Oceans' Tide

"Oceans' Tide"

Gathering pebbles from the ocean.

The waves coming crashing down.

Collecting grains of sand and snowflakes from the beach.

I soak the sunshine up through my skin's bones.

On this day I watch as my skin turns colors.

The oysters hide their pearls of wisdom by the azure bay.

As the gulls cry and fly high in a summer's bright sky.

Diving in the cold water to catch fish.

The fulfillment of a dream's wish.

Some miss their wishes and catch up to them in dreams.

Like the gulls, they can fly and fill their bellies.

Others have other dreams they can fulfill while wide awake.

They live in heavenly clouds.

It's six in the morning and I must awaken out of my dream cloud.

Love you and can feel you tickle me until it hurts.

Life's tickle tortures.

Make love to me again when I wake.

Poetry story.

In slow motion.

By Jonathan Billet - 07/27/2014

Faked Theories

"Faked Theories"

Theorists are phonies.

Theories all cost.

The theories that cost are always lost.

Man's theories were lost.

At such a dear cost.

Theories are spoken by asses.

Molasses drank through straws' glasses.

The sun must wear a gun.

Sun's of bubble guns.

With all of its invisible ultraviolet rays.

Before man there were aliens with ray guns.

The rays emit an orange haze.

In a puffy, smoking cloud.

Don't talk too loud.

You might wake up the world.

It's in one hell of a spell.

Soundly lobotomized and hypnotized.

Floating in an outer space.

By Jonathan Billet 07.24.14. 

I Have Lost The Time

"I Have Lost The Time"

Although it's always sublime I have lost my time.

On a navy jet with the internet.

I pick up a code blue.

Old blue isn't very new.

Et tu Brutus?

It's Steve's father's jet plane.

In a mysterious game.

That's his claim to fame.

His family name.

Part of the same poem.

Not well known.

But always well shown.

Not by a smartest.

But by the artist.

Often times alone.

Sorry the smokestacks are smoking hay.

That's what I say.

Watch out for the smell of fires in rubber tires.

See you later mater.

By Jonathan Billet 

All Aboard

"All Aboard"

Too much traffic.

Freeways are congested.

Only wish today was tomorrow.

Sorry I missed you on my tweet.

Missed everyone on board.

The ship had quite a few cafes on board.

Did I tell you about the one with the poems on the tables?

Just trying to turn those tables around.

Like I saw in the painting.

Plagiarism is against all law.

Except the law of nature.

Wait until after the hearing.

I'm listening but don't hear a thing except calibrations.

Can't listen but I hear a crystal leeriness.

Or is it weariness?

Forgive me for not listening.

If I could hear clearly, my head would be screwed on right.

Thought I saw a doppelganger of George in the Haight in 1968.

Ten years tear's to late.

Torn years.

Worn down fears.

Too many beers.

Too much fate.

By Jonathan Billet- Revised 07.24.14. 

Cookies For The Workers!

"Cookies For The Workers!"

Free cookies for the workers supplied by the socialist worker's party.

This is worth the time of day as are all systems and clocks.

They don't run the same in different time zones.

Guns and flowers die.

Green socks for the B.S.A. Bull Shit Artists or The Boy Scouts Of America.

I'm sorry I left to this day.

What have we done?

What color are Bobby's eyes? 

Do they change colors like a chameleon?

To fit whatever surroundings he's in.

A camouflaged disguise.

Meant to pull the wool over our eyes.

Long goods on the memory truck.

Its purple like a new day.

The people are here to stay.

They can have it any way.

Their wish is my commander.

Like a slippery salamander.

I attended the company.

I was a federal man with the C.I.A.

California Institute Of The Arts.

Working on both coasts.

Writing my poetry.

For the U.S.A.

By Jonathan Billet 07.25.14.

King Of Pandora's Moon

"King Of Pandora's Moon"

I am the King of all the bird's gold dubloons.

Living in a symmetrical room on Pandora's moon.

I had a measurement to get my reimbursement.

In desperation I had a separation of a libation.

My name is Mr. Zero.

I am friendly with Batman and Zorro.

Shouting through a glass door, I can hear what is heard.

Not a word.

I'm a King Bird.

I am the ruler of Pandora's Moon.

The King wears red and yellow polka dots on his tee-shirt.

