The Poet

The Poet

Sunday, November 29, 2015

My Wounded Psyche (the myth of love) ©2015 by Ronald S Porter

The Sirens' song has tortured my ears.
Harpies tried to claw out my eyes.
Like Echo, of old, I called out for love,
'til all i was was a whispered voice.
And, you bent at the water's edge
as your reflection fell in love with you.
More than twelve labors, I performed
and wandered long in odyssey.
When I looked on Love's face,
in candle light, 
that's when love was lost to me.

Didn't It rain, Children? ©2015 by Ronald S Porter

Billy Joe and Bobby Sue
and, blind men in the rain.
Oh my brain can't stand the strain
of processing immersible images
obscured by sheet like downpour
which look like dancing scarecrows
and shimmering ghosts
flaying frantic in the dim light
of glowering storm clouds
bunched and lumpy like bruises
in the sad sepia shaded day.
come now Noah, bring your ark.
Come now Noah, lets embark.
We will ride upon the flood,
until the day Billy and Bobbi Sue
wrestle in the mud,
while the blind men watch
a new sun rise up
and rainbows paint the sky.

Saturday, November 28, 2015

Lead me not ©2015 by Ronald S Porter

She slinks by slow and sinuous
mammalian magnificence above
buxom bottom bounces below.
More than my interest starts to grow.
heat throbs in her glazing glance
come to me paints her smiles
lead me not into temptation
I can find my way, I have a map
and a lot of frequent flier miles.

Saturday, October 3, 2015

Married for The Night by Ron Porter ©2015

I met her working at the carnival, she was
the sequined, satin clad, shake-ass snake dancer;
not the type you'd call a romancer .
But, when i asked her the wrong question,
she quickly gave me just the right answer.
And, she said I ain't no long timer
I knew by her eyes to heed the warning 
We decided to get married, just for the night
and divorced first thing in the morning.
Mean and spiteful- she was just my kind;
she loved me 'til I was nearly blind.
That was quite a while ago and yet
she lingers in the back of my mind
and, to this day, every now and then,
I get excited when the carney is in town.
And we get married, just for one night
one more time, all over again.

Sunday, September 20, 2015

The Explanation Of Absolutely Everything By Ron Porter ©2015

Straining to hear the silent words,
I cry out in language that can't be spoken
and the quiet, now, is broken
by the volume of a voice that can't be heard.
Madness settles into sanity now;
there is no why there is only how.
And, suddenly... it all grows clear;
both noon light and moonlight shine bright
they are not separate-half of day is the night.
Examine the lie closely, truth will appear;
wrong isn't opposite but, absence of right
and, where Love lives there's no room for fear.

Monday, June 29, 2015

Street Corner Watching, written 02/06/1975 by Ron Porter ©2015

Standing on a corner, five minutes in one place,
Watching the city life passing my face;
checking out the rats that are running the race,
Wondering how in hell the keep up this pace.

here comes Hairy hippie with his head in the sky,
A psychedelic gaze lights up his eye;
got twenty-five dollars sitting in his hand,
lookin’ ‘round town trying to find his man.

And the businessman behind the wheel of his fancy mobile
Starts sneering and wondering how it must feel,
wonders how anybody could live such a life
Then drives off to rejoin the none to five strife.

And, the mack eases to the curb in his hog’
he’s down for the action, this man’s a real dog
And, teh ho hits the street to get money quick.
And he pulls away with his partner, both talking slick.

A man and his old lady-hassling ‘cross the street
Cause he spent the grocery money on smack, instead of on meat
She screams he’s a jive-ass, a punk; a disgrace!
And he comes out of his nod and put his fist in her face

there’s the wino with his bottle, lying by the door
A baby’s wail screams from a window on the third floor
And, I’m on the corner, thinking, down below
about why people can’t take life easy and slow.

And my mind keeps saying to me “this is really shitty
but, what can you do man? That’s life in the big city.

