Green Moons Arise!...

"Green Moons Arise!..."



Green's moon rise.

Blue sunset glitters' guise.

The tranquilizing skies are made from huckleberry pies.

A sunshine filters cigarettes into the star night's brights' lights.

Scorched black potatoes and the pits of purple tomatoes.

Tasteless sum of golden bitter rum and scotch's hip hop dances.

Yesterday's tomorrows borrows its sorrows.


A crow goes to only where minds' imaginations grow.

You must know it's nowhere not there.

Love and life are unfriendly and very unfair.


Students will bend rules.

Beggars lose while lovers choose.


Winter's windows, fell out of, and into place.

The missing link hunts in prehistoric cyberspace.

I attended C. W. P. at Pace with a younger face.




Jon Billet- 01/25/16

Blind Night

"Blind Night"




You Can't See Anything At All-

If You're 100 Feet Tall.

You May See Everything If You Are 3 Inches Small.

Sometimes I Feel Like Both.

One Or Another, Or Neither Nor To Store.



Inside My Mind's Translucence Vault.

I Hear A Call, While The Blue Telephone Is Ringing.

When It Happens, I Hear My Mind's Joyous Singing.



Is This The End Of A New Beginning?

Or The Beginning Of An Ending?



What  Messages Are You Sending?

Could They Be An Art's Creation Rainbow's Rendering?

Depending On What Is To Be Soon Pending?



It's An Unknown Teaching.

For Which, None Are Reaching.

But Many Are Beseeching.



Stop The Silent Screaming.

Am I Only Daydreaming?

Or In A Hot Room Which Is Steaming?

Fiery Molten Lava's Volcanoes In My Brain Are Streaming.




Jon Billet-01/22/16

Walker's Talkers

   "Walker's Talkers"




I do the walk but I don't know how to talk.

A walker's walker.

The walkie talkie

under my bed.

Just below your head.

Better off later than dead,

I never spoke or said.

Written with a red dye's invisible India ink pen.




Jon Billet-01.21.16

When The Sh** Falls Down

  "When The Sh** Falls Down"




When the sh** falls down,

the world will come around.

It's not hidden, just found.

As a town clown, I must frown.



Won't make a sound to me.

They are blind sunlit mirrors, that we can't see.

A costly lesson for the free.

To be is to be at a speakeasy.




Jon Billet -01/21/16

dOW JONEs

  "dOW JONEs"



A patch of outer space's yellow and green.

Far up in the sky as could be seen.

As high as a weather satellite can fly.
Mighty high!...



Will it snow?

Only if you know.

Today it may.

Or It may be another day.

What your say?



As far as I can discern it's of no concern.

Will it rain tomorrow?

I don't follow.



The weather is opaque and hollow.

The Gods cry, in all their sorrow.

I can even hear an echoing sky.

As their tears roll by...



Jon Billet - 01.21.16

Won A Battle

  "Won A Battle"



I fought the war and lost.

Don't want to fight anymore.

I'm sick of fighting.



To many answers and lots of questions.

Most answers are questions.

The question goes unanswered in a life's time.

Answers live in the question.

With time, like a prayer, questions are answered.

After we are dead.

Why pray for answers when they are questions?



Do days belong to nights?

The nights to days?

Do we belong to either?

if we sleep in a dream that really doesn't exist?...



Be-at the cafe today.

Is life a question mark?

Only the riddler's fiddle knows for sure.

Seriously?

Or just fooling?

I wouldn't know a horse from a tree after I'm dead.

And life is so short and precious.



I must be a moron or a genius, or both.



A. Bunker Gets Bombed.

I dabble in scribble scrabble.

A Jive talker.



Peace and love for man's kind.

Thanks God.



Jon Billet-01.19.-16

THEN MOST ANSWERS ARE QUESTIONS.

THE ANSWERS  LIE IN THE QUESTIONS.

ARE QUESTIONS ANSWERED?

LIKE PRAYERS, I THINK, GIVEN WITH TIME, AND
ONLY TIME WILL TELL, THEY ARE.

ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS NEVER ASKED BUT
ONLY PRAYED FOR?


BREATHE DEEPLY AND COUNT TO THREE
THEN EXHALE.

BE-AT THE CAFE TODAY.

IS LIFE A QUESTION MARK?

ONLY THE RIDDLES KNOW FOR SURE.


SERIOUSLY?

I WOULDN'T KNOW A HORSE FROM A TREE,
EVEN IF I COULD SEE ONE!...

THEN I MUST BE AN IDIOT OR A MORON,
OR BOTH.

I COULD NEVER TELL, OR WOULD BE ABLE
TO TELL, EVEN IF I COULD.


SORRY RABBI-GOT TO GO TAKE MY MEDICINE.

