Round his harlot’s neck
the police inspectors found her moonstone.
Twas her loving son who ordered
the changing of the tombstone.
“Here lieth Martha Roan,
but a good wife, hath died
by husband’s hands,
he who interred her, satisfied.”
Posted by Tom Busillo on July 31, 2010
http://monsterbegood.com/2010/07/31/by-husbands-hands/
I’ve never dreamed
on a bed of daffodils
or become drunk
on the sundry colors
of flowers
dappling the hills.
I’ve never played a joyful lute
to circling magpies
or seen all the heavens
resplendent in one
longing, soulful gaze
into the moon’s eye.
I’m detective Frank Green.
I work Vice.
The night shift.
I bust hookers and their pimps and their johns.
It’s what I do.
It’s a living.
Posted by Tom Busillo on July 30, 2010
http://monsterbegood.com/2010/07/30/ive-never-dreamed-on-a-bed-of-daffodils/
as the sands are infinite
as the multitudes of mutant wasp-like creatures in endless parallel universes are infinite
as the infinite infiniteness is infinitely infinite
and much like the valley is lower than the mountain
and much like the crown-crested warbler flies higher than the honey possum
and much like Yemen still is still a country of desert, sand and mountains
and in so far as Hannibal is the leader of the A-Team, not Mr. T
and in so far as weakness and dizziness is a symptom of heat stroke
and in so far as there have been studies done on the subject of crystallized charcoal
and in that there’s no doubt that a utopian community named “Biketopia” will have a lot of bicycles
and in that there’s no doubt that mah-jongg is similar to gin rummy except that it is played with tiles
and in that there’s no doubt that Dr. Spock is frequently confused with Mr. Spock, though less so at Star Trek conventions
so do I love you
so simply
Posted by Tom Busillo on July 29, 2010
http://monsterbegood.com/2010/07/29/from-dan-to-beersheba/
he is the one
who the waves forgot
his unkind labor
done
ended
on the lover’s stones
his simple heart
spilled and stilled
Posted by Tom Busillo on July 28, 2010
http://monsterbegood.com/2010/07/28/the-one-who-the-waves-forgot/
do the rocks care
who it is
who’s quit the cause
said farewell
to sighs and swoons
seen their last winter’s night?
do the rocks care
who it is
who’s passing there
against the sun
with no chance to repent
of their vain flight?
do the rocks care
who it is
who they’ve pierced
those who
are so now
ceased?
if the rocks do care
then it is
only to better know
how to call
the waves
in sooner
Posted by Tom Busillo on July 27, 2010
http://monsterbegood.com/2010/07/27/do-the-rocks-care/
a camp along the river
a good crossing
an american icon
apsaroke autumn
apsaroke guardian
autumn’s gather
back from the river
before the river rises
blackfeet at blacktail ponds
brush country cowboys
buffalo dreamer
by early light
callin’ it a day
camp meat and mules
camp talk
cautious crossing
challenge
coldmaker morning
cowboy revival
crooked lance
crossing the greasy grass
crows in the yellowstone
day’s end dragonflies
dust in the distance
eagle prayer
empty lodge
fires burned out
from days past
gathering storm
going to trade
headin’ home
high passage
hunter’s morning
in the texas dust
last of the pemmican
mists of morning
monarchs of the north
more than friends
morning chores
morning vigil
muddy morning
new wealth
newlyweds
night glow
offering to the river spirit
parasols and black powder
peaceful morn
quiet time
rainy autumn
running with the elk-dogs
seeking buffalo
shallow crossing
signs along the snake silent camp
spirit of pi’tamaka
running eagle
still water crossing
stories of winter
sweet smell of spring
teller of tales
texas legacy
the buffalo rattler
the expert
the river’s gift
trappers in the wind rivers
tribute
two coups
valley guardian
wagonload of warmth
warming fire
warrior’s quest
weary hunters
when waters speak
winter of the apsaroke
with wonder she waits
workin on the sixes
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
found poem – alphabetical listing of titles of paintings by Texas-based painter Martin Greele on World-Wide-Art.com June 2010.
His paintings are really fantastic.
