Litkicks Message Board Archive

Bold wet Lions ... inspired by a poem by Buk ..

Posted to Poetry

How was it done by them
The old and young lions
Peering through
Small eyes.

The ocean within a conduit
As our blood
As our tides.

Some beautiful
Some petty and pretty.

In the unnoticed of men
There are women
Men with those women
With these lives

And , one wishes
For stories
And , one wishes
For the greatest stories.

There are names
That just made it.

I Wish
For wisps or hammers
Anyone of virtue to be alive
Even to meet a beautiful woman
Is slow comings
That I just

Stretch my back
Like a pussy cat
And sit in the spring air.

I wish
I could be an artist like Picasso
Or Pollack
And a fury like Dempsey
And make love like Valentino.

I wonder
at the socks of these men
Yes, their socks.

Whether they be
Hot or cold.

Today my socks were hot
Sitting in the sun light

I wonder at Dempsey's socks
Dostoevsky's socks after the cold shackles.

I wonder at Bukowski's socks
And Artauds socks
that were taken away
At times.

I wonder
At the socks on these men
whether they be hot
Or cold .

Today my socks were hot
Sitting in the sun light.

Dust floated in
The ascension of light
Though the blinds.

I put on the socks
Heat swallowing
The foot.

I wonder
At the socks
Of madmen.

I wonder at the socks
Of histories great killers

I wonder
At the dirt
On the bottoms.

But as the wet paws
Of an old grey dog
Steps through puddles.

We, think about such men
As they were

And as we are
So shall we also be.

There are many
In the crowd
The young writer
Painter, lover , and fighter.

A great general and speaker
The great doctor
The unnoticed.

We , all are there
In the corners
Sitting with coffee
And lunch.

We take our times
With greatness abound
As , we wake in the mornings
Once more.

There is boldness
Out there.

Bold as the wave crashes
And quiet as it recedes.

Sometimes life
Is both bold and meticulous
And sometimes
There is luck.