The Poet

The Poet

Sunday, August 13, 2017

Give Me by Ronald S Porter ©2017

Give me a soft, warm, silken thigh;
and a trace of mischief in her eye.
Give me heated passion and a tender sigh.
Give me heaven before I die!

Dying Light, A Tanka by Ronald S Porter ©2017

For a new world to be born
At the world’s demise we wait
At the world’s demise
In the dying of the light
We have tasted joy.

R.S.V.P. by Ronald S Porter ©2017

cryptic apocalyptic visions flip
elliptically across my brain
neurotic exotic erotic robotic mimes
stand in line and kick in time
How do they bear the strain?


Blazing cities collapse in ruin
rumors of war are all brewing
doom and gloomers, in fits of humor
warn of tumors and shed their bloomers


it’s almost the day of reckoning
of melting mountains and burning air
be there or be square; be sure to style your hair
wear gowns and tuxes and a boutonniere
Armageddon will be a formal affair.

Love Song For Lunatics by Ronald S Porter ©2017

sweet decay
beauty so vile
lambs innocent
slashed for sacrifice
profane angels
sing above the madness
weeping ice sickle tears
everything hurts
and all is numb
I fear...
screaming silence
Like Dorothy
back from Oz
the world, the world
has lost all color
awaken to
the kiss of death
come and lie
here in my arms
find hateful affection
and I'll, with rigor and vigor
kill you with my love

Walk In the Rain by Ronald S Porter ©2017

far off thunder in the twilight
hobos dance in cotton fields
an old man on the porch
in a rocking chair plays guitar


Me and Old Blind Darby we
have walked a million miles of starlight
the wolf at the gate, eyes the henhouse-
the bulldog in the yard won’t let him in.
in the abandoned Baptist church
out on Beaumont road
Big Rhonda sips bootleg whiskey then
throws back her heads and laughs


Winding red dirt country roads
neath piney woods dripping rain
Journey down these back roads once
you’ll never see or be the same
And, the thunder is on the mountain now
the hobos caught the midnight train
Me and Old Blind Darby don’t say nothing
we just walk on, in the rain

Thursday, June 8, 2017

Of Silent Screams, A tanka by Ronald S Porter ©2017

I can hear the sound
Of silent screams filled with fear
Sunrise is a rose
It blossoms in eastern skies
Silent screaming voices die

Ashes by Ronald S Porter ©2017

burning desire consumes
a man like me
the heat of passion
ever sets my heart aflame
oh how I have burned!
from the blaze i have learned
after the fire is gone
ashes alone remain
and ashes are dead and cold

Hunted / Haunted by Ronald S Porter ©2017

Shadows stalk me through the shadows ;
darkness pursues me in the dark.
Haunted; driven, I fight no demons;
The angels fill me with sufficient fear.
I do not fret that the end is near.
My concern is that the beginning is here.

Down the long, lonesome road of life,
I trudge onward to escape my terror
Each time I think I've gotten away,
I catch a glimpse or me in a mirror
And, recognize my error

Is There Some Hidden Meaning? by Ronald S Porter ©2017

In the desolation of isolation, I look 
into the caverns of my empty soul.
And, listen for echoes in the cold
chambers of my cold empty heart.

Renegade brigades of faithless friends,
march with ranks of deranged strangers,
to take the city and overthrow
the reign of the past and never king.

From slave quarters let freedom ring
I look deep into my own mind;
endeavor to explain colors to the blind
and to teach deaf mutes to sing.

