Bells of a ball fed tune

Try reading it aloud.  I think it has a haunting quality.

Sand dust shells started weaving their spells
Before the August moon of one late afternoon
When the quells were quiet and the sands were silent
All in the bells of a ball fed tune
All in the bells of a ball fed tune.

And the shores were shuckled and the birds were buckled
Leaving the land of the listening loon
Where the seagulls tripe riding home on a bike
All in the bells of a ball fed tune
All in the bells of a ball fed tune.

When the quays fell away under foot under clay
And the sand crystallized to the moon
Leaving shells to demand moonlight glow from the sand
All in the bells of a ball fed tune
All in the bells of a ball fed tune.

When the bells in sashay fomed a line on the quay
And the land shuckled tins to the moon
Then the clay sank away when the shores were at play
All in the bells of a ball fed tune
All in the bells of a ball fed tune.

Denis Streeter 9/23/11

The persnicketies

Persnicketies, persnicketies
Will put you ill at ease
Just like some haughty Pyrenees
That you will never please.
It always will correct itself
Though not the way you do
It's critical of everything
It hopes you take its cue.
Persnicketies, persnicketies
The Pleiades of stars
They constellate just perfectly
Correcting who you are.
Persnicketies, persnicketies
Excessively precise
For you will not quite measure up
You will not quite suffice.
Persnicketies, persnicketies
Are sometimes you and me
Precision missing everything
What you and I could be.

Denis Streeter 9/20/11

Lassoed fire

Into the fire where words open flies
Wandering meadows in glossy old ties
Washing the wakefulness double dot quick
Salmons of noodles were making me sick
Sick as a raft when I rubbered the sand
Quick as a dirt monkey quite in demand
Surface to surface the glide monkeys grew
Soon until raisins were dirt into stew
Slide into slide into slid into id
Washing the trash just to do as I bid
Ibid the page but on page forty nine
Mayne ibidology cease to decline
Oodles of more and disturbing they're meant
Wondering wandering where my mind's sent
Bushwhacking stools in search of a chair
Stooling chairs for the words that aren't there
Sugars of cotton in struedels of dumps
Oxygen cans messing garbage can pumps
Up in the fleazit the counterbounce comes
Figuring fees with the foes and the fums
Tempting the sugar when whistles went out
Loading up thistles for tempting some trout
Out in the grounding the hopscotch at bay
Served in a trigger sent out in a tray
Gathering fingers meant guns in decline
Measuring triggers to ounce out a dime
Figuring field mice jumped to the chore
Up to the seasons to figure Al Gore
Open the door let the lettuce inside
No use in hiding in formaldehyde
Senses of uses were wandering floors
Up to the rain when it's figuring pours
Up to the ounces to rain in the pain
Sharpening shadows to shade in the game
Gimbles of louses to threaten the stairs
Given a feast of the devil me cares
Up to the liars where criminals sit
Over the jungles in acres of spit
Into the johns where the civilness waits
Deploring doors into devil mint cakes
Lassoing silence that familiar game
Harder to swallow but easy to tame
Under the junctures and under the threes
Cripples of ice cream made up for the cheese
No more no less when the difference comes
Comes with the fives and the foes with the fums.

Denis Streeter 9/19/11

Word puzzles

A friend gave me a number of words to spin into a poem...

daunted haunted vaunted
impassive agression
incumbent recliner - a lazy boy
aphoristic prophets
ill-used allusions

I had no idea what I would create, but that's the fun.

A lazy boy

daunted aphoristic prophets with
impassive agression met
ill-used allusions
haunted by vaunted incumbent recliners.

Denis Streeter 9/18/11

Window

Days shift
Warm to cold
Heat on
First in month
Remember
Forget
Waves
Shutter lives
There
Gone
Connect
Last
Shift
Core
Love
Heat off
Maintain
Core
Shift
Waves
Remember
Forget
Connect
Off on
Often
Love

Denis Streeter 9/18/11

Moonshine

The trees whistled candles their canine tunes
Into this mess we call foul with dreams
Ever hopeful in the floundering living
Opening boxes the garage left behind
Harpsichords chase the ladders away
And all that's left watch littered lambs
Stringing together the quadratic formula
When the plates come down and template to tea
And the streams pop tunnels hoping lids will fly
Atrractive as not when the wind breaks through
Too comfortable for the precipitation fires
When there's not enough gold for the central bar
Where the pumps want to go but are not seasoned
And the bridges collapse without enough water
Where the mud sands the dunes where the water ran dry
Pumped into plates with the stingers intact
Tectonic plates whistled canine tunes
The water collapsed before the moon lit up.

Denis Streeter 9/16/11

Unexplainable

Over in the yard
Unknown yet set
In the living room tommorrow
The bees bumbled in
All too human
Archie Bunker bluster
All the senses forgotten
Out the window buzzying busyness
Thinking the last line was clever
But it wasn't
Something on the line of
"There's nothing new under the sun"
Most commonly associated with Ecclesiastes
Well then call me ignorant
I like to think there is something new under the sun
Poetry expresses everything
In every unique form and expression
As long as there are poets, artists, musicians
There will be something new under the sun
Of course there's always the possibility
That they're saying the same thing
Just in a different way
If it's a unique genuine expression
It's justified
There is so much out there that is
Just unexplainable
I want to explore the unexplainable
The hope of the spirit, the emptiness of darkness
I want to merge with conflict and feel whole
I want to feel the unknown terrain
Without fear, without anger
I want to learn to love what I don't understand
But I don't know if I can
It's too much
But I can with you
I want to love you
But I can't always do that
It's just not there
It's not platitudes I want
It's your reality
I want to explore your reality
I want to explore the unexplainable
No explanation love.

Denis Streeter 9/13/11