He has eyes in the back of his head - 3 to be exact. -

2 eyes in the front of his head.

He wears sunglasses on all 5.

So the people can't see his eyes.

When he tells them all lies.

He runs around the downtown trying to catch up with his shadow.

A sparrow was on the table where I was drinking water.

I banged on the table and the sparrow flew away.

For whatever reason more landed on the ground nearby.

The ruler stomped his foot on the ground.

Frightened, they flew off.

Of course, I was told a story I still find hard to believe.

The sparrows sought a revenge on King Bird.

They crapped on his head from time to time.

Never in the good King's life had he been crapped on.

Have you?

Postscript#1:

A friend of the royal King has an uncle who has magic

with wild birds and trained robins to land on his finger

and they even allowed him to bring them into his apartment.

Postscript#2:

The writer suspects that the sparrows may have been seeking

revenge on the King Bird because of all his lying to his

subjects.

By Jonathan Billet 07.24.14. 

TROPICAL TREAT

“TROPICAL TREAT"

Paintings are a tropical treat and so is all music, especially speech. I can hear their beauty. Cultures are also tropical treats like the Cuban song – “A Laughing Gas.” 

Nature’s beautiful, even in Winter’s tropical treat. All nature is tropical music, and so is air and the universe. A lovely one is the island Gauguin painted along with his walls. Food certainly has its own unique tropical flavors.

Sunday hides from the rest of the days in the week. All the other days of the week are hidden too. A pear tastes like an orange to a fish and looks like one to a dog. 

We all have our own peculiar tastes like they do. Just a part of the beautiful, luscious world in which we live. 

Even a wooden chair has legs on which to take a stand.

I like writing poems and reciting them.  

It's like singing songs to the world.

Tea for two and me for you.

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

Never feel blue because your life always starts anew.

Never old and always bold.

On this theory I'm very sold.

It's a living story I was told.

Life is platinum furniture.

I can subtract my money but can't add a sum.

Doppelgangers of Lloyd and Abbie that I saw.

Half a dozen of each crossing a street.

Someone saw one of me in a McDonald's at five this morning.

I slept until noon. 

Maybe this is a dream I had!

Or is it someone else's dream's escape?

J. Billet - Revised 07.18.14.

Cold Air

                                 "Cold Air"




Freezing air and hot ice.

Is the summer full of cold air or the winter full of hot air?

I love to sleep in spring and fall nighttime.

The world's clocks don't tell the time correctly.

Does the world wear too much perfume?

While it stinks itself up to high heaven.

It needs a bath like a smelly skunk.

Some people can lie with a poker face.

It's really a disgrace.

Can't see their own reflection in the mirror.

Do they see someone else's?

Just lying to themselves.

Like objects lie on shelves.

Or people lie in bed.

It makes me sick.

What people will do to get a kick.

The apple of my life has many pairs of panties.

She is the best lay in town.

I am just a town clown._.



Written for my sweet peach.
By Jonathan Billet 07.12.14.

Life's Tales

                              "Life's Tales"

Krystal and Xavier quoted this poem in jest's truth.  

"Everyone is somebody's child."  

It is for fools like myself.   

Culinary Art is an artistic endeavor.

My brother studied at the C.I.A.

The Culinary Institute Of Art in New Hyde Park, New York.

The California Institute For The Arts in Valencia, California.

Both places where true artists attend.

Cooking is an art form - so is music and writing.

Xavier writes music for love.

Builders build up and not down, for the love of their art.

Robert Deniro lives in New York State and commutes to California.

In Silver Linings, Deniro had a psychotic sun.

He's another artist loved by America.

My father had a psychotic sun.

I am a younger brother who has many older brothers.

As John Lennon wrote, "An older brother is something to be!"

Life is an art form and so is every occupation.

No matter how big or small.

The working artist said, "Every little bit helps."

Writing of art, the builders are ripping up the street and sidewalks.

Are they cutting just the old trees down?

It's a debatable subject in the small towns across the states.

Are they sick or what?

Remember all people are just artists, no matter how young or old.

Streets aren't made out of gold, they're made out of platinum.

So are the sidewalks for the bicyclists and pedestrians.

Wisdom is the pearl of a pleasure.

It is a treasure.

New beginnings and old endings are always artistic.