Dystopian Paradise by Ron Porter ©2017

Darkness sates the noonday hour
midnight madness fills the day
the sidewalks all are bleeding
the buildings weep torrential tears
all the fears of sickened minds
walk the street like window shoppers

acrid acid rain slashes down
soldiers fight on the edge of town
housewives perfect vacuum cleaner lives
in times to catch a favorite show
on the Lifetime Movie Channel
while hubby is a zombie marching in
the army of nine to five walking dead 

the kiddies all sit in robot class
consuming indoctrination needed
to grow up to be cannon fodder or
cogs in the machine that turns
to manufacture daytime dark
all the world is a powder keg and
some one, somewhere just dropped a spark

Deeply Hidden Metaphoric Meanings by Ronald S Porter ©2017


There are frogs out in the streets tonight
hamburger falls, raw, from a cloudless sky
and; there's a girl I want to tell all my secrets
but she would never understand;
We speak in different alphabets and 

speak the tongues of unknown lands

The sidewalks are lined with central casting;
they look like they just stepped out of novels.
Stale french fries carpet the path
that leads from freedom and injury.
I'm nobody's child seeking everyone's friend.
It is almost time for the riots to begin.


Fourteen policemen approach from the south;
I had better get in the wind.
And, I run away from my yesterday
As a rabbit runs from hunting dogs.
What else can I do in a hamburger rain
When, the night streets are filled with frogs?

Girl With A Broken Shoe by Ronald S Porter ©2017

She looked like she had fallen
off the back of a Harley or, two
She moved like she had a lot
of experience working on a pole.
He was on his way
from one no-where to another.
He had that kind of well worn
face, stained with years of road dirt
you could see he was nobody's
"wannabe", but hope-to-god
stone to the bone.

She wanted somebody to tell her
it would be all right
He had the need for some one
to hold, to make it through the night.
But, he wasn't looking for a seat cover
just having a drink and passing through.

She showed him the broken spike
from her sequined high heel shoe.
He said "jump on, I'll ride you home"
It was a pay by the week, no hope motel
down on the sour side of town.

They went straight to bed
she gave good head
he did too and they went through
all the usual routines
with beer and conversation
in between.

She was molested by here father
(her mother had to know)
The first husband cheat on her,
the next two beat on her
She left the snow and cold hearts
for the Golden west and found
it freezes everywhere

His wife left after the kid died
the leukemia robbed him of his daughter
the grief stole the last of love
"I can't stay" she'd said "because
I see her every time I look at you.
That keeps it much too raw".
He follows seasonal work in
various trades, it pays the way
and kills the time.

They split up in the morning,
no goodbyes, after all
the gifts were gived
His heart secretly, silently cried
over the lives they had lived.



We hanged Our Harps On The Willows by Ronald S Porter ©2017

Broken hearts; broken windows;
Broken promises and broken dreams.
All together conspire, to inspire
The voices of the silent screams.


Empty stomachs; empty hallways;
Empty eyes cry in bitter streams.
They packed the jail, as families fail.
Our voices rise in silent screams.


Abandoned now, are hopes and houses
Poverty and ignorance, my ears assail.
Starving babies and, bereaved mothers
Fill the night with plaintive wails


Our captors bid us sing
Songs of our ravished homeland
On the shores of Babylon's streams.
In a strange land, all we can voice
Are the sounds of silent streams

Saturday, April 15, 2017

In The Music Of The Night by Ron Porter © 2013

shadows, music and firelight
you seduced me with a smile
long before we met
you whispered in my ear
a secret i never could remember
but i know i loved you long before
i ever called your name

hot summer nights relieved by
breezes through the screen
thunderstorms crashed and trembled
like earthquakes in the sky
we were young and strong
and thought we'd never die

we held our coronation amidst chaos
guns and weed and beer
 wise fools and noble scoundrels
laid tokens at our feet
and whispered their petitions in
voices too soft to hear

the seasons swept past in a rush
like children on swings
two hearts drifted apart
like moons of some far
lost from a planet that forgot
the laws of gravity

days and years are forgotten
but Love never learns to forget
things like shadows
music and firelight
nor can i recall to mind
any part of it that i regret.

