The Poet

The Poet

Wednesday, January 13, 2016

i just don't know by Ron Porter ©2016

i looked away then you were there
when i looked back you were gone
you were the crowd i lost myself in
now i find myself solitary and alone
where you went i did not see
nor understand what made you go
what will i do now that you're gone
so many choices i just don't know.

Tuesday, January 12, 2016

Rainbow In The Night by Ronald S Porter ©2016

indigo night
blue saxophone
we planned to paint
the town bright red
fresh like green
in early spring
out on the dance floor
like autumn leaves
dried orange and yellow
we fall, upon the bed
weary yet refreshed
after a fashion
we turn the night
purple with passion.

In The Rain by Ronald Porter ©2016

clowns stand in the rain
and cry
they line the streets like lampposts
lightning cuts jagged sections of sky
I smoke in a doorway
trying to stay dry
in the cigarette smoke, I see ghosts
faces of old chums
some dead
some just gone
visions of city lanes
and highways I've known
show clearly the path
that I have taken
yet reveal no things
as to how I ended up here
or schemes and dreams forsaken
it's easy to know when and what
but there is no clue why
how long will this downpour last
I look up to the sky
and inside, I wonder
why do these clowns cry?

Jes Walkin'Home by Ron Porter ©2016

Yeah, Brady Street is really drunk tonight,
rolling and unsteady under my feet.
The closed barrooms' windows are paranoid,
they suspiciously watch me down the street.
I've an unredeemed dream in my pocket;
I got a broken heart in my shoe;
memories dangle from the traffic signs but,
I neither miss, nor think, about you.
Don't panic; the buses are still running,
and the cops are guarding the doughnut stand.
It's my mind, not my heart, hung on my sleeve
and, I'm just about all out of lies to believe.

Everybody listen with your left ear
a secondhand watch marks  time on my hand.
I was thinking about visiting Suzie the floozy;
shes a real wild one, and very prolific.
But, I got a stubborn case of urethritis and,
the doc said that it's nonspecific.
And, there ain't nobody waiting up for me.;
Solitary, independent, my time is all my own.
I'm my "one and only" and i don't get lonely,
I just like spending all of my time alone.

Ascent Out Of Madness by Ronald Porter ©2016

Along cold concrete paths, we wander, 
hoping to escape the pain.
We walk slow with heads hung low, 
like clowns crying in the rain.
Grief stains remain in vain, from dreams, 
left abandoned long ago.
The mask behind another mask smiles; 
the heart beneath the mind wears a frown.
Life is downside up and outside in ;
 taste the colors and smell the sound.
I remember more of the forgotten,
 than you ever got to know.

And, the tears of the clown (hear them crying),
etch lines in the grease paint (listen to the roar)
while flowers turn faces to the sky,
to drink the falling rain (let it pour, let it pour).

Bloody footprints  slowly wash 
from the sidewalk into the gutter;
False preachers, false teachers 
and, false lovers keep on lying;
there is no antidote for all the things 
fools choose to believe.
'Tis the reason that clowns stand, 
in the storm's fury, crying.

And...the tears of a clown,
salty and warm (please, keep us from harm),
Soothes away fear
The answers wait, in that mournful sound
listen closely, you will hear