to my next chance meeting -
my next secret lover

I bid you adieu
Arabian Sea

By fate or by friction
we will meet again
one day

poem©GW Crow 2008. all rights reserved.

I loathe you plastic man

Yeah man, I see you...is that highlight on your hair?
You, who point a finger at me
You, with your plasticized hair
How much gel did you use dude?...Goddamn I hate the word 'dude'!
Who do you think you are...to mock my silver locks,
my tail and my ring?...fuck you man, I lived it!
I earned my way...I paid the dues
By the way...your jeans dude
How did the knees get torn?
A razor you say?
I wore a razor as an earpiece,
and one around my jugular
So back off...dude...you know nothing of who I am
Do you not see I've done time? ...someone should warn you
Are those Birkenstocks?...steel toes kick the best
I never had a car bought for me, dude...I paid my own way
I know the street, dude
The street on which you live

poem©GW Crow 2008. all rights reserved.

Life Under the Bodhi Tree or 'Spare My Rib'

Sir Isaac God, you -

dropped your apple
on my head,
you set the wheel in motion -
you let the knowledge begin

it was plucked
and fed me once,
oh suffragette snake,
you, who fooled the man

so no more apples,
bullshit, or doctor a day -
bring me fresh ripe cherries,
and give this foolish man
another chance

I promise this time
to push the snake deep
beyond the loins
of this lady earth

poem©GW Crow 2008. all rights reserved.

can't seem to find my pen...

...or mask to hide behind

in these times of e-can't see,
man is woman, and woman man

sometimes multiplicities arise,
give way to not what I am

a name that sounds of whit and verse,
perchance something with an alpine feel

Chardonnay, trout almondine and truffles -
a worldly feel to hide the fact
of what is true and real

because I'm nothing of the sort,
and live not up to the task

I hide behind the shelter,
the shelter of the mask

poem©GW Crow 2008. all rights reserved.

The Casting Couch

A cast of characters is at play,
veiled behind the 'Houdini like' illusion
of schizophrenia, bullshit, and pseudonyms
of the neurotic and self-absorbed

Here we are...whoever we are

poem©GW Crow 2008. all rights reserved.