Rhyme Time

"Rhyme Time"

Have time for a rhyme?

Can time possibly rhyme?

There is a rhyme for every time and a time for every rhyme.

Time in each rhyme and rhyme in every time.

A genuinely great rhyme rhymes in time.

Rhyme – Time – Rhyme!

Rhyme!  Rhyme!  Rhyme!

All the time, it’s time to rhyme!

Rhymes rhyme from time to time – time to time to time – rhyme to rhyme to rhyme.

…Time to rhyme to time.

People live like a silver dime – worn before its time –

Trying to work in rhyme – getting caught up in the sickening repetitious time.

Reason is to rhyme, as rhythm is to time.

Too old to be doing time and too young to be writing rhyme-

It’s the age to be doing time in a rhyme!!!

An inspired rhyme – “One day at a time.”

In my spare time, I try to write a good rhyme.

Taking my time in a rhyme.  A good rhyme takes time to rhyme.

Living on a dime at a time while searching for a golden rhyme.

Rhyme after time – Time after rhyme – Rhyme after rhyme.

Rhyme about time – Time about rhyme.

Time is no crime – neither is rhyme – the two are divine.

One tedious day in time – earning dime to dime – year after year – rhyme after rhyme.

Rock N’ Scroll on line is musical rhythm and rhyme.

Listening to a lute – playing by flute – in a dream about time.

Conch’s echoes whisper time – Wind chimes’ songs sing in rhyme.

P.S. – I hope you enjoyed this rhyme

Written by a writer past his prime

Learning to write a pleasing line in a lost book found in time.

P.S.S. – Thanks for taking the time to read my rhyme.

I think anyone can rhyme time!!!!!!

Or is it all in my mind???

Please remember this quote of mine –

“Life’s sublime when it changes from a riddle into a rhyme.”

By Jonathan Billet

Completed 01/01/10

I got on a computer and dropped myself a line.


I got mierda cajones.


I was feeling great b4 too much scotch and 12 dozen doughnuts.


I dreamt that I was possessed by Satan.


Not of my own doing.


I understand, that is always the case here on Earth.


Through no fault of God's, there was an Adam's apple.


Is this a dream's Garden of Eden?


Answer me please, my love.


I'm writing to you.

J. Billet

Mango Mix Manifesto

Mango Mix Manifesto

Hi!  I’m as smart as Adolf The Wallpaper Hanger or Joe the Plumber.  Actually, I’m the bastard son of Della Street and Perry Mason.  A product of an affair between Judge Judy and Dr. Phil.  I’m about 20 million of the world’s people; I really don’t exist.  When the feeling hits me, I turn into George Reeve, being filmed backwards in slow motion as I change from Clark Kent into Superman in the alley behind The Planet News Building.  This scenario is played by an amateur movie projector to an audience of thugs my Public Enemy #1.  This footage is blowing my Clark Kent cover.  I have rid Metropolis of all the rest of its criminals with only Public Enemy #1 to catch.  Public Enemy #1 travels incognito to the world, but I discover his true identity and put him behind bars with all the rest of his cohorts.  My fantasy feeds my ego.  I even bought a Superman outfit to put in my closet, so on Purim I could “Come Out Of The Closet.”  I Don’t even live in a real world, and my writing reflects my world of egocentric fantasy.  Gay???  No, sorry!!!  I actually believe I work for a Great Metropolitan Newspaper and get my stories from the yellow pages.  It’s true, I’m well connected – know all the operators, and the only enemy I have is the clock.  Eat frozen dinners from dog bowls.

            I sit on the park bench the town of Larchmont provided for me to dream about doing tropical rain dances on other cities’ park benches.  I attend a psych hospital where I get a shot in the rear monthly.  My doctor loves to play with my ass in a Freudian Anal Fixation, and he’s Jewish.  I thought the rear’s ass was a German thing.  Actually, I’ve never done that, but have come pretty close.  Look, if you think I’m a Hitler’s Anti-Semite, you’re correct, but I’m a Jewish one.  Heil Hitler’s heinie honey. 

