A Lost Poem

“A Lost Poem”




You mean more to me than any subjects could.


More than the wealth of ancient gold and diamond mines.


You are timeless in place in all of outer space.


The universe’s moons sing tunes of my love for you.


Old are we and our mystical love is new.


Meaning more to me than rhyme does to you.


Never blue if I can believe it’s true.


Our love must grow as slow as a second knows.


Quickly does the time pass if a second takes an eternity to go.


I was there before but not any more.


What was taken from weakness we shall gain in the love of strength.


The universe grows.


Clouds pass overhead.


I bang the walls with my head while still dreaming in bed.


My universe is a quiet place.


I have lost a place called inner space.


I'm not in a race.


My reflection in mirrored light is refracted.


No sound is ever heard.


Just the new word.


All the words have a say.


That's why life pays.


On this Sunday afternoon at the bay.


At a night's day revealed by sparkling moonlight sung in a June's tune.




By Jonathan Billet 05/29/2014- 06/03/2014
Not without coaching from Andrea

My Yellow Rose

"My Yellow Rose"



Thanx you tons of yellow roses and a bunch of their thorny stems.

Rain showers bring plenty of sun flowers below a June’s moons.

I love your kindness because it’s so mindless and arrives to me from your beautiful heart.

That’s a nice way to start a new day.

The silence of sleep is broken when you speak.

I hear your words in my world’s dreams.

I love only you, Andrea


By Jon Billet on the 26th day in the month of May.
Never to stay in the year 2014

TIME FOR ANOTHER PARTY?

                            "TIME FOR ANOTHER PARTY?"




IT'S A PITY THAT OUR TWO POLITICAL PARTIES ARE THE
CORPORATE KINGS OF CORRUPTION.  RIFE WITH
MEANINGLESS POLITICAL STRIFE.  THEY NEVER DO ANYTHING
BUT COMPLAIN AND COLLECT LARGE POLITICAL CONTRIBUTIONS.  
NEVER COMPROMISE THEIR POSITION SUCH A WASTED DISPOSITION.
SMOKING THE CLOUDS BEFORE THE CLOUDS SMOKE THEM.




BY JONATHAN BILLET - MAY'S MEMORIAL DAY.

All The Politics

                             "All The Politics"




Stop playing with your food, the words, and my thoughts.

Finding it such a hardship to raise the minimum wage, stating
it will cost so much to the taxpayer.   

Giving only the billionaires tax cuts.

While always letting the poor go hungry and homeless.


Jon Billet
       

I Can Hear Silence

                                   "I Can Hear Silence"




You're a peach's pear.

A peach of a pear.

To you nothing but love can compare.

I adore your strawberry hair.

I feel a silent, unfair, lonely despair when you're are not there.

Love is in the air.

One thing I always know.

It takes time to show and will always grow.

Don't you know?

Silence is despair.

Another sad song playing at the same time on a record player.

I can hear people whispering thoughts to themselves.

Dogs are barking too in my silent room.

The planet's moon shines brighter than words.

The birds love to wing.

While we silently sing.

A love calls song.



By Jonathan Billet- 05.26.14.

What If What Is?

"What If What Is?"



If I dreamed Saturday was Sunday?
Wednesday and Friday knew for sure.
If black thought pink was mellow, would this be bullying?
What does green do?
What do the other colors think?
What would they think if they were you?
If we are all invisible in the eyes of God?
If it rained and snowed in different colors?
If a store has a back door.
Does it's ceilings have doors too?
Do the walls have doors coming out of them?
Do the floors have doors?
Is there a place where a run-on street never ends?
Graffiti-covered sidewalks with different colored patterns painted on them.
A town with multicolored buildings from hazel to azure?
Do people wear their pants inside-out?
Outside-in?
Upside-down?
Shirts for pants?
Pants for shirts.
Shaving cream as toothpaste?
Toothpaste that's shaving cream?
Is there a bird's buzz and bees that sing.
Cars yelling and people that honk at each other.
What if the paintings in the museums were facing the walls?
We sat upside down on seats?
Ate from the table sideways?
If you sat on your head and walked on your hands?
If your shoe heels were made of lead?
If the world was made out of bubblegum?
If you breathed in air and ate from dirt.
If mice were yellow and indigo.
If your eyes were violet tulips?
Silver or gold?
If we woke up at night and slept at work?
If butterflies run on moon power and are scarlet?
If coffee beans are edible?
If water turns into tea?
If peppermint lifesavers are in an herbal sea of tea.


