Thursday, November 30, 2017

q

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

for previous poem in series, click here





are you quite through?

quink had never seen maria so angry

she pointed to the window

zorg, the chauffeur, was standing beside the fountain

and the moon was shining through the trees

professor quinn told me a different story, quink began

but maria turned and left the room

quink decided he might as well finish his sandwich

but when he looked around

the tall red-haired maid was taking his sandwich and highball glass away


which way was the front door?

he found himself in a long corridor

with an elevator

an elevator?

he had thought the house had only one floor

he pressed the button and waited for the elevator

as he did he remembered maria

as she had been when they were children

summering beside lake geneva

before the peace talks broke down


next


Wednesday, November 29, 2017

p

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

for previous poem in series, click here





perhaps you have forgotten
your quest for paradise
no longer bite people on the leg
and have learned to pretend to be nice

the princess in the tower
still ignores you as you pass by
the pirates in the pool hall
never thought you were a regular guy

the puppy that you loved so much
wants to play a game
but you prefer to smoke your pipe
to your eternal shame

the portraits in your ancestral home
still percolate on the walls
but nothing is left in the iron safe
but uncle paul’s golf balls

pour another cup of coffee
as you wait for lawyer smith
the handyman left last evening
but who did he leave with?

you left your pink pajamas
in a subway telephone booth
your poems turn to popsicle sticks
and your lies to truth


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Tuesday, November 28, 2017

o

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

for previous poem in series, click here





oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
sometimes i feel so sad
and remember the long ago days
and the expectations i had

though i walked the streets in a haze
and ate at wendy’s alone
and slept on a wet park bench
my dreams had not turned to stone

i defied the powers that were
in their temples of metal and glass
in their towers destined to fall
when the truth was revealed at last

it was only a matter of time
it was obvious at a glance
when rainbows would fill the sky
and little children come out to dance

but the days and the years went by
the decades and the centuries
and the towers are still there
not even swaying in the breeze

o dreamers unite!
do not drown in the river of night
keep alive the heavenly flame
in the end it will turn out all right


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Monday, November 27, 2017

n

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

for previous poem in series, click here





never seek to nullify
the neverness of not
do not despair, my darling
give it all you’ve got

the nectar of the nightingales
is sold in little packets
by nihilists and ne’er-do-wells
in expensive dinner jackets

you left a bowl of noodles
on the vicar’s coffee table
he will send a bill for damages
as soon as he is able

they found your old blue notebook
on the beach where nora drowned
she drank coffee by the gallon
and ate candy by the pound

how hard is it, really
to remember your old friends
though they never become famous
or meet unseemly ends?

let us gather at the river
as the dawn is turning pale
nancy may be in paradise
but nicky is in jail


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Saturday, November 25, 2017

m

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

for previous poem in series, click here





fish are mad at the ocean
birds are mad at the air
snakes ate mad at the long green grass
because life is so unfair

people are mad at each other
all the world around
they poke fingers in each others faces
and make hideous sounds

all the world’s sad creatures
crawl across the ground
o where can fairness be encountered
where can justice be found?

prophets through the ages
have proclaimed love as the answer
but yet there is no peace on earth
only hatred’s spreading cancer

there is no cure for hatred
buried in the world’s red heart
maybe it is time to give it up
and make a brand new start


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Friday, November 24, 2017

l

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

for previous poem in series, click here





love love love love love
on the wings of purple doves
flying through the rain of fate
lit by lightning bolts of hate

nobody likes me
this i know
sometimes i wish
it were not so

luck smiled on me
in days of old
once or twice
or so i am told

there is a city
by the sea
forbidden
to the likes of you and me

the streets are paved
with practiced ease
demons whisper
in the giggling breeze

golden doorways open wide
but who knows what is inside?
weary pilgrims put down cash on
vistas of unfathomed passion


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Thursday, November 23, 2017

k

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

for previous poem in series, click here





mommy, where is daddy?
little katie cried
he has gone away, my darling
gone for a long long ride

he shot a man in cheyenne
with his trusty forty four
now they’ll string him up in the morning
and his feet won’t touch the floor

oh mother say it is not so
little katie wailed
the moon is but an ember
the horizon doth grow pale

tomorrow leaves will fall from trees
and highways glow with rain
mothers will feed their children bacon
and wild horses roam the plains

waitresses will pour coffee
for truck drivers named hank
and lawyers draw up papers
for the presidents of banks

wise women will mix potions
and wise men scratch their heads
dogs and children jump and shout
but poor daddy will be dead