GOOD LIGHT!

A. BUNKER GETS BOMBED.

I DABBLE IN SCRIBBLE SCRABBLE.

PEACE AND LOVE FOR MAN'S KIND.

THANKS GOD.



JON TO THE REBBE J.S.

Bella Tutu

"Bella Tutu"





I took a cold shower on a frigid day.

I'm writing poetry in a joyous way.



100 businessmen, 10,000 sailors, and 14 gypsies.

All are making love and happiness to the sea goddess, Aphrodite.



Bella Tutu works for a living, modeling in New York City.

Her cousins are all Hollywood starlets.

Bella has many friends on her Facebook page.

I asked her for an autograph.

She gave me a photograph of herself, instead.



It's dripping snow dust from the clouds.

New Hampshire is much colder than New York...

I am buried alive in a dream.



A brunch in Larchmont, with the world renowned model, Bella Tutu.

The strict diet, consists of caviar, pate, and biscuits.



Bella broke my heart.

Now all I have to remind me of her, is a Facebook's memory.

The photo hangs on my wall, with her tail wagging.





Jon Billet's-07/18/16

The Circus Fee

   "The Circus Fee"





Creation is the beginning of an imagination.

Life is for salvation.

It is a miraculous caterpillar's realization.

A life of a metamorphosis' relaxation.



Why then does mankind's legislation cause such instigation?

In its never ending regurgitation.



If the problems are part of a solution.

What solution?

Another revolution?

Or more pollution?



I would like to get close to a tree.

And it could show me how to see.

Will this ever be?

Without even smoking tea?

Not charging any fee.

Would it be free?




By Jon Billet

A Hot Sun's Rum

"A Hot Sun's Rum"       



A sun is full of hot rum.

The world is on the run.

I watch from up above.

For my fun.

Some fuc*** just shot me with his gun.



I can't see my shadow reflecting.

But I may be speculating.

In somebody else's dream, made up last month.

My shadow took a 10 foot fall.

Outside The Wailing Wall.

I'm not dead, but 12 dozen feet small.


Don't want to come back here anymore.

I am not sure what's in store.

So I won't go knocking at your door.

To your hallway's floor.

Life is really a bore.


Love Jon Billets'

Andrea

"Andrea"



Thanks for the happy smile.


It lifts a sad world a mile.


You make my melancholy sky, a jolly one.


A yellow rising sun can be fun.


Makes the tearing fountain pens run.


Living life can be a complex pun.




A mind's quick rush induced high.


Black and orange butterfly floats by.


Poetry's pumpkin's pie.


Below the sky.




Dew drops ascend into the clouds.


The singing song maker endows.


Like you, to me, with your heartfelt vows.




Tomorrow's borrowed time, today, will never go away.


Always to stay.


To love you for another day.


All in the way you speak what you say.


In your heavenly sent wordplay.


Spoken to me last Saturday.




On Jon Billets' Birthday In May.

A Flipped Wig

"A Flipped Wig"




I lost my father's hair and picked up my mother's mustache.

I walked to my local barbershop and got my beard shaved off.


Now I wear a Beatles wig over my head.


It's contagious and now there's tons of lost hair all over the world.


With nobody to wear it.


It's all right, the world's people will have to go bald.


Until I can grow my hair back.



Using my montblanc pen.

I write about the hairy bears.

Seen outside my den's window.

Opposite the world's baldness.



My hair is falling all over the floor.


I'm growing out of balding, with follicle tonic #4.


When my hair grows back, the world will be hairy forevermore.



Jon Billet To Andrea Dish - 01.08.16

O.D.'S TEA

 "O.D.'S TEA"




In the land of sea hung a dude named O.D.

His friend J.B. took an o.d. of too much green tea.

Their friendship is black and white, blue and green, yellow and purple's rainbows colors too.

It's free to be.

Seems to me.

That's the way it will always be.

Can you see?

Too few to be.

So many, I can see.

In the sea which turns the key of C.

Poetry or not to be?

A Steinway played by a flea.

Busted knee.



To My Buddy O.D.

From His Buddy, J.B.







By Jon Billet to O.D.

A Mighty Hip One.

Who Loves His Fun.

I Knew Him In A Poetic Pun.

Underneath The Rising Sun.

Tower Of Babel

"Tower Of Babel"




I have spent the last few years living in Tower of Babel.


Where I learned how to write in scribble scrabble and speak the psycho babble.


I hear loud noises above my head.


All that were spoken by the Gods' thunder clapping.


I repeatedly said, "It's dark out and I'd like to take you to bed."

So take your afternoon's med and don't drop dead.


My head was heavy like lead and I fled.



Which way to the latrine?

Better wipe your a** with Mr. Clean.