            Speaking of God as I’ve written before in my poetry, He has a good sense of humor.  God needs our help – God needs all the help he can get – you would too if you were overseeing hell below.  I believe God may write in Braille and can’t talk, as well as being color blind.  Like our pet dogs who lead us, he has almost supernatural hearing.  Have I broken the faith yet?  Is this blasphemy?  Yes it is.  Yes we are.  Ten Commandments for a billion dollar’s fools.  If money were words, we’d all be rich.  I could use a still shot of Starbuck’s booze.

            They say I’m nuts, but the world cracks me up.  So much so, I could swim from NY to China and back in my laughter’s tears.  I know the business leaders, including my good friend and financial consultant – Chauncy Gardener.  I understand he worked for Old Man Kennedy, and now works for The Rand Corporation.  I have consulted with the best psychiatrists in the world, and briefly attended The Shuffhassen Clinic in Austria, directed by Dr. Emile Shuffhassen III.  I am really a child named Joshua Baskin, who plays many games with other people.  “I’m a Baby.”

            Any hoot, some jerks say I should sing my writing.  I respect all opinions, comments, and catcalls – See, I’m a bubblegum rapper and a finger’s snapper!

            Like everybody else, I’m stuck inside an idiot box.  Sometimes I read my ideas, but usually experience them in somebody else’s dreams.  Wet Ones!!

Love, a friend named Jon Billet

The San Francisco Art School Dropout

B.S.P. – “Can’t draw a straight line, but can write a good one!!!”

What Kills Me

“What Kills Me”

What I don’t know probably won’t kill me – it’s what I do know that hurts.

God might be a conductor – composing music to my satisfaction.

Sometimes I think we are all actors – Shakespeare thought so.

If this is the case – then maybe we don’t live in the real world.

It’s possible the entire universe is made up of giant matzo balls.

Even Fort Knox is full of cream cheese, bagels, and lox.

Any first year economics student can tell you that.

Money is full of bittersweet honey.

Every person pays.

The bus ride was dreadful.  These morons right next to me were talking about how you had to suffer through extremes of body temperatures before you could experience death and feel a great suffering, agony, and pain.

I suffer through enough crap without listening to garbage.

I say, put them in a freezer and lock them in.

Maybe then they’ll know what the hell they’re talking about.

All of these jerks belong in the produce department.

Stick them with the frozen fish.

If they’re looking for fright – let them enlist.

Lots of love, my friend.

Jonathan Billet

Hypnotic Seconds

“Hypnotic Seconds”

Babies rock in cradles and roll on their dreidels.

I went off my rocker and wanted to go home to fall asleep in my bed.

I dreamt I was dentally – ill in Nazi Germany’s Kristallnacht.

I was convinced of these theories.

Col. Beethoven – Beethoven’s younger brother ate popped corn from the corner store’s popping machine.

Made love during a storm at a stream in Wishing Well, Colorado.

Flew to Banana Sprouts, California, where I ate Brussels and Bean Sprouts.

The Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art flooded.

A collection of paintings ran into each other, forming a black pond.

I rowed my boat for fays but found no survivors in this puddle of soot.

A self–portrait of me rowing is the only painting the museum now displays.

The Joint Commissioner of Garbage Waste Disposal drove me around Larchmont as we passed by Engine #33 from Mamaroneck.

I came up from a peep hole underground in Greenwich Village, New York.

Peepers eat crumbs from tables and benches in the parks.

I toked on a transparent tube from a tuchus.

We heard Armstrong playing jazz into Gabriel’s Horn.

I don’t understand my own writing, because I can’t read it.

Never is Forever.

Never Love You.

By the B.S. Artist Named J. Billet

The Fastest Day

“The Fastest Day”

The fastest day is the most fun one.

The experience astounds me.

Eh, Eh, Oh, Oh, Uh huh – solid rocks of seconds – get lost in a moving moment.

Divide and multiply as seconds fly by – this is called, “United Mutation.”

No fake or unreasonable anticipation.

I still got bull chips that are bigger than my shoulders.

I’m full of bull – but it’s OK.  I’m a Taurus.

When I grow up, I’m going to run around and play.  I’ll even learn to write and read things about life.  

I’ve just begun to open my eyes and breathe.

Mi Dio… I’m so young and new – only one shiny penny old, and still growing like a flower.

I get richer, wealthier, and wiser with each passing hour.

There’s joy and sun to share from my silent days in the womb

Soon I’ll be in my tomb.

