Thursday, July 30, 2015

A Minor Poem

                        "A Minor Poem"




Somebody named Hall taps this telephone call.    

I can't hear a word of what he's saying.

Knowing that we're all praying.

For the new tomorrow.

With plenty of sorrow.

Today I will stay and then go away.

Waiting for the day to break.

In summer's sunshine.

More rare than divine.

Quiet sublime in the winter's rhymes.

Always mimicking me in mimes.

Show yourself up and hand me your lines.

Promise you plenty of good times.

Add spring and fall.

You will always have it all.




By J. Billet's

Tuesday, July 28, 2015

In My Eyes

 "In My Eyes"




You are priceless to me.

More than as much as a trillion tons of golden stardust in my eyes.

For me, you are a must.

Your love shines like the sun does.

The rains make it rust.

I wake up to the music in the clouds.

Softly, soothing voices, your whisper in my ear.

While the skies roll by and get me high.




by Jonathan Billet to Andrea-Revised 07/28/2015

Sunday, July 26, 2015

Puff

"Puff"




Puff on a cigar.

While attending the favorite flavors ice-cream bar.

In my mind it's distant but not too far.

I could drive it in a car.

It would take up time.

Could never rhyme.

With a copper dime.

Or an orange sign.

In life's sublime chime.

Ringing bell go to hell!

I am twenty meals old.

In a poker fold.

Aces are high.

Deuces low.

Poe's show.

By the times crow.

It's never just enough to know.

The winds off the bay blow.

A car on the red bridge needs a tow.

A dolphin sang a song.

Not for long.

It was weaker for strong.

I'm sure this is all wrong.





By Jonathan Billet knows when.

Saturday, July 25, 2015

Sleep With The Race

      "Sleep With The Race"




Sleep with the race in time's pace.

Speak before singing.

Walk after you crawl.

Stand tall, after a fall.

Listen for a birdcall.

In winded heartbreak.

Life is real and not fake.

So is death.

A beautiful finch sings its song.

Life's trail is short.

Not very long.

Rocks' cliffs above the oceans are heavy, not light.

Try to have sight.

Teething or bite.

It's impolite and not quite right.

Left and wrong.

Sing somebody else's song.

Don't be long.

Eat a knish and not bad fish.

Babies cry as old men die.

I wish I could fly.

The world has no font, only want.

It lets out a cry.

The universe's veracity is always its audacity.




By Jonathan Billet a.k.a. Captain Midnight

!a Belt

                               "!a Belt"




Everyone of us had fun and laughter in the sun.

So sings a bandito's gun.

Who is on the run.

Love you a ton.

Your life is nothing to shun.

My beautiful son.

Working overtime.

On a pun that's not a rhymer.


Got caught up in the microwavable timer.

That leaked out the floor to the store next door.

Onto the street's floor.

In the sun's heat.

It makes plastic wings melt.

Deal with the cards that were dealt.

Whipped by a belt.

You'll never know how it felt.




By Jonathan Billet-07-24-15

Thursday, July 23, 2015

Subject Numbered None

      "Subject Numbered None"





Does the beautifully orange and green bird cast a black shadow on the ground?


Fallen pieces of matter.

It would take a lifetime and more to recite the universe's counting numbers.

Infinity should be a project never finished, even after the space of time.

In the cosmic rhyme.

Infinity goes on forever, maybe never.

In a lifetime's long endeavor.

Until the heavenly bodies disappear.

Dissipates all energy, until it evaporates.

Or as water stops flowing.

It's like never finding out or knowing.

What's invisible really makes no showing.

While the world is reaping what it is sowing.

An artist's thoughts will never stop flowing.

Like a galaxy, glittering and glowing,

What will stop that never ceases growing.

The winding clock's winds will always be blowing.

To wherever it may be going!!!...





By- Jonathan Mark Billet- 07/22/2015                   

Monday, July 20, 2015

Upper Lights

  "Upper Lights"




My sights are low.

Sky is high.

The heat is hot down here.

Hope I don't fry.

The devil's got me on the run.

Can't look at the sun.

Not even during a solar eclipse.

If there is one.

The sun is no fun.

Like the moon's stars.

With their beautiful tunes.

Waiting for one to fall down.

Lost my crown, found by a circus clown.




