"Happy Birthday To A. Dish"
Poetry is like theater of the mind.
Where words are spoken in mime.
The mind doesn't have the day of time.
Poetry is rhythmic rhyme for all mankind.
But man has lost his way.
In the eternal spring's May.
See white bright sun knight's mysterious play.
An ultraviolet ray.
Please say that you will stay.
Never say that the world must pay.
Every day will go away.
By J. Billets -
August twenty seventh, two thousand fifteen
Friday, August 28, 2015
Jelly Belly
"Jelly Belly"
"You can't judge a book by its cover."
Can't judge a bellybutton by the person.
If it's an innie or an outie.
Judge no person by the color of their underwear.
Rather, judge them by what color it was when they were a child.
The judges judge on what they think the letter of the law is.
What do all those different letters spell?
Choose your alphabet soup for the decision.
That may cause division.
The rich get richer, the poor poorer, and the middle get squeezed.
This is the politician's concern.
Watch as they slowly start to burn.
Bury their ashes in a porcelain urn.
If you feel something biting you it may be the bullet in the a** received by Gumpy.
Given to him with a silver star.
Hop inside my jar.
We will fly to the moon on my golden tricycle's balloon.
By Jon Billet
To: A. Dudette-08/26/2015
"You can't judge a book by its cover."
Can't judge a bellybutton by the person.
If it's an innie or an outie.
Judge no person by the color of their underwear.
Rather, judge them by what color it was when they were a child.
The judges judge on what they think the letter of the law is.
What do all those different letters spell?
Choose your alphabet soup for the decision.
That may cause division.
The rich get richer, the poor poorer, and the middle get squeezed.
This is the politician's concern.
Watch as they slowly start to burn.
Bury their ashes in a porcelain urn.
If you feel something biting you it may be the bullet in the a** received by Gumpy.
Given to him with a silver star.
Hop inside my jar.
We will fly to the moon on my golden tricycle's balloon.
By Jon Billet
To: A. Dudette-08/26/2015
Chains Of Labor
"Chains Of Labor"
I will not have redemption.
I have gone beyond the point of transgressing.
My sin was the killing of an innocent man.
I'll always believe he was me.
His family will never forgive me.
Now I am an outcast among the ones who loved me.
Help me, almighty with this weight.
There is one consolation.
My rock and redeemer will always be by my side.
"Rock my soul in the bosom of Abraham, oh rock my soul."
In this state, for what I have done, they will inject me with poison.
I hear the walls tumbling down and I know this is the end of my life.
Say farewell to my three kids and wife.
I am complacent in a world rife with strife.
By Jonathan Billet-08/25/2015
I will not have redemption.
I have gone beyond the point of transgressing.
My sin was the killing of an innocent man.
I'll always believe he was me.
His family will never forgive me.
Now I am an outcast among the ones who loved me.
Help me, almighty with this weight.
There is one consolation.
My rock and redeemer will always be by my side.
"Rock my soul in the bosom of Abraham, oh rock my soul."
In this state, for what I have done, they will inject me with poison.
I hear the walls tumbling down and I know this is the end of my life.
Say farewell to my three kids and wife.
I am complacent in a world rife with strife.
By Jonathan Billet-08/25/2015
Saturday, August 22, 2015
Spirits
"Spirits"
Painting spirits-
Can see a faint spirit's globe.
It is wearing a robe.
All across the heliotrope.
Could use a shoe string.
I have no diamonds ring.
For you I sing.
Sitting on the swing.
Love You - A...Dudette
By Jonny Billet
Painting spirits-
Can see a faint spirit's globe.
It is wearing a robe.
All across the heliotrope.
Could use a shoe string.
I have no diamonds ring.
For you I sing.
Sitting on the swing.
Love You - A...Dudette
By Jonny Billet
A World's Disposition
"A World's Disposition"
Yesterday, tomorrow, and today will never pass.
Except by the world and others who don't know them.
