Show Poem: A drop of kindness For every tear drop… July 01/ New Brunswick , NJ /Court Tavern #SchwervonPoetry

Schwervon!


Soy burger diner
I see dead people
A place to put my drink

Smurf cum graffiti
On a thoughtful piece of art

Badly exicuted guitar riffs
Litter the back alley air
The sabbath always ends
With Sabbath

Catching nothing out of
The corner of my eye

I’ve eaten the same falafel
In two states

Men and women
Getting pushed around
In strollers and wheelchairs
Walkers and canes

Guy outside Super Cuts
Smoking and playing
With his phone
Listening to something
On headphones
Wearing a hat
Sunglasses hanging
From the collar of his shirt

Can’t stop staring
Where is he going
What is he thinking
Does he cat call women
Does he like women

Was that the wrong word choice?
There’s something
Like this happening
In a hundred other places.
I’m sure of it.

Fish on the walls and doors underwater
Pictures of cats taken by dogs
Parking. Meters
Nickel and…

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Show Poem: Just one conversation Can change the whole Mood of your poem… Saturday. May 30 / Warrensburg, MO / The Bay #Schwervonpoetry

Schwervon!

UntitledI wallow just like
the rest of the wet piglets
Slipping and sloshing
Like a virgin trout in love
At the hatchery

The mud
never touches my exquisite
cloven hooves

On very little sleep
I eat badly

all around
The entire city cheers
For what they get
With a lot of hard work
And very little effort

Bombs exploding
One after another
Rapid succession
Compressed, quantized and equalized

And the fans go wild

Just one conversation
Can change the whole
Mood of your poem

Pyro city in a water world
That’s my soul up there
Sun spots on the backs
Of our hands
More fireworks
Less drunken fish fight
Choreography

Let’s break a leg on it

We’ll make the stars dance
Like they dance on
Dancing with the stars

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What goes on behind the backs Of those who write on blackboards…  Friday, March 20, Valley Of The Vapors Festival, Hot Springs,AR #SchwervonPoetry 

Show poem.

Schwervon!

Let the spring rain fall on your brain
We don’t have time for the scenic route
We need the sleep more
We are on a mission
No time for cracker barrels
And good will stores
We are here to rock the people
What font is your nightmare?
No time for Mr. Hall’s boring
speech patterns and silly boots.
The reasons behind why we risk
Making fools of ourselves
What goes on behind the backs
Of those who write on blackboards
The art of vandalism
Of mixing paint with words.
The science behind friendship
And fearful speech patterns.
Pay no attention to
The rubber seals
On the side of the highway
The needles in my finger tips
We are here to rock the science
Of love
This may not be you best day
But it doesn’t have to be your worst

(This poem was recited for the first time on Friday…

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Milk of the apocolypse 

Milk of the apocalypse

In double spaced formatting

Nothing fully realized

Is sold out

Where did you guys park

Religion is sustaining these

Working conditions

Lost intimacy makes it hard

To love feeling bad, freely

Lone wolves make me

Lose a knife at the airport

Dollar glasses

White House Likes

Broadway Mormons

Prime time dude stuffs

David party of one


Bed in the center
Surrounded by trees
And fallen leaves

Half used pens in a coffee cup

Smelling is enough
David party of one

Dedicated to the art

The city is not a jungle
There is no clean well lighted place
No sauce making

My feet are snakes
My shoulder block of ice

Empty bleachers
Continent foot prints

All the pieces of fruit
The plastic clinging to
Edges of bowls

We don’t talk
We play music

The last piece of the cookie


Sleeping next to someone
The last piece of the cookie

Un addressed letters
The well of pornography

Cold morning
Walking alone
Crows in the distance

Making yourself
Restrengthening old muscles

The first time
The open road
Gripping the pedals
There is no mercy

Lifting
Balance

Pairs

Strategery of cul de sac living

image
Neon prison
Pepsi, Doritos, Mountain Dew
Jack hammeringaway
at lids And doors

Strategery of cul de sac living

Ticking with the natives
Gripping the ledge

Small sores
On the backs of my hands

Oh to let go
And land safely
on a memory foam of
Free napkins

Swan dive into
An endless sea of
nippled bottles
And quarter pounder wrappers

Or we could be heroes

Smoke butts
on the loading dock
Shooting at fish
in a glass barrel

I hear gun shots in the distance
I read gun shots in the newspaper
I see gun shots on the TV

But there is tolerance
And love
all around
The free air