Posted by Tom Busillo on July 26, 2010
http://monsterbegood.com/2010/07/26/a-camp-along-the-river/
the passengers
are plucked from sleep
forced to lay
out in the open
on the aft deck
without the comfort of
sunglasses or sunscreen
lounge chairs with umbrellas
or dramamine
rolling through
a summer storm
the motor’s
steady churn
of the wake
outvoicing
their last whispers –
the soft lapping of water
in the lungs of the drowned
Posted by Tom Busillo on July 25, 2010
http://monsterbegood.com/2010/07/25/the-passengers/
Crack the opus
on a seven day holiday
in dubious luxury
ashore on Louie’s terra firma
with my Alexis.
Take the Cherokee Express
up to Garbiel’s Hill
where it’s Baybaleanous -
everyone punch happy
on American Brew.
Poetic Lana, a stoic angel,
with none of the Beats today
pours over a bid report
next to Lily Luna
who’s got that Kansas tornado spunk
a real Mr. Monday Night
King Macho repeller
has done some tangling and tangoing
with Dancing Nick by the fence
just a guy in a top hat
can dance a nifty mambo,
but can’t talk in fake Spanish
to save his life
“El tajin
alcomo
domesticalia
mi preciosa?”
but a sumkin else kind of dancer.
Marylin’s guy,
Jodi’s revenge,
now tickling Tori
and the devil approved it.
Love in the heir
as the real Brian
melts with Rene’s kisses
for one day
not the prudent heir.
The Rexdale Warrior
two heart attacks and still going
taking his dynakrall
down to Ruthville;
JP’s fling, slingshot Lisa,
turning south down
Damian’s way.
The Legislady,
Ms. Freightshaker herself,
just out for a walk, no pressing the flesh,
sees someone’s orange monster
in a low branch, thinks of
climbing the forest wire to reach it;
Calico Jack
with his strait abby
deputy honor
arrives faster
scoops it down in express rescue.
Madame Bling
sporting her cheap rhinestone
is being bad again
trying to catch
Marek’s Czech eyes,
but he’s off thinking how
Margie’s for the birds, no
she’s a great gal, I ain’t lyin’
I might just give her
Rosalita’s wish for a grandchild.
A.U., miner of the Stone’s River,
sings with the water’s rush his harmonizer,
finding by awesome chance
a little gem that’ll look good with some
sprightly polish around the neck of
his polished princess,
Lucy Quatorze,
once Miss Nepal,
now Miss Harford County.
Denoguska, only daughter of
Muskwa, a descendant of gypsy kings,
bragging she can turn summer to winter,
gets dared by the smarty day metro man
says “Ready. Set. Snow!”
and the flakes come down in the middle of summer
into the open mouth of Albert’s protégé,
the violinist, as he looks up
to the moonbow replacing the rainbow
and asks “Is this a dream?”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
poem composed using the names of all 80 horses running at Philadelphia Park on Saturday, July 17, 2010.
Posted by Tom Busillo on July 24, 2010
http://monsterbegood.com/2010/07/24/on-gabriel%e2%80%99s-hill/
“A tail requires its body
the front, the end and middle
this breed that comes without these things
is such a vexing riddle.
“It is smooth without a hair,
but it seems to have a crest.
Perhaps I’ll stick a hat pin in
and put it to the test.
“Oh how quickly now it’s disappeared
without leaving a trace!
Oh yes, there may be hatpins here
not just lips without a face.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I know I will burn in hell for this.
But I think that if Emily Dickinson somehow found herself in the unisex bathroom of an incredibly seedy underground club staring at someone’s unwelcome member, I don’t think she’d scream or curse; I think Miss Emily would get rid of it in a much more poetic way.
Posted by Tom Busillo on July 23, 2010
http://monsterbegood.com/2010/07/23/emily-dickinson-at-a-glory-hole/
the raindrop’s a
father to itself
paused above
in the eaves
then departing
in the slow motion
pull of gravity
lost in blurred descent
changing with speed
until ripples
radiate its welcome
to the darkened lake
that will gradually turn
invisible
tomorrow
as its progeny
the new children of the sky
make their ascent
to await
the ongoing miracle
of fatherhood
Posted by Tom Busillo on July 22, 2010
http://monsterbegood.com/2010/07/22/the-raindrops-a-father-to-itself/