The dawn will be a new morn.
When the world and the others will be born.
Like a song, the world carries melodies.
To please the cosmos and the enchanted worlds of dust.
But unlike the world, people will rust.
To live life to the fullest is a prophetic must.
Mother nature's bust.
In the huddle of earth's nursing.
Life is left undone like this poem.
Where we wander, we roam.
To let an ocean's floor comb the sand.
Playing a genetic string band.
New rocks in its tomb's box.
By Jonathan Billet In The Summertime's 2015
Yesterday, tomorrow, and today will never pass.
Except by the world and others who don't know them.
The dawn will be a new morn.
When the world and the others will be born.
Like a song, the world carries melodies.
To please the cosmos and the enchanted worlds of dust.
But unlike the world, people will rust.
To live life to the fullest is a prophetic must.
Mother nature's bust.
In the huddle of earth's nursing.
Life is left undone like this poem.
Where we wander, we roam.
To let an ocean's floor comb the sand.
Playing a genetic string band.
New rocks in its tomb's box.
By Jonathan Billet In The Summertime's 2015
The Golden Glow
"The Golden Glow"
If you don't realize the time is passing, you're still young.
You get old when you can feel your time passing.
But don't worry; it's never up even when you die.
So you remain young in your ongoing search for The Fountain Of Youth.
You are not even present when you die.
Relaxing and watching the show.
You're in a heavenly state of change.
For the future's time.
In a sublime nursery rhyme.
That never begins and has no end.
If you look up at the sky long enough it seems to be moving.
Because, like you, it is.
Heavenly earth, father of the skies.
Tells no secrets, but never lies.
Our lives full of climbing highs.
To mountain peaks reached in epiphanies.
By J. Billet to Edwin Billet on 08.20.2015
If you don't realize the time is passing, you're still young.
You get old when you can feel your time passing.
But don't worry; it's never up even when you die.
So you remain young in your ongoing search for The Fountain Of Youth.
You are not even present when you die.
Relaxing and watching the show.
You're in a heavenly state of change.
For the future's time.
In a sublime nursery rhyme.
That never begins and has no end.
If you look up at the sky long enough it seems to be moving.
Because, like you, it is.
Heavenly earth, father of the skies.
Tells no secrets, but never lies.
Our lives full of climbing highs.
To mountain peaks reached in epiphanies.
By J. Billet to Edwin Billet on 08.20.2015
Shit Row
LOVE ROLL N' ROCKS AND WOOGY'S BOOGIES' BLUE.
ONCE MADE LOVE TO A GIRL NAMED SUE. DIVORCED
HER FOR TAKING A BIG S**T IN A SHOE AND GETTING
EXPELLED FROM NURSERY SCHOOL. REALIZED
THIS WASN'T COOL AND I HAD BEEN A FOOL. ALL A
PART OF MY SUBURBAN RENEWAL. POETRY IS FOR
LAKES OF A MOTORBOAT'S CESSPOOL.
Jon Billet
ONCE MADE LOVE TO A GIRL NAMED SUE. DIVORCED
HER FOR TAKING A BIG S**T IN A SHOE AND GETTING
EXPELLED FROM NURSERY SCHOOL. REALIZED
THIS WASN'T COOL AND I HAD BEEN A FOOL. ALL A
PART OF MY SUBURBAN RENEWAL. POETRY IS FOR
LAKES OF A MOTORBOAT'S CESSPOOL.
Jon Billet
Thursday, August 20, 2015
Cold Blooded Politicians
"Cold Blooded Politicians"
See the politicians commit redrum.
While they chant, "red rum. red rum, red rum, red rum, and redrum."
Corporate politicians who wear underwear and smoke a fat cigar.
Always traveling, distances far, where it's sunny, for some funny money.
This poem must seem very punny.
Their noses are runny.
So are those bloodshot eyes.
Into a land of milk and honey.
Got to get jackhammer.