                   Jonathan Billet
      

Mime's Wine

“Mime’s Wine”




Yesterday, I painted the walls of my mind.

It was like a deep, dark, empty cavern.

There were oceans of frozen iced waters.

It rained on my head and made me cry.

I could feel the cold winter draft.

Then I painted suns on the hall’s walls.

It soaked into my bones and gave me pleasure.

Like a newly found treasure.

Something which has no measure.

A life in itself.

A morning cup of coffee.

Then brunch.

A lover for dinner.

But I’ll imbibe in my sea of herbal tea until then.

At Aroma Coffee Roast, eating peach and black cherry yogurt.

The sun will come out and touch my skin.

Everybody else will get the same sunshine.

The wine will ripen on the vine.

My mind will be fine in the sun’s shine.

Am I still here or have I gone?

Where am I?

Whilst in my dream!


By Jonathan Billet 05.14.14. – revised 05/29/2014

BEAUTY IS ONLY SKIN DEEP

                       "BEAUTY IS ONLY SKIN DEEP"






DEAR TAMARA,
ALWAYS HAPPY TO DO FOR A KIND SOUL.  BEAUTY COMES
FROM THE HEART AND I TRY AND EXPRESS IT FROM MY
HEART AND PEOPLE'S LIKE YOURS IN MY WRITING.  HOPEFULLY
YOU WILL WRITE SOMETHING FOR MY BLOG THAT COMES
FROM YOUR HEART.  BEST WISHES FOR EVERYTHING. YOUR
FRIEND - JON BILLET.
       

Quotation Exaggerated

             "Quotation Exaggerated"



The quotation about my death has been
greatly exaggerated!!!...

By Jonathan Billet On A Bright Day In May.

Night News

"Night News"

The window in the hotel room is opened.

I'm trying to get some sleep but the cold draft is keeping me up.

Could my mother's departed spirit be opening the window?

I'll close it to awaken from the dream.

Do I dream about my poetry?

Or do I write my poetry about dreams?

Am I dreaming?

I awaken to the chiming in of NPR radio.

The subject is mundane etiquette about the consistency of frozen peas.

This topic is of little interest to me.

I am thinking about my last hospitalization.

When they gave me the wrong medication.

Confused my medication with a similarly spelled addictive stimulant.

A totally different drug.

While taking me off the stimulant.

I had my first and only seizure in my life.

I was being loaded up with a cocktail of psychiatric medication.

The head doctor on 3 North didn't confer with my outpatient doctor to check.

The inpatient doctor put me back on the same addictive substance.

She thought I had the seizure because of withdrawal.

Not realizing the newly added drug may have been at fault.

A rough remedy that made me think my doctors needed remedial reading.

Which is exactly what the wrongly prescribed medication remedies.

I expressed this fact to my outpatient social worker.

She completely ignored it.

An observant doctor at a new program I was attending brought the error to her attention.

At that point I was becoming addicted to the medication.

She withdrew me from it.

I had been on 3 North, a drug and alcohol rehab unit.

Which is a long term unit where all the outpatients are referred.

This reminded me of my drug days in the sixties.

When Aby and the hippy heads stuck rectal thermometers up their noses.

They were called "boogie sticks."

A great contributor, along with his brothers, to my introduction to mental illness.



By Jonathan Billet 05/10/14.  His First Birthday In The 60's.

Extinction Of Distinction

                     "Extinction Of Distinction"


Some of my most expressive thoughts came about in the bathroom.

I am a hundred fifteen-year-old specimen.

The human race is much older by far.

It thinks it's in its infancy.

Soon to be extinct.

Visualize a stone throne.

I watch every night.

The newscasts.

The old television shows.

Older than time.

The radio is swell to know.

I read the newspapers for show.

It's time to go.

Prayer words are swear words.

Not scare words.

It's impolite to stare at strange birds.

Round up those cattle herds.