By Jonathan Billet

Odd Number

"Odd Number"




Getting a pedicure at the mop shop store.

My recreation on a foreign shore.

Rainbow colored floor and wall.

Multi flavors of an ice creamed hall.

Behind a lovely door.

Lend me your years.

All two of them!

Not three ears.

Six eyes....spies.

Now you are very wise.

Thanks loads for your beautiful illustration of my words' worldly interpretation.

Grateful for a ton of giving me a lasting impression of that expression.




By Jon Billet's-07/19/2015

Sunday, July 19, 2015

Bridges And Walls

 "Bridges And Walls"




London bridge is falling up.

Multi-colored waterfalls are rushing down.                                       

Little James Dean broke his crown.

I couldn't speak a sound.

Wondering what was the word to Nicky's bird.

Something I couldn't pretend to comprehend.

Circus fleas drink iced decaffeinated green sea's teas.

Bumble bees buzz around the apple trees.

What is real nobody sees.

The garbage crew picks up its lost keys.

And bring them to the town dump.

They lie in a heap's lump.

Like the tumor's bump.




By Jon Billet-07/18/15

Funny Walls

"Funny Walls"




Newspaper walls.

Multi colored hues in colors' painted waterfalls.

Halls with bouncing ping pong balls.

The orange telephone calls.

She falls off her wagon and bawls.

A twenty ton star falls.

A sun that's having its fun.

We are near one.

My opinion is that the onion will make my eyes and nose run.

Much heard dead but never spoken.

Was awoken from your mind's dream stream.

Eat the frozen ice cream in the summer steam.

Is this A.M. or P.M.?

What time and day of night is it?

Sit, for a seance medium's  shit.




by Jonathan Billet---... 07/11/15

Echo's Canyon

"Echo's Canyon"




My footsteps echo in the park.

A voice I hear is moving through the dark.

Waiting for a flashing spark to light up the park.

I write for myself alone in an empty house.

I'm invisible to a tree and dogs can barely see me.

Want to swim in the sea of orange tea.

That will set the human race free.

We really all exist in a box.

The box has plenty of locks.

Like my floor door.

Nobody will share what's in store.

The creator has an invention kit.

Nobody knows what's in it.

How a music box fits into it.

It won't take long to write these songs.

The ideas brought and sold are dumb.

Like drinking too much cheap rum.

They take such a heavy sum.

To the bum of a man I am.

All alone, by myself, in one of my house's rooms.

Watching Jupiter's jumping moons.

While eating with ice-cream spoons.

Made in musical tunes.

Found tucked away for summers coming noons.





By Captain Stardust alias Captain Moonlight or J. Billet's.
<https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100008123118668&sk=allactivity#>
<https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100008123118668&sk=allactivity#>

Arriving

                            "Arriving"




I travel faster than the speed of light.

I am the sun, the moon, and the stars.

Made out of clay's earth.



I travel faster than the speed of sound.

So does my musical voice.

As I sing you a tune.



With old age comes the bags or baggage under the eyes.

It's like traveling luggage in the skies.

I counted one hundred twenty four bags in the mirror.



I love you more than the weight of a twenty ton star fallen to earth.

When it covers us in its heat and the world fizzles out.

You will still be around and about.

The world will let out its shout.

!!!Deafening no doubt...




By Jonathan Billet 07/08/2015

Friday, July 17, 2015

Morning Moon

                   "Morning Moon"




I'm mourning in the evening's afternoon.

The light turned off the night.

Stars bright in the afternoon sunlight.

Candlelight gets me uptight with fright.

Love the bright light.

It won't rob my sight?

I saw an everloving rainbow in my sleep's mind!....

The fog came out in a misty haze.

I quoted the old man's phrase.

In a sleepy rhyme.

Where there is no time.

Only the New York City flag's sign.

Let's drink and dine.

That would be a riddle rhyme.

In love sublime.

Stranger's days came and went.

In an apache television tent.

Sorry but my message was already sent.

It didn't make a dent.

I'm getting tired of being fired.

It made my mind wired.

I was told I lived to be one hundred three years old.

I didn't doubt it for a brief moment.

I told you "what's his name" was on a Lincoln cent.

Lilly's and daffy dill's scent.

No money spent.

Will I be burned?

No cash earned.





By Jonathan Billet's hand.