Sunday, March 5, 2017

Bears And Rain And Such by Ronald S Porter ©2017

I saw a bear wearing designer sheets;
he was sitting in a twelve step meeting.
Dude had great big grizzly paws; 
He could smash your skull with no effort.
A lot of nightmares live in my hat
and, my heart bleeds ancient tears
but, I don't snitch and, will pitch a bitch
if the media tries to exploit my fears.

My brother drove over to get a ride
because, he'd decided to bar-be-que.
He needed to go pick up some booze
and aluminum foil, in the rain.
Taxes go up quick as crack hos go down
and, music still soothes my breast.
I understand the bear; the rain and; tears
and, try to make sense of the rest.

Aimless Plot or Plotless Aim? by Ronald S Porter ©2017

day flung upon day filled
with inactivity dead time
killed a meaningless death
piled like perused pages
of a manuscript the book
no one will ever read
ONCE i believed i was
the author of the tail
i am not nor ever
paper, ink or pen
merely a device of the plot
undeveloped going nowhere

I'm Off The Cross-Have Some Firewood by Ronald S Porter ©2017

Memories come creeping,
Like lizards skittering
Down corridors of time
In my mind,
Bearing tears and fears,
and long dead pain
Like gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.

Imprinted visions of love,
Martyred on romance crosses,
point the way from angelic hosts,
Proclaiming  the birth of new love,
To anxious, angry, agony
Anchored on instruments of crucifixion,
Out on some lonely hill.

Well, take it all away!
I ain't nobody's savior;
That cup has passed away
I'm finally getting loved and, laid, again
And, no one can ever convince or force me
To wear a goddamned crown of thorns!

Pro Wrestling Vermin by Ronald S Porter ©2017

The rats and roaches have to much
time on their hands; they watch TV
Mostly Raw and Smackdown, they
have developed a fondness for WWE
Now, they practice all over the house-
figure fours, RKOs; what a sight to see!
I must it admit it makes me smile
to watch two roaches take down
an alley rat with a DDT.

Truest Of True Confessions by Ronald S Porter ©2017

Oh! I would to dance like Narziss
in the midst of the plague.
Or eat anchovies with prostitutes,
abed, abroad, in the Hague.
I am as confused as if in a meat
market, and I was a blind dog.
Why does Plague rhyme with Hague 
yet Prague pronounces like hog?
Such observations I find to be
for me very much didactic
Just to conform to the general norm
I believe it would be Prague-matic
To evade detection of the skew
in my way of view, I employ this tactic.
Thus I'll avoid being stopped
then questioned and, locked
in the attic of some insane asylum.

A Traditional Classic Love Poem by Ronald S Porter ©2017

We tried to build a lovers' dream out of
broken hope, escape and, fast food fantasy. 
But it seems the road always led too far
and, our automobile was old and battered.
We sang songs filled with promise still,
we missed some road signs along the way.
I will never hurt you you said as
you dragged jagged blades through my flesh
I will never desert you was my sacred pledge
while I tied on my get-away shoes and fled.
Broken angels with crippled wings
reaching out for each other as we pulled apart.
What a story we two could have been together
if we had only known when and where to start.

Tomorrow's Battles Fought Yesterday by Ronald S Porter ©2017

chased through dreams by robot humans
nazi soldiers from the Alley Cat bar
along the winding course weaving
through streets of long ago
dead ends and switchbacks at
kingdom hall playing hide and seek
among memories of forgotten places
the enemy close enough to see
and hear always just out of sight
past the ancient monument that
could be a temple plucked 
from egypt's archaic sands of just
ruins of deserted lodges of prince hall
at last, at last, i came to rest
in a valley of ghetto fences and doors
there my pursuing foes are found
trapped surrounded by the loyal poor
and we slaughtered them every one
just as dead as the two dispatched
that set off the mad pursuit

The Love We Never Shared by Ronald S Porter ©2017

You once said:
My dreams are like a TV in my head.
I said do they come with a remote?
You didn't think it was funny.
I laughed so hard I peed.
So you ran away to the circus
Low pay, high wire, 
single wide trailer home but, you got
all the popcorn and hot dogs you could eat.

