Saturday, December 29, 2012

Word Man


"Word Man"


Cursed are the aged.

Birthdays suck!!

When you die, the world dies.

The person I'll be saddest to see leave is myself.

God laughs at suckers.

R.I.P.

Luv you most.

Dedicated defecation!i!i!i.

Black is blue.

Is that true?

Red said to green I can really dig your scene.

Brown pink made a stink when the sink filled with purple ink.

Yellow was a mighty nice fellow.

Nice and mellow in the sun made of jello.

Hello, is black turning his back on this quack?

The moon had no stack like a full deck of cards.

It wasn't full.

It was a little flat.

I like them like thati!i!i!i....


By Jonathan Billet

A Life In The Day Of Jonathan Billet


A Life In The Day Of Jonathan Billet


I think I chipped my tooth again eating meat with tiny bones in it.  It was sold to me at that cheap deli run by that schmuck.  Emergency!!!  Time for a trip to the dentist!!  Oh my God!!  The first time it happened, I was a mere child running in the halls at school and fell down on the hard tile floor, unlike the rest of the kids.  My girlfriend in high school had a chipped tooth too.  The cause was one of those hidden mysteries in my life.  Like my father's chipped tooth.
Is a billion, a thousand - million or a million - million?  Does Kennedy have a billion tucked away?  He had a bad throat, which makes it sound like he has a speech impediment like my grammatical impediment.  I'm sure he's good at grammatical structure.  The Kennedys were always in bad shape almost as bad as the shape of my life. 

Diagnosed with schizophrenia in college and symptomatic of the disease ever since than.  From the age of 21 to the current age of 59.  Full of phinothiozenes from age 21 - 58 .  From age 38 - 59 loaded on psychotropics. With the help of a psychiatric family - community included - I was never physically violent.  I did suffer from temper tantrums as a child and suffered from fear, anger and depression as an adult.  However, I wasn't truly psychotic until the age of 21 and was medicated immediately.  I hear a lot about violence but was mugged at around the age of 50.  Face beaten in, eyes blackened, and ribcage broken.  Heck, I was lucky I was jumped from behind by three bigger guys and didn't have the ability to struggle as they punched away.  Lucky, I think, because if I could have fought back they might have knifed or shot me.  Lucky too because I peed in my pants scaring them away without getting their fingers wet stealing my wallet

I enjoyed my more sane days and would be the first to admit I had them.  While I was considered a basket case by myself and others, I managed to work at a department store, and two libraries for about 13 years.  I graduated college - three colleges, the last successfully.  More than can be said of the rest of our society.   I like writing as a hobby and enjoyed being published recently for my poetry in a couple of publications.  I hope to publish a collection of my poetry.
Remember, that as I wrote in one of my many earlier poems - "Life is sublime when it changes from a riddle into a rhyme!"  Please read my thoughts.  I think a lot about life and have high hopes for myself and the world.  The world is so confused to me that I could swim from China to New York in my laughter's tears!

Work is for the weary.  The work place is full of the good stinkers and the bad stinkers.  I wouldn't trust any of their judgments, especially my own.  But I forgot I am not considered a worker by these stinkers.  All I do is write trash about them and than collect cash for throwing out their trash.  Like some people do, I find my trash very valuable.  I would have to say that in reality I'm a very bad good stinker. 
               
True judgment deals with justice.  There is legal justice and poetic justice.  Most established societies of the world deal in legal or civil justice regardless of their political, philosophical, religious, but not necessarily their moral codes.  Moral codes intertwine with poetic judgment.  But really who's to say?  Certainly not a very good bad stinker as myself!!!  The world considers me to be crazy - what about it?  Mashuganah!!!

Love You - A Day Away From Christmas - Jonathan Billet

To Susan Dey


"To Susan Dey"


The world is full of ministers singing minstrel songs and eating cranberry sauce.

The Mormon Tabernacle Choir chants mantras to Buddha.

F. Socks Fitzgerald sings to Maura Nixon.

Made love to Laurie Partridge.

Hamilton Burger sounds like Madison Frankfurter.