The Wine Is Enough (For Now) written 11/24/1975 by Ron Porter ©2015

And, I placed the bottle of wine
on the counter and the dude behind it
asked Is that all you want?
and I thought
Wow it sure would be
nice to get back into school
cos, shit i really want to go into social work
not to save the world
but help maybe just one person
and save some money
and , hell it sure would be nice
to own a Cadillac and
have my poetry published or, most of all
I want a little piece of mind. But, I
also want to be loved and, have a friend
I want to appear on The Tonight Show
someday cause Johnny Carson is pretty cool
So, I answered Uh huh and nodded, and
paid the bill.
Then i walked back to the car.

Monday, May 25, 2015

Homecoming Night by Ron Porter ©2015

Half past the nightmare hour
I sit shivering in my room
the doom approaches
no new day comes
wraiths of the dead
stand in the road
graveyard hitch hikers,
ghosts of outlaw bikers
Hell and damnation come
not a single road leads to Rome
The dead are lost,
the lost are angry
All of them are coming home.

... And It Was Good by Ron Porter ©2015

she poured me a cup
of golden sun and,
said to me “come drink”
as the wind caressed her curls
like lover’s fingers running through

Her laughing eyes and summer smile
ran like fiery little foxes
through the grassy fields around
and the sound of her voice  soothed me
like waves that wash a sandy shore

we spoke of dreams in the making
and the architecture of desire
while upon the surface of the blue lake abutting
white sails of boats that rode the waves
floated by like clouds on wounded wings

Savor The Flavor by Ron Porter ©2015

Oh, I remember the taste of you;
wild honey, spice and fresh morning dew;
as the scent of hybrid roses, peaches
promise and passion permeated the room

Your lips- ripe, effluvient with heat
red juicy and tart like pomegranate
dripped with nectar, intoxicating and sweet

I was inebriated with your love
drunker on pleasure than ever on wine
the whole world tottered and reeled
and I ate the fruit as it grew...

And, shivered at the thrill as I took my fill
and savored the flavor of you
wild honey, spice and fresh morning dew.

Birds by Ron Porter ©2015

birds ride the sky, high and free
they have it so much better than me
summer heat pushes
people from parlor to porch
street corner serenades, a capella
fired by wine and desire
oh to be a bird and ride
so far above these city streets
away from the maelstrom
the heat and weariness
of another summer spent
in poverty and want
when there is no place
you can afford to go
nothing worthwhile to do
(you would if you could)
but birds... they rise
above clouds, in night skies
man! birds have it so good

Journey From Dream To Waking by Ron Porter ©2015

I awaken,
naked, in the sunshine of your smile
and wrap myself in velvet
blankets of your tangled hair
swimming
in the seas
of surrealistic dreams


My morning toast is buttered
 with the jelly of your love
Walk with me through forests
of pepperminty trees
where honey pours from the rocks
in the newborn dawn


The images coalesce in
warm shades of tangerine
apricots and Hottentots
hide among the leaves
All the world is hush-ed
as time, for time, awaits


The moment you consent
deep within your heart
We will traverse infinity
of time and space
lost
in the rapture
of a single good morning kiss

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

March Winds, A Senryu by Ron Porter ©2015

Wind blows hard tonight

Cold front coming; chill in air.

I  recall your eyes

That Song By "HEART" ©2015

We loved and laughed all summer long
I thought we had found love real and true
because  passion and sex held on so strong
I proved, alas, to be quite mistaken;
How could I have  been so wrong?
And, on the radio, Heart sang kept singing
If you love me like music, I'll be your song

Let's Look AT The Replay by Ronald S Porter ©2015

Confusion reigns. chaos sings
outlaws control The Bunny Trail
Ain't no Peter Cottontail coming
A different drummer is drumming
 The tortoise he sits back and counts
long-shot winnings from the race.
Meanwhile the jukebox starts to scream
and the pool table has gotten hungry.
This ain't no fantasy football league
The bullets are realer than concrete
Cartoon characters hijack trucks
Cigarettes sell for a dollar per dime
The dice are rolling and if 
I don't bring nine, there ain't no Jesus, so
Don't do the crime if you can't do time.

Sweets, Soup and Song by Ronald Porter ©2015

She sang the Campbell's Soup Song
Once she sang it all night long
Doze and sing; sing and doze, it went on
from sometime just before midnight
it ended a little bit after dawn
With us too sated, even to yawn.

I loved the sweet Mocha Chocolatta
I'd bury my face in the bowl
until I had to come up for air
It was a sweet treat from down south
I loved to nibble and lick and suck it
"Til it finally melted in my mouth.