They let you ride the elephants;
you were content.
I've never been contented; I don't allow it;
I think contentment is for cows.
And that is no bull.
You wrote and said you were coming back,
to seek reconciliation.
I said we never were conciliated to start-
How could we do it again?

You hitched a ride during off-season,
with twenty-three clowns, in a VW bug.
The car broke down in Rockford, Illinois.
I have some distant relatives there
So, I drove down to lend a hand,
because of the theory of relativity. 
I figured I'd murder an avian duet
As long as I had me one stone.

I found you at the side of the road
in a construction zone on Route 45;
They been repairing that strip of road
since back in nineteen fifty-sex.
You were painted in stage makeup,
Standing twenty-first in line.
I bought you a ticket to Omaha
I headed to Washington AC and DC
(For very current rock and roll)


I think about you now and then,
and never forget to remember,
Our romance will always be, in memory:
TV stations; bus stations; destinations;
all our reservations; and you, stranded
on US Highway forty-five,
in a tiny car full of clowns.
... Thank you; thank you vera much
Elvis has never been in this building
That motherfucker is dead.


That's About The Size Of It by Ronald S Porter ©2017

Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dette
fired up another cigarette
then walked a country mile
down the king's high way.
said Tweedle Dee
it occurs to me
(as onwardly he plodded)
there is nothing left to do and say
when all is said and done
Tweedle Dette simply nodded.

Surrealistic Theory; Esoteric Reality by Ronald S Porter ©2016

Psychic bunny rabbit hit-men plane my demise;
So I'm eating chocolate peanut butter bars,
in a tree house just south of Kankakee.
Babes in toy-land; babes in arms, they are
all babes in the woods you see.
Lambs, among the wolves, run rampant;
The hens have invaded the fox-house now!
And, all your crying won't do no good,
somebody plays a violent violin , somehow.
Oh, the wily raccoons are subverting;
On the borders, soldiers are deserting;
While walking dead talking heads are spurting
lies that they themselves believe true.
All the temples they desecrate 
and, cures the red, the white and, blue.
All the proctors and priests pontificate,
While the democrats mentally masturbate.
And these things just prove it is true-
Procrastination is just like masturbation
The only one you fuck is you!

Friday, February 3, 2017

An Evil Wind Blows... A Dodoitsu by Ron Porter ©2017

I walk at night, dejected.
Love loss pain does fill my heart.
I just shit my pants; I thought
I only had to fart.

Why, Oh Why? Ronald S Porter ©2017

Oh! hot finger tips, hips and lips;
Cinnamon candy and, honey drips
Oh woman tell me- why, oh why
For what reason does this man find
the female so pleasing to the eye
Yet, so disconcerting to the mind?

Just A Little Bit Of Nothing by Ron Porter ©2017

No musical strains and, no dance floor,
Pains of long ago, linger at the door;
I walk in rains on the sandy lake shore.
Memory stains cling to my core;
My poor brain is weary and sore.
And, like thunder echos in the night-
In love’s reins, I hear anguish roar.

Sa’tidday Night In Nigga Town by Ronald S Porte ©2017 (apologies to Laurence Dunbar)

Bug-eyed boogie boys practicin’on they horns;
Gran’pa got a razor blade - shaving his corns.
Pig foot smell floating in da air;
Auntie in da kitchin burnin’ her hair.
Brother man messin roun wit da deacon’s wife
Royal Crown fo clowns; I'se wit Spo’tin Waves,
Going out to injoy sum spo’tin life.

All the slangers, singers en big dick slingers,
Go pimpin on down to da Black n Tan.
Got ta get muh right fo Sa’tiddy night,
Gone go meet dat reet ol reefer man
Wit a dollah en a dime en muh hand.
All the slick chicks done grab dey beaus
And the sharp cats all got hole uh dey hos
After midnight chil, ever thang goes!
Lawd ha murcy we’ll be thowin it on down,
Cos its Sa’tiddy nite en Nigga town.