Always loosing all his cases to Perry Mason.

Paul Drake was having an affair with Della Streep.

Saw it in a movie!

Hare Shiva Krishna.

A hurricane fell down and broke my crown.

Flew on a jet plane and thought I was going insane.

Minister Mao shook feet with Richard Nixon.

They than rubbed noses.

Perry Mason represented me from 1958 - 1962.

Write with a Parker Cartridge Pen.

Seagulls sing a song of 6 pens.

Stole my Montblanc Pen from the president of the bank.

Cold times and hot times.

Old times create new rhymes.

Time I spent in other peoples tombs rolling around.

I can't read in here.

I am blinder than a bat flying in a cave.


By Jonathan Billet 12/28/12

Cave Man


"Cave Man"


In the caverns of my mind are reflections of treasures.

Gold and silver shiny coins unused and non-circulated.

A sunlight's rays reaches out to touch this smiling, sunny, simile.

In the dark dreaming of black stallions dashing across a white beach.

Eggs and steak are cooking over a campfire.

The morning sunlight has broken.


By Jonathan Billet 12/25/12

9-1-1


9-1-1


Parched throats breathing thick, acrid, plumes of billowing, black smoke.

Tiny people on the set jumping up to the sky and than crashing down to the ground.

A street full of black asphalt's thick concrete.

Orange hues of a purple's blues.

Napping in room 722 at Eleven "0" Seven on 9/11.

I fell to the floor caving in from below.

Fire alarm's ringing bell.

My head began to sweat and swell.

As I was awoken to this living hell.

Two towers fell.

A tragic story I witnessed to tell.


By Jonathan Billet

Monday, December 17, 2012

Sun Spots


"Sun Spots"

I fall into a deep sleep underneath a tree with a slight breeze blowing from above.
I think the man in the moon is whistling musical melodies while smoking marijuana.
Dreaming I'm in outer space floating upside down while stoned, I'm reaching a new high.
When I woke up, back down on earth the sun breaks out in a heroin withdrawal's sweat.
I ride on the ocean waves with a white horse in the salty water along the tan's sandy shore-line.
The hot sun lights my cigarettes when I smoked while tree and sea breezes cool me on the shady grasses.
My flashlight directs the satellite's in outer space as my TV. remote controls the traffic.
Thunder and lightning, snow, rain, tornadoes, and hurricanes, even the sun's rays.
They control humans and all animals.
But they have no control over insects that have built in E.S.P. or antennae.
Speaking of remote and flashlight, they reign over Rap N' Soul, Pretzley's Bazooka's Teeny Bopper's Bezerkeley's Bubble Gum Rap Music.
Uranus and its gravitational pull over the rest of the planets and even sound and light.
Well it's back to another sleep for me.


By Jonathan Billet 12/12/12

A Rumba's Rise


"A Rumba's Rise"


The universe is a transparent reflection of glorious silver stars.

Imagined in your eye's mind.

Walk through the mirrored reflection.

See images of man's refractive rays.

Butterflies of orange and yellow dance.

A rhythm of their heartbeats' Rumba song.

The world cheers as this life descends from tropical skies.

Arise from your dreams highs of Vodka and Ryes.

Imbibed by men with glassy eyes.

Wearing suit and ties.


Living in houses of mirrors.

Don't throw rocks at houses made out of mirrors.

The sun reflects the universes' warmth and beauty.

It's a picture of a universal reinvention by sunlight.

No darkness or silhouettes.

Shadows don't exist.

Just the dawn's sunshine.

Yellow translucent light of mirrors.


By Jonathan Billet 12/09/12P

I Seek Solitude


"I Seek Solitude"


They're the only one of them.

You're the only one of you.

I'm the only one of me.

So let's not let the world take us for granted.

That would be slightly slanted.

Get solace when you sleep.

Seek solitude when you arise.

Let the love grow.

Life is all we know.

Death is only a mystery to a human's history.

The wires were disconnected.

A fuse was blown that burnt out the candles.

The idiot savant's images in dreams.

A happy heart's heavenly humanism.

