The Rains' Stains

"The Rains' Stains"



My tuxes go to the cleaner.

Life couldn't be any meaner.

The guys are at the car wash.

I'm at the bagel nosh eating lox.

People, like emotions' feelings, are attracted or repulsed.

Another opinion I had which has no minion.

Theater's stage is the human cage.

Age is just another page in the latest rage about a sage.

Museum halls are really flying, floating, white golf balls.

Waterfalls have no walls.

In a red and blue skies' mailbox made out of rocks.

Politicians wear no shoes or socks.

Lobsters cook mobsters.

Radiators leak steam.

I'm shaving my ass with whipped cream.

A clock is not what it may seem.

Feathers flowed in the sky as a cirrus cloud rolled time by.

The human's cry for a primal primate's scream?



By Jon Billet - rewritten on 05/26/2014


By Jonathan Billet P.M. 11/08/13

Silver Song And White Clouds

                  "Silver Song And White Clouds"

A tune falls down from the sky into my golden tea cup.

I drink this heavenly prayer.

It sings a psalm that whispers in my ear.

I listen to the divine song all night long.

I can hear it while I sleep and dream.

The rest of the world can hear it too.

The sun filters a ray that awakens us to a new day.

It lives a life of love.

In cumulus clouds scattered about in lazy skies above.

By Jon Billet - 04/08/13

Some People

"Some People"

A couple of people pay with their wallets and not their hearts.

That's hard to do.

As food for thought, I eat ideas at Cafe Aroma.

There are people who's involvement I enjoy.

The world can be quite thrilling.

It can charm people who it wishes to.

A few of our race can be distant and cruel.

A good deal of the world is unfortunate and starving.

They can be seen but never heard in this scripted heaven's hell.

Sometimes theirs is a grey cloud that hangs in the skies.

The atmosphere can stink.

But at other times, the very same one can smell like a scented flower's perfume.

It can even taste like a wonderful fine wine.

By Jonathan Billet 11/06/13       

Suite T's

"Suite T's"

Starlit skies under mountainous highs in the Australian outback.

I grabbed a constellation of stars.

Watch the glass shine in the sun.

The kangaroos hop and the koalas dance to a new beat.

Shuffle tired feet in one-hundred-sixteen degree desert heat.

Drive your car as far as The Oasis Bar.

The crossing in the desert is a melting black tar.

A helium balloon circles the red moon in the desert's hot noon.

I reach for the moon and pull it into my room.

Meteor showers stream to cover my face in my final resting place.

Jon Billet 11/03/13
Co-written by Molly Dudette       

To My Friend Jon - By Todd

"Jon Billet" By Cecilia

Submissions

"Submissions"

My poetry's primitive.

I suck on a wolf's tits and out flows orange tea.

My mother breast fed me until I was 3.

Now I'm 4.

Going on 5.

Events don't make any difference these days.

What for?

Why?

It's like I'm on a high.

Can't you see me writing in the African sky?

My Piper paper plane will fly by!

I may scream and cry.

But I never want to die.

by Jonathan Billet - 10/29/13