Jonathan Billet 03/20/12

A Short Note

A Short Note

You could say I am an anti-dentite if you were to describe me.  I’d hate to have my teeth pulled almost as much as I would hate to have my leg pulled.  You know the swollen cheek with the bandage around my face.  But while under the gas, I’d like to dream that I was catching the stars with a butterfly net and catching fish with a mosquito net.  I was daydreaming about the idiocy of the moment.  A never-ending catharsis for an eternity.  If all the wars were stopped, the pacifists would have nothing to fight about.  The conflicts will end in cyber wars and hydrogen bombs.  Our parties are red, white, and blue, like tennis balls or golf balls, and skin colors.  And this red, white, and blue of the 21^st century will be the black, white, and grey of the 22^nd century’s 50’s black and white T.V. screen.  Time will be left if war strikes.  No more pacifists bickering amongst themselves.  Time can move forward and backwards, and bounce on a trampoline.  Time speaks louder than all words.  Time can even stand on its head!  The world may call me the dead beat’s poet, a deadbeat poet, or the dead’s beat poet.  A deadbeat poet or whatever it wants.  Getting back to time, it can do pushups and sit-ups, squat thrusts, and deep knee bends.  It pushes us around unfairly.  Don’t mess with father time!  Time is worth all the treasures on earth and more.  Blue is green and yellow is white.  Why not pacify instead of fight?  Why not sit and shit, and suck and love?  Writing makes me so giddy.  I haven’t taken my medicine:

1. An amantadine

2.  Three fluphenazines

3.  One clonazepam

4.  A vitamin D pill.

5.  One omeprazole – quantity 30 – 2 refills.

I’m sorry I’m loaded on the psychiatric drugs, but life’s dice are also very loaded against the house.  “The drugs” are what they were called in the 60’s Minnesota Gold.  In my eyes, I see lights of different colors, shapes, and sizes. 

Zeek Zucchini alias J. Billet

Science Diction

"Science Diction"

When I read Dr. Suess’ “Fox In Sox,” I realized he had a better command of spoken diction than any writer of the 20^th century.  One of the greatest poets ever.  Better than Ginsberg, or Blake, or Lorca, or any other spoken writer.  In his simplistic child-like naïveté, is the mind of a true genius.  The mind of a child is like real poetry – unfiltered and beautifully descriptive innocence.  I would like to read someone else’s work and have them read mine.  More of that should be happening aloud.  I would be honored to read, “Fox in Sox” on the local television cable access channel.  The words are tricky to pronounce, like an exotic language; yet they all have a universal science of diction and meaning.  Seuss’ pictures tell the story of a common theme of humorous humanity.  Thank you Connie for giving me this challenging book and helping me realize that like life, his writing is complex frustration in a humorous fashion.  All the words are intricate and distinctive, like cultures and languages, but if read enough, can be understood by foreigners.  It is like a Bhuddist mantra – Am One or Oneness.  Looks and physical features of people are really one in the same.  Were all humans who share exactly the same needs and wants and yes, in our own primitive way – values.  Our goal is to live and survive as well as we can.  I love Dr. Suess’ humanity and deep grasp of the humor of the human spirit in all its commanding strength and testing spoken representation.  Realize how frustrating this language of life really is, and express it with humor and love, like the greatest poet ever.  Humanity speaks louder than misinterpretations of the human being.  Love us all, you universal God.

Thank God’s

J Billets

P.S.  The human primitive primate is what we all are, no matter how technologically or scientifically advanced.  Smart and idiotic are two very lovely and funny words.  Like all the other animals, God sees us for all our complex idiocy.

Life Is And Isn't

"Life Is And Isn't"