In your disgusting bar scene.

"Try to stop being so mean," I scream.

While drinking wine and eating ice cream.



The stream in my mind flows.


Although it doesn't know where it goes.


Probably up my nose.


Tickling my toes.



Kissed thousands of women's feet.

Made my days complete.

To you, nobody can compete.

So pull up a chair and have a seat.

Lets move to The Charleston's beat.

Feel my heavy heat.

Caressed your behind underneath a sheet.
                                                                                       


Jon Billet-01.08.15

Love Me

    "Love Me"




Stoplights are slowing.

Lovers will be coming and going.

Always thriving and growing.



Artists ready to go for another show.

Playing songs about Vincent Van Gogh and Edgar Allan Poe.



A Poet writes a poem that is barely known.

New sun shines always shown.



Talk to me and let love stay for a new day.

To love is to pay in this endless romantic play.

For this night listen to what I say.



Something found in grassy grounds.

We pump in rhyming sounds.

As a single heart furiously pounds.

One, as two, of the same loves.




To Abagail From Yours -

Jon Billet-01/06/16

Reflective Lights

  "Reflective Lights"




Refraction's sunlight reflects shadows on my walls.

Plays havoc on the mind's sleep.

I leap into a steep floor.

Only to run out an exit's door.

Flying into thin air without a second to spare.

I will disappear and reappear within a year.

How this magic transpires is only clear to me.

A vision which never happens and no one can see.



It costs sweat to be free.

Air is lost and water bought at such cost.

Soil and oil are commodities over which they fought.

Men died and women and children cried.

While the livers told lies to stay alive.

As a breeze blew by in a burgundy sky.



Garbage was tossed as teeth were flossed.

The livers bossed and the lovers lost.

Living lessons taught and learned.

By those whom it may have concerned.




Jon Billet - 01-06-16

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.


A music box is in it.



It won't take long to write these songs.


The ideas brought and sold are one.


Drinking too much cheap rum.


It takes a sum.



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


Watching Jupiter's jumping moons.


While eating ice-cream sushi with soup spoons.


Made in musical tunes.

Found tucked away for summers coming noons.




By Captain Stardust or Jon Billet

It's Life

"It's Life" When the sun did not come up and peace was declared on war. In my dream, seagulls shadows were cast in sunlit oceans. People fell out of bed, dead. Nothing was heard but crying of the sea's world. I am drinking from a bottomless pit. Down below it's not well lit. Jon Billet-01.04.16

Jasper's Eyeballs

    "Jasper's Eyeballs"




All the mugs wear different rugs on their heads.

Some don't have any hair to wear at all.

Big ears, and mugs, with eyes that cry plenty of tears.

Quietly concentrating, trying to see through the rain-

covering the windshield- on the way from Boston to New York.

Driving alone, in my eyes, thick glasses along with the sick asses.



I am a man of many faces and different thoughts.

Riding from the old Boston Post Road.



A butterfly's shadow follows me as I travel through a hot sunspot.

Meadows of grass, where painted cows graze.

Through a thick haze, the days pass.



Is darkness a bright dawn?

Am I a chess pawn?

Backyard's lawn?



Did someone turn out the lights?

Where days turn into nights.

I saw all those ancient sights.

In my mind, without any rights.




Jon Billet-01.03.16

Dennis Lessons On 2 N.S.

"Dennis Lessons On 2 N.S."




A hidden magical waterfall on a snow covered mystic's mountaintop.

I jump on a different planet and other shores.

What a life doesn't present, it ignores.

Rock me from my cradle into a grave.

What Dennis taught me I'll always save.

Return of my sanity is what he gave.

In a Taj Mahal's St. Vincent hall.

When 2 North South let out a call.

After a maniac fall.

My belt and shoes make me feel ten feet tall.

My world is so small.

Life and love make a difference, after all.





Jon Billet

Until Death Do I Part

"Until Death Do I Part"





The amount of pumps thrust on your toilet plunger is a number of years you will live.

Balls get squeezed and  breasts twisted until you die.

I'm fifty thousand books, ten thousand poems old.

About a million meals, seventy thousand hours of sleep, and seventy months awake.

I will always be younger then you are.

That's twenty five days and three light years of tomorrow today.



Old treasure, and new pleasure.

Walking in Golden Gate Park, at my leisure, tickles me pinkish green.

I am part of the hippy scene.

Roll over red rover, I dance around in clover.



An impish dybbuk causes me all kinds of problems.

It sneaks in, while I'm sleeping in bed and takes my time away.

The things I own are my possessions and poems.

These will be taken from me forever.

Whenever the mischievous space imp decides.



The world's words will repeat themselves.

In their own foolish ways.




Jon Billet Redone 12/31/15