Stop hanging around such nerds.

Tu eres loco en la cabeza.



Juan Billet Cinco de Mayo 2014.

Glasses Of Molasses

“Glasses Of Molasses”


Any emotion has a second.
All color has a new sound.
Each second has a different color.
Every sound is a beautiful day.
Suns have daughter planets.
Planets are alive in the solar system and die in the cosmos.
Died yesterday and turned into the bark of a birch tree.
Dug like a beadle.
Turned on the music’s melodies.
There were whistling flutes and tambourines’ bongos.
A touched, time traveler’s, troubadour’s tune.
I sat on a full moon.


By Jonathan Billet-revised 05.06.14.

Developing Thoughts

"Developing Thoughts"




Creating new concepts and developing new ideas.

Everyday and all the time is my imagination's mind.

The sun lights up the sky for the ages.

I cry for the times.

A lost desert sandstorm blows as I lose my way.

I find my way.

Doing dances with the flappers in the twenties.

Making a fortune in the sixties.

Felt my beauty in Camelot.

Drinking a hot toddy at my brother's in Grand Junction.

Sleeping at my mother's in Woodstock.

Visiting in Valhalla.

Watching the city's nights.

Tomorrow will always be a new chapter to these days.

Do I have to stay away?

From these days?




By Jon Billet 05.04.14. - dedicated to A. Dudette

Notable Quotable

                        'Notable Quotable'




"Feed the Crumbs to the big birds.  Let them
eat cake."



By and for me- Jonathan Billet
05.01.14
       

Seizure's Times

                                            "Seizure's Times"

The silence is deafening.

It surrounds me.

Sometimes I can hear the silent space.

Orange moon-birds fly around a funky, purple sun.

To the timing of a gigantic, chiming, unheard beat of a grandfather's clock.

Just like the atomic clocks in the submarines.

Three hours away from that usual day-

The children whistle the world's chanting mantra.

A raven catches the sun.

When one dies, do they cease to exist?

Or do they live on?

They have been plucked from thin air.

To another world not in ours.

They are dybbuks.

Existence, for them, is a short period of time.

Now, like a puff of smoke they have dissipated.

Only someone's recollection in a dream.

Like their own world is.

Is this really a vision that can't be touched or seen through?

A fake revelation or a life's death?

A frozen snapshot's flash dream?

Live in a world soon to be departed?

Part of my loose stair step I kick back and forth.

Into and out of place and space.

It's morning and I'm still connecting with myself.

Darkness on- in the artistic outside.

My brain is drained and I can't think yet.

My morning coffee, please.

I'll wake up.

Please don't rush me.

Goodnight again for the last time.

A.M.---I.M.




By Jonathan Billet A.M. 05.01.14.

Misquoted

"Misquoted"

This is the garbage I've made up until now.

Please let me live another twenty years.

I will write more trash, I promise.

One of those days I will write a decent line.

I quoted the quote wrong.

It really read, "I'd rather be swimming in my coffee than drowning in my tears."

The other day, Cosimo came into the store and it started to pour indoors.

Everybody pulled out their umbrellas.

It was hot outside and the sun was shining.

Writing of the weather, how did you like the snowstorm?

I was in the same organic food store downstairs from my apartment.

Talking to my Israeli friend with the thick accent.

My buddy Zor makes the women go crazy.

Joel, the Mexican worker was with us.

I watched the blizzard blow by and saw an occasional customer come in.



Jon Billet revised 04.30.14.

Silently Sleeping

                                   "Silently Sleeping"


Listening to your music is divine.

Can deaf people hear birds chirping in the middle of a cold winter?

In a summertime's dream perhaps!

Can a rock listen to sound?

What about the birds in a majestic sky as they fly by?

God yawns and lets out a sigh as the world lets out its cry.

It will die.

The streets reflect moonlight.

A sun shines for the blind.

Life teaches what it preaches.


By Jonathan Billet- 04.26.14

A Toxic Sky

"A Toxic Sky"





Be-bop and hip hop.

Rock and soul.

A rapper's role.

Play that honxy

 toxic music.

Fiery, funky,

 quick beat.

Racing to their

 heart's

dancing feet.


By Jonathan Billet