We gone do the Hi-Dee-Hi, Buck en Wang
We gone Shim-Sham Shimmy shake
Ever body will be muggin en a’buggin;
Snuggling en hugging til daylite break.
Drinkin wine n gin, we gone hi-side and sin;
Come on bahtender, set up a nuther round!
Den we’ll all sleep thu da Sunday sermon agin.
Afta a jumpin Sa’tiddy nite down in Nigga town

Tuesday, January 31, 2017

Nothing But The Blues by Ronald S Porter ©2017

I ain't got nothin' but the blues.
My car isn't running.
It's been six years of so since a taste of honey;
It am not funnin' you, I'm all out of money.
It's no joke, I just sit home, stroke and smoke
 and I'm running low on cigarettes. 
Loaded with debt;- I can't cover bets.

Wondering why I have no membership card,
'cause though I never get the club's newsletter,
I keep on paying the dues. I got no place to go
but, a lot of cool shoes. Otherwise life is hard
And I ain't got nothin' but the blues.

So I am caught between Charybdis and Scylla!
I wrote the preceding line in deference
to all the smart ass, snobby, critics who say 
True Poetry must include a literary reference

Freed At Last? by Ronald S Porter ©2017

We never fled across desert, yet
wandered a hostile desolate land.
We moved no stone to erect 
monuments to tower o'er hot sand.
Yet, we poured sweat, tears and blood
into black earth from sun to sun,
never to prosper from crops grown.
We had no names; we owned no field;
not one thing to call our own.
Oh! Pharoah's army ne'er pursued, 

When word came Let My people go!
There was no home to return to, so
we lingered in that hostile place;
life was hard, the people mean.
Gone were the old cold iron chains;
replaced by shackles of links unseen
Still we cry, we sweat we bleed.
And the very ones who parented our pain
ask what have you for which to complain?

Captured: A Love Poem? by Ronald S Porter ©2017

you read the secret of my dreams
you took my love for ransom
you chained my heart to your own
so that i would not make escape
ah! too late you saw your mistake
for in binding me to you
you made your self a captive too
oh sweet captivity!

two prisoners now locked in tandem
captured warriors in war called love
chained and bound yet not enslaved
neither do i seek to be set free
two hearts enlocked myself and thee
my only desire now is to be
for always held your captive. you
who read the secret of my dreams

Bow Bown King Nebuchadnezzar, Bow Down by Ron Porter ©2017

To my own self I set to erect an idol,
that I would construct of solid gold.
Consider, I halt twixt divine and profane.
Nor am I set perfectly between;
Thus I do not achieve the golden mean.
My construction would have been vain.
Neither could I match the golden section,
For I have two feet of clay.
So, I forsook my statue's erection;
I gave up the grand construction.
Discerning the folly of my endeavor.
I sat at The Master's feet, for instruction
Such shall I seek always and, for ever.

Psalm 152 by Ronald S Porter ©2017

Oh ye dry bones, hear the word of the Lord.
From the valley of suffering and lack;
From vales of death-like drug addiction;
Low places obscured by mountains;
Mountains of ignorance, poverty and despair.
Come now,  dry bones, assemble together!
Flesh torn from bodies, by switches and whips.
Chaffed by shackles and hangmen's noose;
Ripped away by persecution,and trial.
Now I will knit back on your frames.
I shall cover restored flesh, wrap it in skin;
Dark skin reminiscent of African nights.
The wind I shall send to breathe for you;
Breath of The Spirit, I put in you!
Be once more, a living people.
Hear the word, now, of The Lord
Ye Dry bones, O! Live again.
Remember My love, children, and prosper.
Call my name my people, and rejoice.