Friday is the beginning of a new week and the ending of a new day.

Laying low in my bed with my lover.

Sitting on a bench alone by yourself. 

Forrest's Bubba Gump was artistic.

So's Nell's cow.

Be true to your art.

Every problem has solutions.

By Jonathan Billet - Written on 07.18.2014...        

Light Night

                         "Light Night"

Wish it was a bright light.

I want to write to give the world insight.

It can't see so well.

To give it sight in the darkness of night.

I want to put it in the spotlight.

Like my website.

Only so it can touch the stars in their height.

I hope with all my might.

With all that's wrong, everything is still right.

Fright is not right.

I am a bird with a happy heart, in flight at twilight.

By Jonathan Billet - 07.13.14

©       

Can't Talk Right Nowi!_.

"Can't Talk Right Nowi!_."



Was the author reading in her pajamas?

Were people reading in their pajamas?

I was going to write this in my p.j's.

Good fodder for pajama writing.

Swam the Long Island Sound in my pa's p.j's.

The red crystals in the fish tank are turning blue.

As goldfish into silverfish and trout turn to bass.

Jumped into The Thames.

Went surfing on the English Channel.

Channel #9 - Evolution #3 - Concerto #2 in C Minor.




By Jon Billy alias Jonathan Billet- 7.15.14.

Who Knows Who Or What Nut Knows What

"Who Knows Who Or What Nut Knows What"   




I quicken my pace as I travel through space.

Time isn't real.

All the time and space in the world is surreal.

The world is rotating and revolving in outer space inside a globe.

To no place in particular.

I am just a lonely poet.

 I wish you my best.

While telling stories on my computer in my pajamas.

My lies are as white as my teeth.

See you in my dreams! 



From Jonathan Billet To The World.   Revised 07/13/14._.
      

Yesterday, Today, And Tomorrow

"Yesterday, Today, And Tomorrow"

Yesterday, I wasn't aware the cupcake shop was closed when I went to see you.

Today, I was told by Crystal that you were working.

You weren't working the 2:00 shift.

Tomorrow, I may not be able to visit you, because I have an appointment with my social worker.

By Jonathan Billet 07.08.14.

Prisoner To A Mirror's Prism

Prisoner To A Mirror's Prism"



You can get out of the inside but you can't get into the outside.

In my train of thought through a rain.

I could see the The Garden Of Eden's golden fruit and a blue forest.

Full of colorful caffeine beans.

While invisible green hummingbirds fly high in a yellow sky.

I was imbibing on scotch and rye.

Usually get soused by sipping different flavored iced tea through a straw.

Thought that I saw reality in life's dream in a closet drawer.

That is mankind's law.

Life is sublime sunshine.

But it changes years to years, from months to days, days into hours, minutes to a second.

I get lost in the magic pink water pebble power.

Through a tropical flower.

Inside the depleted water tower.



By Captain Moonlight alias Jonathan Billet and dedicated to Andrea Love.

Topless

“Topless”




Some people lids come off their cups.
Then, they must go topless.
Life Savers work like Charms.
Some circular and some square.
Flavors of every color.
A rainbow of the universe.
That can be seen and tasted by the eyes and mouth of the cosmos.
Tastes for their pallets’ delights just come and go.
To live is to love in a trance.
Never finding true romance.
In its rhythm’s dance.
Time is marmalade jello where one loses his way.
You must dive head first into a swimming pool full of jello.
Where life comes and goes, nobody knows.
To time’s life doors, I suppose.
Where the wizard lizard spends his life.
In never ending strife.




By Jonathan Billet revised 06.28.14.

Noses Of Roses

“Noses Of Roses”




Teeth of fool’s gold.
Plenty to the load.
A monocle’s prisms.
Part of a dog’s dream.
In heaven’s steam.
Up in the inner space above us.
Smoke from the clouds.
Foul breath’s fumigation.
Afraid of premature minds’ sensation.
Photographed in the press in my imagination.
What a mess.
Like a crazy express gone off track.
Better get back.
To where you belong in a song.
She was as tall as he was long.
Framed in a classical painting by Van Eyck.
To photograph for the New York Times’ patrons.
They must have been drunk.
Dunk in a funk.




By a violet’s dead beat poet-(named Jonathan Billet.)