07/11/2015

Rhythms' Rhyme

                      "Rhythms' Rhyme"




Andy,  I did the backstroke in my glass of wine.

For the classlessness in all outer time.

I saved a dime.

In the vagabond's dancing rhyme.

A mime time.

Mighty Fine!!!...




Love & Hugs- Jon Billet's - 07/16/2015

Thursday, July 16, 2015

Bottles Of Rums

                    "Bottles Of Rums"




Won't you join me in a bottle of rum.

Hope I don't drown in this bottle of rum.

Can you swim?

if I get sick to my stomach?

Hope we don't make a mess of the place.

Out there, in inner space.

I'm turning red in the face.

Hope I don't drop dead in this place.

If you still have the will to pay the bill.

I can still swim and not get too sick.

We have to hit the water falls.

After we have thrown up the sauce we drank.

Water covering our bodies,

will sober us up.

Upside down if you're willing to tell me where to go.

Do me a favor.

Take it slow.

Don't go too low.

Under the faucet's false skies.

Made from peachy pies.

That flies highs in the skies.




Love- Jonathan Billet-07/16/2015 - To Andy.

Ringing Swell

"Ringing Swell"




A ringing, singing bell can't be heard in heaven.

Can't be seen by the blind.

Here on earth.

It's like a dead birth.

No mirth.

A string may sing.

Love will sing this song, in its magical, mystical tune.

Turquoise tune underneath a full moon.

The song will sing its tune later than soon.

During a tsunami's monsoon.

There will be a night's dawn.

The storm clouds dissipate, and are gone for the rest of this year.

In Nepal




by Jonathan Billet-REDONE 07/13/15

Poetry's Hospital Corners

                 "Poetry's Hospital Corners"




Puff on your thumb.

Puff on the white clouds.

Suck on your mama's puffy breast.

You know the rest.

Skies fall for a know it all.

Tall is small.

Where everything is nothing in life's waterfall.

Everything is really nothing at all in sheep's clothing.

Wait for hell's ascending health to get to heaven.

Greed is absolute power.

Hunger is a kind of thirst for knowledge.

Any professor can tell you that.

You really didn't know?

How could men be so low.

As it is take life too slow.

In race's heartbreaking paces.

Find decks of cards full of wild aces.

To get to inner space's places.

It shouldn't if it couldn't.

Get away to stay.
 
In the Globe's Theater play.

During some park's day.

Amaze the raining, grey's haze.




By Jonathan Billet

July Fourteenth, 2015

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

German Measles

German Measles





Heaven is floating upside down and spinning around the downtown.


Thinking an image of a key turned in a tree top tall while apples fall.


Bicycles race through outer space at a snail's pace.


The world lost face in some other place.


Knots are tied in a legalese book's shoelace.


I asked the lawyer what was the case.


She replied, your family legacy is a case of german measles.


Your relatives are all weasels.




By Jon Billet-07/15/2015

Friday, July 10, 2015

Strawberry's Patch

              "Strawberry's Patch"





I wrote some of my poetry for the patch's rabbits.



I was in the Patch.



Got hives from the Mr. buzzy bees.



It was business as usual.



So, I thought.



Had tattoos on my face, received from some place, in an inner space.



Upside down sundae, in Morse's code.



So I figured I was told.



Too old to be bold enough to inquire.



Although I always dug Esquire and Playboy.



I thought I saw them on a t.v. screen recently.



Who knows what to believe in?



Infants don't believe in anything at all.



Etcetera, etc..., etc...



The lines go both ways and goes on on forever.



So does life until it dies.



It makes cries.



Until it flies.



So bring out the bourbon's beers' ryes.



Highs in the skies.



It drys in my eyes.





By Jonathan Billet-07/09/33

Thursday, July 9, 2015

My Time's Escape

"My Time's Escape"



A future's vision.

The past present.

Yesterday's presence.

Today was tomorrow.

I fall off my feet.

In burning, humid heat.

My head is beat into the street.

I have collapsed - relapsed.

A coma's seizure.

Wish I could be inside the supermarket freezer.

It would be cooler.

My own life's ruler.

Something that is newer.

A nursery rhyme's schooler.

Fine edges' tiffany jeweler.

Always the fooler.




