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Eight Poems - Josh Moore

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1. love

someday i'll love you in dream valleys of love true
and we'll strap on the harness,
look for jim farming,
along that country road we once at both knew was 
  the path for me and you...
so let me sip at the chalice and sing a little song 
  for you, 
on the gravel roads with the abandoned farmhouse in view,
  over the hill, 
born with free will,
to the creek of defying hue on the small bridge
  near the railroad bed,
and on the banks of the shore i'll rest my head in your bosom,
  not even seen by a few.
and we'll wait till the sun turns pale, and sipped at our canned ale,
  build a fire, throw a line or two. 

"the country is a fresh feeling" i say this month of may. 
"reminds me of the things i shouldn't do, feel holy and not so blue." 
and what don't you cherish,
the grain fields?
the people in the parish? 
the small up the road,
the people that don't know you?

so let us go riding because the tv waves are in decay, 
the card game has been played, 
the dishes done, 
the pantries filled and a clear bill,
let's have fun, 
the silence
the stars
the rustlin sound in the grass, 
being very far from the asses, 
the dream of ridin of me and you...


2. blu mari

like a bloody mary, 
or a trip that got a little scary,
she wrote to me in my height of poverty my life a little
  chemical atorcity, 
she wanted money and desire,
but only the twisted joint could satisfy me desire,
she had beauty and she had taste, she even had a pretty face, 
she dream of me in words she had seen like some kind of
  david or goliath, 
my mind was broken, 
in fact i was frying,
ask me about new poetry if i'd write a theme song,
trying not get the time and tempo wrong 

of course i could not exactly answer humbly, 
merely because she had dumbfounded me and i was part
  of the plains scene,

just a really fucked up beat human being

just a really fucked up beat human being

i dreamed of kalifornia 
she didn't try to worn
but i head minneapolis st paul callin

like the u2 song a sort of homecoming

being odd with forms and just a wid bit forlorn,
  i mumbled out-of-key, afraid of jails and psych wards

just wanting sex and drugs

not even truly able to love

and probably never will be

never came back

except in dreams 


3. my old man

he drives a honda not a caddy, 
although class distinctions, could have either as hobby,
  he smokes gpc's
not marlboros, and the car is a hotty, 
wanting to recall the revolt 
he once was knew, he dreams back on eire and the easter day
  rebellion too, speaking the truth as
it may be. 

he dreams of falling water and the right to life, 
speaking sometimes he worships amerika and at some moments
  also the universal mind,
wanting more be less
often times he grasps the future, sometimes regretting the past,
off to war
a half dozen times
to him
freedom is a state of mind.

i might add
almost 50.


4. honey beehoneybee 

buys her clothes
at salvation
and she doesn't no
beat poetry
and it doesn't bother me--
yes, it may seem sappy, but i think she can make me happy
  --with her funny dresses and all--

its nice when we are laughing
its delight better then sea-water

i think she's mine

when she comes
she gets a rash above her breasts
after that she'll give you head
and who nose what will cum next,

i think she's a good scene,
holding her naked body---

i dont even no
honeybee that well

she doesn't care wot u sez, or how its spelt

oh c'mon honeybee let's share the wealth
and celebrate
our good fortune
and health

after all

you only live once

unless in

believe in reincarnation



5. New Mexico

walked up to you to say hello, 
thousand times in mind
pure energy
all i learnt is mine. 
the sun sets another life another crime...
  wah wah wah wah wah wah wah 

you say you always love always thinkin about me 
when i touch you can i touch you 
i'm caustic and gnostic i learned things you can't learn in college
  i learned them in new mexico land of enchantment, its sporadic

the body is a bad thing, everybody is living in sin 
the serpent i hope to turn into i worship 
i'm gnostic and caustic i learned things you can't possibly no
  i learned in new mexico land of enchantment
  i'm pragmatic and erratic

i'm new mexico


6. 8-20-01

sitting in a chair for twenty years washed only by the rain plus 2 
with two farm girls at my feet
and no desire to return to school
and no attraction just drool

junk slumber aboard a ship of fools
place a spear in my new jacket
fur and rhinestone cowboy me
deftly i trace place and use c4
my parents tell me to do more,
orange background with purple ink
too tired to think

and i've lost a jewish girl
who didnt understand the gentile world
but hey dont put blankets down and blame it on me


7. eyes heart tears

eyes heart tears lament the passing,
of the event,
like two has seen be spotted
on an expensive chariot

a sembalance of ourselves

by the fountains 

outside the hotels

why must every city try to be paris?

i wonder astray

no i doubt if i'll see you someday

which makes me calm placid

hollow full of spruce

like a dagger.


8. the city and its life

the city and its life.
i'm hopeless and without a clue:
kinetic with very little to.
together with, broken parts:
mostly mended memories not new.
deleted queen of spades:
and memories of the month of June.
(or perhaps January with its all seeing eyes)
i'm spicy and full of life:
Riverside, Elm River, and the Ole Miss too.
i'm silent and i miss kris and 
her insatiable hunger and I wonder how much i can wonder.
reinstated queen of spades, 
and hope for the month of June.
the city and its life.
the grateful dead, the U of M.


Josh Moore lives in South Dakota, USA, and has the spirit of the Dakota people running deep in his veins.


Notice © 2002 IP and the author

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