Profile Home My Writing About Me Latest News
Message Me Members Area Writers-Network Upgrade to PRO

A Poem by RobertRonnow


Author: RobertRonnow
Created: November 03, 2015 at 07:05 am
Upload Type: Poem, E (Explicit Language)  
Category: Free Verse | Writing | General/Other
Upload Stats: 192 views

Polar Bear Mugs Wino

            Have I ever been profoundly lost? Yes. Railroad tracks and a river wide as the Amazon, yet lost. Living in the intense sunshine of northern New York summer, but lost in the shade of a gazebo. And here? Here I am enclosed in a tomb of porcelain machinery. With another winter passing its calling card in at the window. The warm steam no longer cutting the rough edge. Wearing wool sweater nights. The freedom of summer gone and only one fuck. What a nightmare, what a strange dream, life on planet, winter all around.

            A system, they call it a system. I call it an evolved anarchy. Repetition, never. What do I know. Repetition, every two thousand years. Coming of a frost, coming of a fire. When nature proves furious beyond remembrance. Polar bear mugs wino.

                                    *                        *                        *

                                                CUNNILINGUS

                                    Tall, attractive, talented WM, 31,
                                    trumpet player, takes pleasure in
                                    performing cunnilingus with clean
                                    attractive women. Age, race, marital
                                    status no object. All replies answered.

            Here is where it started, amusing myself in an undisciplined manner in the playpen. Being rude when interrupted. Height of bad taste hitting the wall, what's he talking about. Marlowe went to bed. He had a headache. Used an empty bottle for a teddy bear/sap. In the middle of the night, three secret men approached the rock he slept under. They did not see him there, the fire had long ago gone out. But they'd seen it across the valley, and tried to estimate. They were close.

            What do I care. They did this, he did that, they did this and this and that. He used his feet, took off his shoes. It mauled him to death in two minutes of the first round. Would have been better for him if it happened faster. Never got his knife out of his pocket. But he lived, with one eye after that.

                                    *                        *                        *

                              What do you do with a drunken sailor early
                                     in the morning?
                              You pull that sailor out of bed by his hairy
                                    moorings.

            Why should anybody believe this, this tiresome outpouring of old moans and groans, grumbles about loneliness of life and dominance of telephone. This gamble on print, above the spoken, sung word. The meditative call to inhabitants of planet to kneel woefully and pray. No, to chant as if the planet were mending.

            Mending rhymes with ending, why not. And television, radio appreciated. Drugs and booze, jagged bent faces, black wet rock. The mantle of moss ripped away. Period. Amen to men. Absolute magical ripcord.


© RobertRonnow - all rights reserved

Author Notes


www.ronnowpoetry.com


 
The author would love to hear your feedback but you must be logged in to do that. If you are a member of Writers-Network click here to login and review this writing entry.

Not a member? Not a problem! You can register here, it's free for everyone

Comments & Reviews

There are no reviews. Be the first to review this writing piece and earn DOUBLE points!


      

Authors, Share Your Book with Millions of Readers






Sponsored Ads By Members



   Writers-Network.com was granted non-exclusive rights to display this work
   All poetry, stories, columns, and other member contributions are owned solely by the poster
   © Writers-Network.com - All Rights Reserved
   Get Your Free Poetry Site!  |  Read Todays' Poems  |  Upgrade to PRO  |  Writing Community