Heavenly highs that reach out for eternal skies.


By Jonathan Billet 12/01/12 -To Sue

A Union Of Mankind


"A Union Of Mankind"


U can't survive on $7.25.

He got .3 he got nick-knack on his knee.

K.F.C.

M.L.K.

Burger King.

Eat the workers.

Eat Shit.

Don't throw the crap.

Eat it!

Count the rolling papers I wipe my ass with.

Why do garment workers burn and cry?

Live and die?

For a negative G spot in the sky?

It's a sinful shame how some people get their fame.

There no known name.

Power to the unions.

Same sex, straight, and them all.

I was in a union.

Made a good loving.

It's the union of mankind.

Hard to find.

I mistrust the unions but I believe in them.

Unfinished poem by Jonathan Billet.


12/04/12

Barfing And Eating It


"Barfing And Eating It"


I started throwing up stars, moons, planets, the sky, clouds, and the universe.

They were in my libation.

I can't remember my telephone number because I never call it.

I'd forget my name if other people didn't call me by it.
If I switched names ever day.
If everybody did.
Hello, who is this?

Must be a wrong number.

Dementia 202.

Class requirement.

Now I've read you all.

The message is my medium.

Before I ever get published, I'll be shooting around the moon in a wheelchair.
I punched a horse in the mouth.
He is now wearing a bra and dentures as a man - "falsies.

There's a woman artist on the internet, who swallows
paint, then throws it up on canvas.

My friend, Henry, says her stuff is really a mess.

Talk about a cathartic release!
              
He's seen her artwork on canvas and on the floor.

Like a Jackson Pollock.

I'm like a Seinfeld episode about nothing.

At least, that's what Henry says.

Sharon is getting sick of me sticking my big ass through the cafes' doors.

Weird garbage.

Always buy Alfred E. Newman's Own.

Wouldn't fake my life for all the teabags in China or scumbags in the world.

It makes me so sick I could barf my brains out.

I could even throw up my own writing.

It smells like gourmet writing to my nose.

The odyssey and the idiocy.

Odysseus who was mute, like me, and heard sirens.


By Jonathan Billet 12/02/12

An Alchemist


"An Alchemist"


The alchemist named Henry Wallace
was walking on air clouds to his job at the
school of mortuary sciences.  Henry entered
from below through a sliding door.

Wallace, a flipster or flappy, happy,
hippy couldn't stop thinking about how
much he wanted to tickle the world to
death!  That was not to be because he
couldn't wrap his arms around the world to
hug it.

In days past, Henry was considered a saint.
Now he is considered an obscure outcast of
a figurehead.  His reputation now lies ruined
in a mixture of mayonnaise and butter cream.


From Jon Billet
12/01/12

Philosophy 1


"Philosophy 1"


The world owes you nothing.

You owe yourself everything.

Whatever you can give to the world is the best.

Only because you owe your existence to the world.

Because you exist at all.

What you give to the world is given back.

The dead gives the tall and small nothing at all!

Life gives love.

The love is returned.


By Jonathan Billet 11/27/12 

A Call On Gus Hall


"A Call On Gus Hall"



I Text Too Much.

I Have Great Joy And Expectations For The Stones.

Know When Gus Hall Gives The Call.

They Could Use More Beaneries In Town.

More Free Bees.

More Bucks.

Light Barriers Were Running From My Soul.

It Is Written In The Stars.

Sailing The Ocean Blue.

Revolving Around The Planets.

A Universe's Epithets Winds Like A Clock Around The Roads.

Stand Up To The Mistletoe, Not The PiƱata.


By Jon Billet 11/25/12

A Different Date


"A Different Date"



It got hotter than heaven in hell's Haight.

Hippy Hill even turned straight.

I saw a man making love to his mate

underneath the tall grass at the golden gate.



I wish I had such a date with fate but

life isn't that great.

Who will read such a pitiful tale?

If I am writing and fail,

Then these words belong in a garbage pail

full of junk.



Say hello to the

Fran San Cisco punk with

his feet up his ass

and his brain in a funk.


Jon Billet
11/29/12