Life isn't death - It's love.
Life is love and love is happy and sad.
Life isn't fair - it's unfair.
An apple isn't an apple - it's a pear.
Life isn't unjust - it's just not just.
Life isn't bad - it's just not good.
Life isn't slow - it's fast.
Life isn't fast - it's slow.
Life isn't pretty - it's pretty ugly.
Life isn't age - it's growth.
Life isn't hot - it's cold.
Life isn't exactly a simile - it's a metaphor.
Life isn't solid - it's a liquid gas.
Life can't be seen - it can be heard.
Life isn't hate - it ain't love either.
Life ain't lost - it's found.
Life is a mystery, but it's obvious too.
Life is lost but always found.
Life isn't wet - it's dry.
Life ain't stoned - it's cold stoned sober.
Life ain't peace - it's a warrior’s peace.
Life ain't smart - it's stupid to the smart idiot.
Life isn't a walk - it's a ride.
Life ain't easy - it's hard.
Life ain't smooth - it's rough.
Life isn't a table - it's a chair.
Life is an opinion - it's also a fact.
Life ain't a push but a pull.
Life ain't a hand - it's a foot.
Life ain't no floor but a door.
Life is 2.
Life ain't 6 or 4.
Life ain't less, it's more.
Life - less or more - is a big score.
Life ain't a hat.
Life is a head.
Life ain't bald.
It's hairy.
Life ain't smooth.
Life is rough.
Life is easy too.
Life isn't black, but it's blue.
Life is a few.
A few too many.
Life ain't a reflector.
But it's our own reflection.
Life ain't black or white - it's black and white.
It can be gray depending on month of day.
Life ain't a story I'm told.
Another fact or opinion?
It's always many sided - like a building.
Life is drinking too many beers, then throwing up tears.
Life is dragging on air.
Life ain't fair.
Life is for the just few.
Is it just for you?
Not for me!
Life is a tree.
For all to feel and see.
Love is hate.
Love is love repeated over and over.
Life is full - of bull.
It's got pull.
Shove it!
Life is a bird.
Life is the sky.
No artificial high.
Life is a dog.
Life is a cat.
Life is like a cursed rat.
Life is animal, vegetable, mineral, or human.
Life is fuzzing when it's buzzing.
Life is high.
Life is low.
Life is yellow.
Life is green.
Like I say, life can be grey.
Life is blue.
Life is old and life is new.
It's getting old for a few.
A few billion.
Life is remembered.
Life is forgotten too.
Life is like a car or truck.
A 16 wheeler.
Life is the wheeler-dealer.
Life ain't complex - but beautifully simple.
Life ain't a newspaper - more of a disguised television set.
Life ain't hungry - it's starving.
Life is like a scented flower.
A flying insect.
Life is too seldom humble but often proud.
Life is much less.
Life is much more.
                                             You'll find your life’s beginning makes ends meet.
                                             Life - like my poem, you'll find incomplete.
                                             But a rare treat, like an old repeat of your steady heartbeat.

M.E. + Mary Ellen

"M.E. + Mary Ellen"

Like my mother and I were, M.E. is powerfully frail.

Spring for birth's morning.

Winter for death's night.

All the joy turned to mourning.

Morning for winter, summer, spring, and fall.

I met her several summers ago outside Aroma soliciting business on a chair at a desk.

I talked with her about recording opinions about clouds.

She was full of correct opinions.

Until I thought they were facts.

She catches stars with a butterfly net and the breezes with a fishing one.

D.C. is her second home, Spain her third, although for now, this is her home.

M.E. is as sweet and delectable as her blond hair and blue eyes are to others.

She loves the children and they love her.

Chocolate milk cooled to their satisfaction's delightful tastes.

She's a spoiler.

M.E. somehow spoils others to childish silliness.

She strikes me just so!

I should know.

The world loves her steady flow.

 

J. Billet's

To Whom It May Concern

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:

WE ARE A MENTALLY ILL PATIENTS GROUP OF CITIZENS AGAINST THE WARS.  A NON-FOR-PROFIT, COMMON DENOMINATION, LOOSELY ORGANIZED, SENSELESS ORGANIZATION.  WE ARE AGAINST ALL WARS, RIGHT OR WRONG, TRUE OR FALSE, REAL OR IMAGINED.  WE ARE LIKE THE QUAKERS BUT WE ABSTAIN FROM THE OATS.  WE ARE DISORGANIZED AND VERY INFILITRATED.  WE ARE SPIES FOR THE F.B.I.'S.  WE ARE YUPPIES, YIPPIES, HIPPIES, AND FLAPPERS, TURTLE SNAPPERS AND HAND CLAPPERS.  ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS USE YOUR MIND ONCE IN A LIFETIME --------- BE A MEMBER OF "THE DEAD BEAT'S POETRY SOCIETY."  DON'T BUG OUR PHONES, WE'LL BUG YOURS.  OUR MOTTO IS "BE A PHONY."  FOOL EVERYONE BUT YOURSELF BY NOT VOTING.  BE A PART OF THE SILENT MAJORITY.  I MEAN THE REAL MAJORITY OF OUR COUNTRY, THE DEARLY DEPARTED.  ALL TOU HAVE TO DO IS STICK YOUR RIGHT INDEX FINGER UP YOUR LEFT NOSTRIL TO JOIN - CONTACT US AT: MASTER@THE.DUNGEON.COM