By Jonathan Billet
07/09/15

Floral Arrangements

"Floral Arrangements"



I want to sleep in my hammock at Aroma.

There are beautiful growing flowers there.

Many colored purples, white, and yellow-greens.

The flowers in Aroma wave back and forth, in a dance.

Photos and licence plates adorn the walls.

Car radiators cover the halls.

They sell bagels, bialys, and banana crackers too.

John will serve all kinds of coffee concoctions to you.

The celebes blend is true.

But only with your heroes Charlie Brown, Lucy, Linus, Franklin, Peppermint Patty, Pigpen, Schroeder, and Snoopy.

Who frequent this establishment with their good buddies Dave and Nick to name a few.

The construction crew is ripping up the sidewalk outdoors.

Making a buzzing sound like Dave's telephone in Aroma.

An inside-out noise.

Water electricity tunnel is off or the wrench's juice has been drained from the rubber wire.

To prevent any loud electric shocks.

Bags of nails in the urn.

Tons of pillow feathers are buried underneath Aroma.

The reason they are digging up the streets.

To strike the poor man's gold.

A story Aroma's age old.




By Jonathan Billet-Redone 07.09.15

Necrophilia

           "Necrophilia"





"It's different people, at a different time."



R.U. one of them?



For that I haven't a clue's rhyme.



Into thin air's smoke's time.



#30 days toke's time.



You gave me no sign as to what would be.



I only see what I see...



Lost custody of the perfect green sea.



Always trying to cop a plea.



"It's down to a story.



07.09.15

10:18 P.M.



P.S.  - It is only me!

Lost count on electricity.

Wednesday, July 8, 2015

Jail Cell In Auckland

                          "Jail Cell In Auckland"







The midday lights the afternoon's tip jar.



The sun shines on the ones, fives, and one ten.



Through my reflective window pane.



It's enough money to buy a pack of Indian brand cigarettes and red vino.



I eat juicy fruits in my overnight jail cell.



They stick to my teeth and I brush them when I leave home.



I take the Double L from the Bronx to Manhattan.



I walk down 110th Street off Central Park West in 1972.



So good, so far and I tip them at my local bar.



Today, it was like the tropics, without any cool breezes.



Arrive in Auckland, New Zealand in an August heat.



See many different birds in this tropical paradise.



The dryer blows and I'm in the bathroom at Starbucks.



On the pot, I see a reflection of a naked body.







By Jonathan Billet 07/07/15

My Birthdaze Cake!i!i!i!i!i!

"My Birthdaze Cake!i!i!i!i!i!"




Did you eat my marshmallow flake's birthdaze cake?



The last one I ate kept me wide awake!



It isn't the real steal like ice-cream, but it's a deal's take.



It wasn't made by accident or mistake.



Rather, a creation's fate, by a woman named Plate.





To Andy from Jon

With Love-07-07-15...

Green Phones' Tones

                                      "Green Phones' Tones"                                                                                                                               



Red light to stop, white light to go.



Green sign to live and red to die.



White to laugh - red is to cry.



Green is yes and red is no.



White light to wash and red to dry.



Red quiet, white quite loud.



Red - bad, green - good.



Green can start while red stops.



Both green and blue do the hops.



These aren't the bottom but are the tops.







I shredded today's newspapers.



Next week's, I will save.



A gangsta ended up in the cement mixer.



A workingman's lament to be knee high in cement's pavement.



Spoke in a politician's comment.



In a new political movement.



Green or red - yes or no.



So slow are the flowers to grow.



We don't even know if they are high or low.



Always take it slow or like them, you too, may go.





By Jonathan Billet-07-08-15

Monday, July 6, 2015

Sticks & Bones

"Sticks & Bones"




Sticks and stones will break my bones too.


They do hurt a few.


A brain worth a billion dollars of silent mimes.


I'm the deadbeat poet writing rhymes.


Newborns will solve all crimes in the sweetest of worldly times.


Look to the traffic lights to give you society's signs.


Is it the "Old Gold" fine?


Or a gold mine?


"Sung but never openly read."


By Mr. Potato Head.


Is it true that the birds are poisoned by rice spice?





By Mr. Potato Head alias Jon Billet

07.05.15

DESPITE IT'S FLAWS I'M CERTAIN I LIVE IN THE

GREATEST COUNTRY IN THE WORLD.  HAPPY

4TH OF JULY TO ONE AND ALL!!!...

