OF THE MOURNING MY FACES CAME...OFF

standing headless in a crowd of heedless energy

erupting through my skin- 

a seedless splay

To be a fallen faceless, masking what is placeless

every ghost then would be nameless 

again oar again

The perfect soul stood standing

quite invisible not landing

about ten thousand yeards aweigh!

D'Agate

feeding the plants

FEEDING THE PLANTS

I was walking around

looking for eight dollar bills

while thin, black females came through doors

going for 6 billion a pop

I used to drink, ugly

Now, I just feed plants

to all of the abandoned Buddhas

and forlorn Christs

whose messenger scribe notes

on waves

crashing over the bows

of my Ships!

WHY I LOVE LOOKING IN HER EYES

picture a vineyard in the late afternoon 

of a Fall day, the air is still;

a kind of smoke from burnt leaves

halos the field with a soft, embroidered crown

her eyes have the color of fresh grapes on the vine

Now notice the forest surrounding the field

it is silent and strong, mysterious and unmenacing

as it implicitly reminds you to remember your limits

and your responsibilities in the field

then, when dusk approaches and you have finished your day

you look at the vineyard and recall your youth 

with all its dreams you held so dear

and realize that they are still so close to here

Her skin is plain and fair

Her simple smile

Her raven hair

there is no more you need

Girôn d'Agate

BIG WORM, NEW MEXICO

when the world was smoky

all of the brilliant pumpkins danced

in their ancient costumes

you and I walked through the dream forest

our naked souls kissed by the earth

in Magic Worlds we only loved

and were loved by one another;

that was the time of tenderness

dancing with the Brilliant Pumpkins

wearing the Ancient Costumes

as the soil tickled our toes

Eternal

Bright Night

BRIGHT NIGHT

Will you please excuse me?

I've forgotten your name

I think I may have a cold


Yes, my nose is running

Could I borrow your face?

Yes, Yes, I'm stumbling

And my vision is blurred

Is that you?

Please, I can't remember

Have we met?

Have you seen me before?


Yes, I recall now

We were cold

And the World was empty

We shared a blanket

We shared a lot

We shared our breath

And yes, I know,

I don't recall

I have forgotten all

And I've fallen down

I remember nothing now

Nothing--------------

But you,

You I recall

Yes,

yes I do.


girôn d'agate

Saturday September 11th, 2010 @ 9:30 pm

Eve w/Charlie&Big Worm, New Mexico

                                     AN EVENING WITH CHARLIE

smokeless rooms

loud chatter

chatter unending, forgetting, forgetful

forgotten banter

about nothing, about anything

anywhere, everywhere

in smokeless rooms

loud chatter

about nothing

forever

until a fucking bomb

blows out the glass windows

in slow motion

But they sit there

bleeding, cut

bloody bleeding;

first they were loud

talking about nothing

then there was a louder noise

now they’re quiet

and bleeding

their expressions haven’t even changed

But blood is everywhere

everywhere you look

you see red blood

---

in loud, smokeless rooms

Giron d’Agate

@blue&gold; 7th St. bet.1&2

N.Y., Wednesday, sept.1,2010

I wrote this poem at the Blue and Gold Bar

I had decided to write just what I observed

in order to get into the ‘flow’ of the piece.

Interestingly i’d written one poem there

in the spring of ‘96, 'Big Worm, New Mexico'. When asked later what

were the inspirations of this first poem I’d told

that in those days smoking was permitted in bars

but the poem itself hearkened back to my youth

in the Autumn when people would rake their leaves

then burn them. This was eventually outlawed but before

it was the ‘world’ had the singular odor of burnt leaves around

All Hallow’s Day. Then we would go to the pumpkin patch, me in my chinos and soft cotton shirt. Mom would drive so we’d more often than not be barefoot treading in the soft, black loam to pick out our bright Halloween pumpkin. In those days after the war our nation lived in a blissful ennui and this poem tells that tale.

To hear the poet/Author declaim this poem the link is:http://noadm.blogspot.com/2013/10/an-evening-with-charlie-spokenword-by.html

"PRISONER OF RHYME" selected poems

PRISONER OF RHYME

NEW VERSE BY D'AGATE

'the Agate' aka "the last beat poet"

ALL POEMS WRITTEN AND EDITED BY THE AUTHOR; 2007-2012

N.B. UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE KNOPH PUBLISHING RETAINS ALL RIGHTS 

TO THIS MANUSCRIPT

www.mightymightypen.blogspot.comGiron D'Agate's "PRISONER OF RHYME'

          
Can One's Life be Like a Stone Falling to the Bottom of a Pool?

If I were to ask myself and look with dispassion at the passage of time

I might be disheartened to see how we age slowly through the years

Yet the thing that gives support and happiness to my recollection

would be the gratitude I've felt for having been here at at all

the many moments uncounted when care was far afield

form a balance with whatever may have let me feel betrayed

And so I grasp a certain bliss to have tasted of this life

Finding secret privilege in so much struggle, forgetting the ever present strife.

d'Agate copyright December 26, 2009 One*Off Press

NEW WORLD ORDER

NEW WORLD ORDER (III)

whistle my whinny here she goes

flash past my windows

over closed space is delimited

when you cry

tears of tenderness fall from the sky

way up above a line drops down

touch me lightly, take off your gown

you feel better in your underwear

step right up I'll take you there

to the land past Heaven's pearly gates

I feel you panting, I feel the weight

of many sad realities

alright, OK, I'll take you straight

to the place you can't get out of your head

that is  calling, calling, know what I said

about all the sad reality

play the whistle on the Raging Sea,

be with me

d'Agate
copyright oneoffpress@gmail.com