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Wednesday, November 22, 2017

j

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

for previous poem in series, click here





just because i don’t exist
just because i have never been kissed
just because i have no name
and my life is such a shame

just because my hair’s not curly
and my teeth are not quite pearly
just because i walk alone
and my head is filled with stones

just because you shake your head
at the life that i have led
and confidently assume
that i am marked for doom

will the sun not shine on me
may i not dream of being free?
if i find a dollar in the street
may my heart not skip a beat?

must only the beautiful and rich
who never sleep in park or ditch
and are never rounded up by the county
enjoy the universe’s bounty?

just because you can not see me
and my skin’s not soft and creamy
does not mean i can not dream
as i float down time’s dark stream


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Tuesday, November 21, 2017

i

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

for previous poem in series, click here





i am i
and you are you
what’s false for you
for me is true

if you could look
inside my mind
you might be surprised
at what you find

i walk the earth
alone and cursed
i who am last
but should be first

the lights are bright
in windows high
the night is dark
i hear a cry

a cry from the center
of the earth
is it a new age
giving birth?

is it a herald
of the dawn
or only the world
just carrying on?


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Monday, November 20, 2017

w

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

for previous poem in series, click here





in springtime i do wander
i wander down the lane
i see a fly caught in a web
and feel its fear and pain

a troop of ants comes up the road
intent upon its task
perhaps with some great purpose
but who am i to ask?

i see a bee attack a flower
and admire its industry
i hear a bird upon a branch
singing wild and free

i scan the flat horizon
and spy a placid cow
that may turn out a beefsteak
but not right now

for now the sun shines on the cow
as it shines upon my head
my head is feeling fine, thank you
because i took my meds

it seems so calm and peaceful
but is always on the move
i love everything and everybody
because i am in the groove


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Friday, November 17, 2017

h

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

for previous poem in series, click here





they live on the hill
where little birds sing
they go everywhere
and have everything

they sit by the pool
butlers bring drinks
they don’t care
what anyone thinks

with a flick of the ash
of their big cigars
they shake the earth
and put out the stars

they live high on the hog
high on the hill
they leave no pies
on their window sill

their names are henry
and henrietta
you think you know
but they know better

you cry for your pa
you can weep for your ma
but the hillside answers
ha ha ha


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Wednesday, November 15, 2017

g

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

for previous poem in series, click here





gerald was a g-man
and hunted bad guys down
and when the bad guys were locked up
he was the toast of the town

the ladies flocked around him
like bees around a peach
and all the mysteries of love
to gerald they did teach

gerald went to the steak house
ordered three t-bone steaks
and ate them up all by himself
because he was not a fake

the president called on gerald
to go on a secret mission
to serve the cause of freedom
was gerald’s sole ambition

gerald went to the station
and climbed upon the bus
and he has not been heard from since
but you know he is saving us


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Tuesday, November 14, 2017

f

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

for previous poem in series, click here





who killed the flowers?
cried henry ford
as he passed the plate
and praised the lord

what is this sun
that dares not shine
when all i want
is what is mine

whose are these eyes
that laugh at me
when all i want
is to be free

must petals fall
when i walk by
must birds and bugs
avert their eyes



were curses rained
upon my name
when little bob
shot jesse james?

a cloud passed by
the poor man raved
a raindrop fell
on an undug grave


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Monday, November 13, 2017

e

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

for previous poem in series, click here





e for effort
f for fake
it takes a big fish
to swim a big lake

fred was a fisherman
true and patient
he worked all week
at the railway station

he fished on sunday
with his dog at his side
he never caught big ed
but he surely tried

big ed was as smart
as adam’s own snake
it takes a big fish
to swim a big lake


next


Monday, November 6, 2017

carrot


by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"





i dreamed i was a carrot
and a rabbit was my best friend
and we watched through a broken window
as the train came round the bend

old number nine
old number nine
oh old number nine
when will you be mine?

i dreamed that i was julia child
and hitler was my mom
but i could not get the pope to see
where i was coming from

i dreamed i was a cucumber
drowning in a glass of bock
as marx and lenin lectured me
on the meaning of culture shock

if all my dreams were pennies
and the mornings all were candy
i would sail through the air like a frigidaire
and say that everything was dandy

casey jones was my best friend
and slept in a bottle of gin
and he may not remember me
but i remember him



Thursday, November 2, 2017

poem for nobody


by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"





everybody is a dancer
everybody is a clown
everybody is an elephant
when the circus comes to town

everybody is a lion
waiting to be tamed
who dances the hoochie-coochie
and then feels so ashamed

everybody is billy jones
trying to win a prize
everybody is sally smith
rolling her blue eyes

everybody is slim carter
reeling in the marks
everybody is the bearded lady
dreaming in the dark

everybody is pastor wilson
trying to close the carnival down
everybody is mrs wilson
sipping tea with a frown

don’t you remember the old days
when folks liked to have fun?
i know that i remember
but i may be the only one