Cloud Formation # 3

"Cloud Formation #3"




Life is a comic giggle.

Climbed out of the window and up the stairs.

To the planet's sunshine.

Had to stand on my hands, at the end of an infinite line.

Radiator steam on full, as my tea kettle sings its songs.

Barren in a dry sky.

Revealing only empty clouds.

It hot up here.

A last call for beers.

My icicle's smoke reappears.

Then catches fire.

Life is mysterious.

Multiplication by lost air.

Addition's rendition, in all of its beautiful intuition.


By Jonathan Billet-
07-03-2015...

Thursday, July 2, 2015

Newspaper Mache

               "Newspaper Mache"



I've been writing about passed time which I missed.

All people miss time.

Just a matter of how much it's missed.

I am a partial part in a teen's scene of rainbows' hues' color schemes.

60's tye dye shirt on backwards.

One kid I saw had on two different sneakers and was wearing a purple superman cape.

Has a green S on it.

He works for the Daily Planet's Worker.

Clark Kent and Phil Reisman work for the same paper.

I wear my pants inside out at the L.M.C. - T.V. studios.

Don't know about W.V.O.X.

Speaking Hindi, and reciting poetry in it, on the air.

In the clouds.

Don't subscribe to any of the publications you were published in.

Never been published.

Read a book called, "The Start Of The Steal."

Got to walk the talk!

Be a walkie talkie.

Can't speak through the phones that don't have dial tones.

Don't own any telephones.

Radios, computers, or televisions.

Lights are limited to certain times of the day, where I live.



By Anonymous Bosch alias Col. Cornflake a.k.a. Major Garbage
- 07/01/15

Fran San Cisco

"Fran San Cisco"





Unspoken words.

Poets sing ring.

The ice cream machine was part of the scene on Polk St. in the city of San Francisco.

The promised land for all.

A new call in my fall.

Part of the impossible situation.

All across our nation.

I picked it up on my television station.

L. M. C. -T.V.

V is for a voice I never had.

As a part of the silent show.

Get the fuzzy snow on my television's show.

Row my boat in a dream's moat.

There was snow this San Francisco's summer.

Which can blow the mind.

If you can catch this find.

In this ringing time for a platinum dime's head.

What I heard spoken but not said.

A beatnik's dead.

My face turned red,

A face to another place.

In San Francisco's red Golden Gate's cosmos out in space.




By Major Garbage.

Who Is We

 "Who Is We"





Who are you?



Ain't you me?



Do I belong to you?



I appear to.



Do you belong to me?



Or as I see you to be?



Taken or free?



Oui, oui, or no, no?



Will you ever let me go?



Don't-



Stay!...



At least for today.



Send an old photograph with your autograph!



I walked outside in the middle of the afternoon.



Soon to be total eclipse of your phase's sun.



Even saw the moon June.



Love you Lisa.



You just keep me hangin' around.



My messy old town.



Sue Billet

P.S.S.S. -R-S-V-P-

Deja Vu Dreams

                                                           "Deja Vu Dreams"







I got telephone calls from either Chapel Hill N.C. or San Bernardino Co., California.



Remembering parts of a cataclysmic dream I had for one night.



It lasted a lifetime of mine.



Couldn't read the sign.



I fell on the street's sidewalk and hit my head hard two times.



Two, nine times, is eighteen.



That's how old I was in my dream.



Lived to be fifteen.



Like a sexual scene from a movie screen.



Two screwy ashtrays' glass eyes in an ophthalmology clinic.



Can't see with all that smoke blowing my way.



Can barely breathe either, in the deja vu's dream.



The glass ship sails in a wooden jug.



The end of a new start's beginning.







By Randy Billet- 06-27-15

IN ORDER TO COLLABORATE WE MUST BE DIFFERENT AND INPUT

OUR TALENTS.  ADDITION OF A THOUGHT MAKES THE ORIGINAL

THOUGHT LARGER - MORE UNIQUE- AND A NEW CREATION WHICH

METASTASIZE LIKE MY MOTHER'S CANCER DID.  WE MUST DIE TO

LIVE.  I'M LIVING TO DIE.  I'M GETTING CARRIED AWAY WITH MY WORDS.





                               LOVE-BILLY