She truly appreciated my appetite
I loved the way she sang all night.

Fire Outside by Ron Porter ©2015

the streets were all on fire
the night, a living, stalking thing
the war zone was closed for repairs
we walked home in the rain

our staircase was no Jacob's ladder
at midnight the ball came to end
we mounted and found the apex
and repeated all night long

nothing was left out or, behind
there were no causes to discern
through the window-a vivid vista
and the streets continue to burn

Downside Up and outside In by Ronald S Porter ©2015

The trees are telling lies on me-
rain is falling upside down.
I have lipstick on my collar
and, a lucky penny in my shoe.
All that I can think about
is you, you, you!

Car tires hum Amazing Grace
lampposts melt down in the heat
Ice cream cones go flying south
A dime a dozen? I'll take two.
All I truly want, right now,
is a little you, you you!

The streets are rolled up for the night,
the midnight train runs at ten. 
Don't panic, the buses are running;
All the red lights just turned blue.
Baby, I'm running all the way home
to get back to... her. Yeah... her.


Odd Essay by Ron Porter ©2015

I stood in the sunshine at midnight
when the moon ran down in blood
all the stars fell from the skies
like crystal teardrops from lovers' eyes.

Like Icarus, love flew too close to the sun
So great the height-so far the fall
Tied to flesh's mast, I did suffer and thrash
Yet lived to recall the sound of the Sirens' call

Medusa's visage turned to regard me
No mirror employed nor, averted gaze
I beheld and was not turned to stone
Tho music of madness sang in my bones

Wars and adventure all became tedious.
Long ago I went out, in good company
Today I a, returned all alone just in time
to reclaim all I thought had been lost to me.

Numbered Days ©2015

Oh, depths of sorrow that rise over me
How I long to be free; unencumbered.
Tell me, if my days are numbered,
What number day might this one be?
How long, chained in slavery...

To poverty, anger, sickness and sadness?
Which number quenches flames of madness
that sear and scorch to marrow of bone?
When, what day, will torment leave me alone;
How long shall misery sit the throne?

Which is the numbered day
When desire and all its frustration,
calamity and strife, no longer hold sway?
What is the count 'til all sins I atone
and, count myself, safely home?



Tuesday, March 17, 2015

Looking For Danger by Ron Porter ©2015

I’ll be leaving before the new sun come
Away from the ho-hum of your hum-drum.
I’m looking to live me a life of danger.
I’ll run with scissors
and piss in rivers
And, take candy from a whole lot of strangers!

The Hungry Street by Ron Porter ©2015

Oh, these ragged streets-this jagged mind
people left behind, now gone or lost
that is the cost of the predatory way
we lived our lives and, the games we’d play
so many swallowed by the hungry street
no body is safe; there is no protection
when the beast of concrete is ready to eat
lives are erased-vanished without a trace
the bigger the rats... the faster they race
the street, ever poised, awaits one more taste.

Two Sextets And A Quadrain Ron Porter ©2015

Walking away, just before day
We said everything left to say
There is no point in trying again
Walking away, in the howling wind
Never, ever , looking back
Roads ahead, roads behind.

Someone is crying over something dying
Done is done and, gone is gone
Always move on all alone
And never, never looking back
No more pretense; stripped of my pride
I never cried, I held the pain inside

All those left crying, all of those years
None every knew, I counted the tears
Always, in mind, looking back on shame
Always taking the blame

My Blues Got The Blues by Ron Porter ©2015

Me and you -  heartfelt “I does”,
trails of rice; old worn out shoes.
You been gone, so long, where are you?
Now even my blues have got the blues.

Crap or natural, faded in the alley;
Can’t bring nothing but twelves and twos.
The winner shooter sot me bus fare home,
And even my blues have got the blues.

Poor man can’t bet; scared man can’t win
And, I ain’t got much left to lose.
Don’t wear no socks; sleeping in a box.
Y’know my blues have got the blues.

Yeah, my money is funny.
I ain’t got me no honey.
can’t even cop a taste of cheap booze.
I feel so low, like going down slow.
And, my got-damn blues got the blues.

