jayward33.blog-city.com
TOURIST THURSDAY
posted Thursday, 17 July 2008
TOURIST THURSDAY
They have an open and vacant stare,
what are they seeing
because there is no there
there.
Sad stories assault the eyes and ears
as the beggars and the deranged
cry their buckets of tears.
The assembled masses
cameras held on high
to watch the steam clock toot goodbye.
Goodbye to another hour
another day, another week
but they still can't say what it is they seek.
The sound track is hillbilly dumb
and they will play it loud and long
until Kingdom come.
Brain deads with their cigarettes
and smoke gets in your eyes
still trying to look cool
and trying not to play the fool
after so many tries.
Crumbs on the poem's page
the pen weaves along
in righteous rage.
A friend says,
"Don't sweat it
even if you don't get it,
and for Christ sakes John,
why don't you act your age."
High heeled boots,
she could wear them in my bed
but only if she kept them
well above her head.
The noon hour rush
with fat old bellies
and attractive tush,
old and young and in between,
suits lined up with the Boardwalk queen
conversation and things unheard
and unseen.
All kinds of eye play,
love and kisses, sneers and hisses,
for a
Tourist Thursday.
JWL
copyright 17/07/2008
all rights reserved
La Dolce Vita!
Ciao, JWL
They have an open and vacant stare,
what are they seeing
because there is no there
there.
Sad stories assault the eyes and ears
as the beggars and the deranged
cry their buckets of tears.
The assembled masses
cameras held on high
to watch the steam clock toot goodbye.
Goodbye to another hour
another day, another week
but they still can't say what it is they seek.
The sound track is hillbilly dumb
and they will play it loud and long
until Kingdom come.
Brain deads with their cigarettes
and smoke gets in your eyes
still trying to look cool
and trying not to play the fool
after so many tries.
Crumbs on the poem's page
the pen weaves along
in righteous rage.
A friend says,
"Don't sweat it
even if you don't get it,
and for Christ sakes John,
why don't you act your age."
High heeled boots,
she could wear them in my bed
but only if she kept them
well above her head.
The noon hour rush
with fat old bellies
and attractive tush,
old and young and in between,
suits lined up with the Boardwalk queen
conversation and things unheard
and unseen.
All kinds of eye play,
love and kisses, sneers and hisses,
for a
Tourist Thursday.
JWL
copyright 17/07/2008
all rights reserved
La Dolce Vita!
Ciao, JWL
Talk to me (1)
1. BILLY WILLBOND left...
Thursday, 17 July 2008 4:50 pm :: http://iwvpa.net/willbondwha/club.php
To wear such high boots on a hot hot day- high heeled monstrosities I would
say but wait a bit and and think hard back I see cowboy boots in my memory
track and I was dumb as a kid on leave wading through beggars in the
foreign red light districts of my youth - carefree, physically fit and most
uncouth -your poem about the passing street filled with tourists is extra
sweet - the steam clock sounds it's hissing horn as cameras click at the
sidewalk porn of bouncing breasts that heave too and fro with the foot
traffic on Vancouver's skid row -