everybody on the one,

June 25, 2009 at 6:51 pm | Posted in antihaiku, poetry, sheer selfindulgence, writing | 9 Comments
Tags: , ,

Standstill, if you leave a little space
between breaks a sandhill
there’s room between running late
and the desert, son,
he says putting his arm round my shoulders
smelling of salt fish and a sparkling
perfume there’s a reason
for the Cocoyea then lead bass guitar
and for an essential anonymity
of the artist, says Bootsy
handing me his sunnies and
lighting a big fat one.

9 Comments »

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  1. Right! I’m off to join Bootsy on the rubbernecking deck with a Tom Collins and a dish of diced hokey. This is Funkadelic Squires, you should know that leaving bait works perfectly, some day in cyber party Bootsyland we will talk of questsacoatls and queens in spellchecking heaven. Always essential clues for big props and anonymity, big space tokens, lead me to the dunes where the recently murdered still moan and turn the volume up. Last Poets play the segue to the end of the universe, there is plenty of time to dance as the stars shower and the cocktails are resumed with the endless tab of the godless, thank god for that, Flavor Flav come to MC, Grace Jones later than contracted, and on it goes.
    Yes, that is fabulous idea, Jen Jewel Brown, jewel in the crown of Australian poetry.

    Comment by Jen Jewel Brown— June 25, 2009 #

  2. You’ve created a strong atmosphere. Great job. Thanks for stopping by the other day. Hope all is well. Have a great day.
    Thanks, Michelle, you’re welcome. Have a fantabulous day yourself.

    Comment by Michelle Johnson— June 25, 2009 #

  3. really like this line “there’s room between running late
    and the desert, son,” 🙂
    Always with the water or the lack of, Jessie. Can’t help myself.

    Comment by jessiecarty— June 26, 2009 #

  4. if there is a reason it is constructed out of unreasonable musical matters and freshcut underivative writing, poetry like this which has the effect of superseeding reason with supernatural delicacy and breaking ground for voluminus planting, & my curtsy w/respect and admiration
    Tipota! My wide sweeping bow over my feathered cap,

    Comment by tipota— June 26, 2009 #

  5. irie mon’…pass it here
    Haha, don’t worry, plenty more where that came from, Tina.

    Comment by Tina T.— June 26, 2009 #

  6. nicely done. i’m hit by “smelling of salt fish…” that alone connects me with much personal history.

    thanks for the visit over at my place.
    You’re welcome, it was such a sychronicity, Kim, your poem about the ‘thinning of the one’ contained an idea that has been troubling me for a while.

    Comment by kim— June 26, 2009 #

  7. I love anonymity in the midst of nonymity its a challenge, I also love this poem :), I will standstill, with effort :(!!
    Forward march, Ms Mist, onwards, upwards and round and round,

    Comment by Mental Mist— June 26, 2009 #

  8. ha ha ha! parliament funkadelic on july 17th – for free! sometimes living in wny doesnt suck.
    Wow! Cooool, I am so jealous, Jason. Have mega funky fun fun,

    Comment by jason— July 1, 2009 #

  9. With Squires on the airwaves, I’m slappin’ my air bass and runnin’ late into the sun.

    Comment by gnunn— July 1, 2009 #


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