1.  JONNIE GOLDPRICK
2.  ANONYMOUS BOSCH
A.  RALPH NADELL
C.  DELLA STREEP
D.  LT. OHURU
G.  COL. SCHULTZ
3.  McARTHUR DOUGLAS
4.  WALT JACKASS
5.  COL. CORN FLAKE
6.  DAVID JONES
7.  PORKY PIG
0.  GRANDFATHER CLOCK

WE ARE BOARD CERTIFIED KOSHER RABBI PSYCHOLOGISTS UNDER

DIRECT SUPERVISION OF

DR. SIGMUND F. FUDD M.D. F.A.C.S.
N.Y. STATE PRACTICING PHYSICIANS

Lucky Leprechaun

"Lucky Leprechaun"

"Andy saw that mischievous leprechaun Shemus doing an Irish Jig up a gold tree while hunting green apples to feed a hungry soul on St. Particks Day."


- Billy

Paranormalic Views

"Paranormalic Views"

My neighborhood is located next to Mamaroneck Avenue, across the street from The Stop N' Hop right near the Bagel Shop.  I got ears bigger than my mouth and my neighbors like to blab more than they like to eat.  Happy God feed the hungry slobs.  The leaders switch on their electronic brains and nod their heads to and fro to indicate yes or no.

There were shots heard round the world at the local bars.  The only bars I know of are the bars at The County Penitentiary.  Support A Local Sheriff.

Remember, a good Revolution comes only after the spin cycle is on in the washing machine, after your clothes are done and dried.  Any corrections done to this writing must be done by the Corrections Officer in Cell #5.

By J. Billet's

03/07/12

Dear Mr. Billet:

The Board is in receipt of your fax dated February 25, 2011 regarding your change of address and party enrollment. 

The Board received a voter registration form for you on February 15, 2011 where you selected Other for your party enrollment and listed "Birthday Party" as your party name.  Unfortunately the "Birthday Party" is not one of the six major political parties recognized by the NYS Board of Elections, therefore your party enrollment will be listed as "Non".

In order for your change of party enrollment to become effective this year, it would have had to be received by the Board of Elections not later than the 25th day before the next General Election.  In 2010, that date would have been October 8, 2010.  Inasmuch as your change of party enrollment was not received until February 15, 2011, your NEW party enrollment will not become effective until after the November 2011 General Election.

On February 17, 2011, your apartment number for your address was updated to 2B.

We hope this clears up any confusion on this matter.

If you need any further clarification, please feel free to contact us.

Dear J. Billet,


Thank you for submitting your poems to Poetry International, they were moving and an absolute pleasure to read.  Unfortunately, these were received after our submissions period closed.  Please visit our website for information on the guidelines for our contests: the C.P. Cavafy Prize and the Poetry International Prize.


We wish you luck placing your poems elsewhere.


Best regards,
The Editors

Things Of Iron Rust

“Things Of Iron Rust”

Sequoias in the forest of Redwoods.

A maple leaf fallen in NY Autumn.

Twinkie, the tabby cat I knew.

Van Gogh’s orange beard in painted sunlight.

Old tin coffee cups rotted over years in rains.

Your hair of camomile ruby as bold and glowing as gold named after you.

Cans of Orange Crush soda I drank at grade school picnics.

J. Billet’s 03/01/12

The Seer

"The Seer"

Green eyes.

Blue skies.

A child cries.

Life dies.

Mother of pearl.

Father of swine.

Nothing gets me by like fine wine.

Give me a sign.

To pass by my door.

Lie on all fours.

On the bedroom’s hallway’s floor.

My feet dance in my seat.

Living is always short and sweet.

Never incomplete.

Too much heat down here?

I’m always near – have no fear.

Life is dear to a seer.

Sew, don’t go?

Oh, you’ll never know.

Billet 03/01/12