The Poet

The Poet

Monday, November 12, 2012

The Last Shot by Ron Porter ©2012

O! She was the huntress and, the crone,
Virgin mother, avatar of the moon.
With a monogrammed golden lighter,
she cooked smack in her silver spoon,
riding that White Horse to extinction,
where the sightless lead the blind.
Peace and escape, sought in oblivion.
Warmth to the flesh; numb in the mind.

The morning they found her cold in her bed.
Not a needle in the arm but, a bullet in the head.
And nobody mourned for we all well knew
Before the night she left, she had long been dead.
Once she told me It's just like flying.
She'd nod and smile while she was crying.
The body was interred sometime early in June.
Virgin mother, Huntress, avatar of the moon.

Monday, May 28, 2012

Sappy Love Poem, A Decastitch by Ron Porter ©2012

No longer do I sit and reminisce
about love lost or, the long gone kiss.
Because today baby, I have you
and, all my blues have flown away.
Rememberences of what did not last
belong buried with the painful past.
No more remorse stains my heart;
sorrow and sadness hold no sway.
Exit now emptiness; vanish now void,
My life is filled with you today

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Ash Wednesday by Ron Porter ©2012

bloodied angel, you
cut off you wings
and took me to hide
in a room
with a number on the door

give me a sermon
you requested, commanded
demanded, beseeched
and i paced the room and preached

are you trying to punish me?
you asked
blinking through tears
standing in your eyes

my only defense
explanation, dissertation
was if you ask me for truth
i 'll tell no lies

i played music for you
on my CD boombox
and you hid me
covered me, loved me, gave
me joy and sorrow so sweet

i don't want to share you
with the world
you said. i said
don't worry, the world doesn't want me
and we went out to eat.

we talked and smiled
for a while
in the crowd, then
we came back to hide

you gave up chocolate for Lenten
a small sacrifice
because, bloodied angel in black,
you'd already relinquished your wings.

Sunday, March 25, 2012

First They came For ... by Ronald S Porter ©2012

Ghetto was the Polish word
imposed by certain Germans
on the scattered children of Israel
confined to be controlled
all intended for the slaughter
with the homosexual
and the Gypsy and
the Communist and the Slav

Now who shall wear The Yellow Star
who will be the Juden
here on this teeming shore
in century twenty-one
What peoples will be the Goat
upon which we lay our sin and shame
then drive into the wilderness
our wickedness to atone?

Already the wheels turn
the lies are set in motion
the T.V. set proclaims it good
that debt and joblessness
and loss of liberty grow
actions to shred
the founding documents
strengthen and proliferate
(it may already be too late)

I was promised Hope and Change
and as gas prices soar
I find that my only hope
is to find some change
to but a loaf of bread
when I walk to the store
they tell us that the change
me must embrace is
a system that never worked before

And, the new commissars,
tell us they know better
...where we should live
... what car we need buy
what foods we must eat
what News we must listen to
and which we should not;
dictate which opinions are acceptable
tell us what to think, and how.

What we watched with horror,
prevail in other lands
now embryonic here at home
and we must look into
the lying smile
and swallow lying words
while rhetoric and propaganda
conceals the sleight of hand
incremental undermining
of the foundation of this land
too blind to see the obvious
unfolding of the master plan

Wake up America! Awaken!
the enemy is at the door!
but this time the foes stand
inside the house here
on our Teeming Shore
Ask: who will be our Juden now?
who shall wear the Yellow Star?

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Old Songs Titles (Tell A Story of Heartbreak) by Ron Porter ©2012

It's been a long time since Summertime Blues
I'm not quite ready from my Travelin' Shoes.
Meanwhile the object of my deep desire,
sits in The Smoke Of A Distant Fire.

Susie keeps saying My Boyfriend's Back;
The message for me is Hit The Road Jack
Gloria, Peggy Sue and All The Young Dudes
Take A Walk On The Wild Side with bad attitudes.

I sit alone feeling like a Fool On The Hill;
and swallow life down like a Bitter Little Pill.
I look around but, I can't find a friend
Nothing left but to Cast My Fate To The Wind.

The Wind Cries Mary to me; I just sit and sigh.
Deseted and hurt, I'm So Lonesome I Could Cry

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Teri Smiled (A Salute to Leigh Hunt) by Ronald S Porter ©2012

Teri smiled ,when she first spied me,
like sunrise after a dark cold night.
Then was my chained heart set free
and, suddenly the world was right.
I may be tired, poor, and growing old;
life passes by in too short a while.
But I will cherish 'til stars grow cold
the first time I saw Teri smile.

Saturday, January 28, 2012

Why Do I Remember...? by Ron Porter ©2012

Why do I remember you
with bright sunshine on your golden hair
when we spent our time in darkened
shadows like wolves hidden in a lair?

Why do I remember you smiling down
on me with that lust-flushed face when
we only had learned one position;
me on top and, on a mission?

How did these lying images come
to be planted inside my head,
even as I faithfully recall
everything we did and each word we said?

Could it be that the liar in me
is not just deceitful but, also pedantic,
insisting that first love must be romantic?

Mine was the imaginary never ending.
Yours I recall, was condescending.

So tell me why my mind presents
these false images, to this very day;
visuals of love young and sweet,
when I know full well, it was never that way.