Down and out? That ain’t no news.
I’m not a member but, keep payin’ dues.
Don’t know what to do; lost without you
And I keep tellin’ you baby; don’t mean maybe
Tellin’, tellin’ tellin, everybody...
Even my low down, broken hearted blues
have got
the blues.... Ooo-ooo-ooo.
.... Lawd!

Friday, January 30, 2015

Ay, There's The Rub By Ron Porter ©2015

terror stalks me in noon light
horror harasses me at midnight
unknown fears of untold agency
freezes my blood through the day
and I write in fright as if
constantly scalded, naked in steam
greater nightmare torment me in dream
I thrash about as I weep
and fight against the advent of sleep
to sleep... perchance to scream.

The Penis Poem By Ron Porter ©2015

I am so very glad I have a penis
it's more convenient than a vagina.
I can pee at the side of the road
From Alaska to South Carolina.

Penises are just so much cooler
than female genitals are.
Cause girls can't piss out of
the window of a moving car.

As sure as men are from Mars
and, women are from Venus.
As much as I adore vaginas,
it's so much handier to have a penis.

Poem Without Meaning By Ron Porter ©2015

kisses of fire; a heart of ice and,
eyes cold and hard as steel
she sits at the wheel,
wearing stiletto heels
and, spins out the thread of my fate
recall plays tricks on my mind these days
so she stays a mystery to me
I think we met some past time in a dream
it seems that she has always been there
wearing a different face and name
always the same yet, different
always the steel eyes and frozen heart
and, kisses that burn like a flame.

A Salute To Nikki By Ron Porter ©2015

Tell me, baby do you remember when
every time we did it, we
would do it again?

Do you recall when we used to play;
if we did it once we'd end up
doing it all day?

We were young in love, do you recall?
We did it in the kitchen, in the bathtub
and in the hall.

Remember how we made up after a fight?
How many times, baby, did we
do it all night?

Now, we're older my hair is gray and thin.
It seems we only ever do it
every now and then.

The body ages, but if the choice was mine-
You can bet your sweet ass, baby
We'd still do it all the time.

Thursday, January 1, 2015

Way Too Soon By Ron Porter ©2014

Everything I want I get
Not right away and it never lasts
All good things it seem
Have a very short shelf life and all
Seem to reach expiration date
Way too soon.
And once it’s gone it’s just as if
I never had it to begin with
Leaving me full of empty; always
Wanting...          and
Everything I want I get.

Christmas In America, 2014 by Ronald S Porter ©2014

Merry Christmas, deck the halls
Demonstrators close the malls
Justice of vengeance, voices call
Bullets fly and bodies fall

Media feed chaos and confusion
State dictates wealth redistribution
Destroy each traditional institution
Sell Lady Liberty into prostitution

tax the rich to enslave the poor
The IRS wants more, more, more!
Bullshit covers The Senate floor
Meanwhile, the wolf busts down the door

Congress, Senate and The President
Twist the laws to implement
Marxist policies with one intent
To steal liberty by tiny increment

Staccato Serenade by Ronald S Porter ©2014

How well i remember a time and place
where the streets sounded like saxophones
the girl had a technicolor movie screen faces,
billboard smiles and bubblegum kisses
The boys all had a tom-cat strut
jack-knife legs, and razor minds
and spotlight eyes that hit all the misses
there was electric neon smoke in the air
None of heard the clocks that kept ticking
we had strawberry wine and barbeque chicken
and cars so fast they arrived before they left
I faded every bet that the streets ever made
I always knew when my baby was coming
by the sound of stilettos click, click, clicking
in her high heeled, staccato serenade.

Blueberry Skies by Ronald S Porter ©2014

Under blueberry marmalade skies
I kissed a girl with tangerine eyes
Her lips tasted of mango sweet
and her hair smelled of apples and spice

Sunlight, like golden rose petals fell
to caress our skin with warm and bright
The green fields stirred by summer winds
moved like waves do, across the sea

We laid out a picnic of youthful affection
Of heated indulgence, we ate our fill
Tasted the sweetness of laughter and lust
and drank deep the wine of love.

Gone is the day, yet in my mind's eyes
Are frozen the images of electric passion
that crackled like static over our skin
below the blueberry marmalade skies