Back to the slammer.
Ideas, they have.
But none worth mention.
A real ascension near dimentian.
By Jonathan Billet
See the politicians commit redrum.
While they chant, "red rum. red rum, red rum, red rum, and redrum."
Corporate politicians who wear underwear and smoke a fat cigar.
Always traveling, distances far, where it's sunny, for some funny money.
This poem must seem very punny.
Their noses are runny.
So are those bloodshot eyes.
Into a land of milk and honey.
Got to get jackhammer.
Back to the slammer.
Ideas, they have.
But none worth mention.
A real ascension near dimentian.
By Jonathan Billet
My Happy Family
"My Happy Family"
I'll love to be prying.
If I ever stop crying for the family.
When I'm flying.
Drop dying.
On a drought's drying hot afternoon.
Later than soon.
In the desert's funky perfume.
By Jonathan Billet
Forgive Me Andy
08/18/2015
I'll love to be prying.
If I ever stop crying for the family.
When I'm flying.
Drop dying.
On a drought's drying hot afternoon.
Later than soon.
In the desert's funky perfume.
By Jonathan Billet
Forgive Me Andy
08/18/2015
Monday, August 17, 2015
The Tube
"The Tube"
My orange tube is shot.
The television set got too hot.
Unlike the walls' halls, it's not the doctor's inkblot.
A Freudian puzzle.
Pulling on me like a horse's muzzle.
Did my life have to be so subtle?
I can still remember Harvard's Monson Academy headmaster. a scholar. named Mr. Tuttle.
A Harvard Harvest jeweler's moon.
Left before it got later than soon.
Found my first crush inside a woman's womb.
With a golden spoon.
Knives and forks of platinum's afternoon.
Always playing a new tune above on 90.7 W.F.U.V.
Below is only a hot stove full of my first true love.
In the Haight's golden red gate.
A ticket to the billet.
At a different date.
Let the sun shine forever on Andy plate.
My soul's mate.
Eternity's fate.
By Jonathan Billet-
08/16/2015
My orange tube is shot.
The television set got too hot.
Unlike the walls' halls, it's not the doctor's inkblot.
A Freudian puzzle.
Pulling on me like a horse's muzzle.
Did my life have to be so subtle?
I can still remember Harvard's Monson Academy headmaster. a scholar. named Mr. Tuttle.
A Harvard Harvest jeweler's moon.
Left before it got later than soon.
Found my first crush inside a woman's womb.
With a golden spoon.
Knives and forks of platinum's afternoon.
Always playing a new tune above on 90.7 W.F.U.V.
Below is only a hot stove full of my first true love.
In the Haight's golden red gate.
A ticket to the billet.
At a different date.
Let the sun shine forever on Andy plate.
My soul's mate.
Eternity's fate.
By Jonathan Billet-
08/16/2015
The Known Things
"The Known Things"
Time hides me in the future forever.
The present and the past remain a mystery to what will occur.
Nothing is owned but the unowned.
Only time is bought.
Life is precious and sold for a price.
True stories could be nice.
Only love has a good ending.
All my love I will be sending.
When I leave the universe.
Hell's bells, I'll hear first.
Followed by heavenly chants.
In the guise of blue skies, and white moonlight.
The cosmos eternal universe's night.
By Jonathan Billet-
08.16.2015
Time hides me in the future forever.
The present and the past remain a mystery to what will occur.
Nothing is owned but the unowned.
Only time is bought.
Life is precious and sold for a price.
True stories could be nice.
Only love has a good ending.
All my love I will be sending.
When I leave the universe.
Hell's bells, I'll hear first.
Followed by heavenly chants.
In the guise of blue skies, and white moonlight.
The cosmos eternal universe's night.
By Jonathan Billet-
08.16.2015
Prairie Schooner
"Prairie Schooner"
Traveling near the sound.
Driving up and down the town.
While a police megaphone let's out a blaring sound.
This I hear on the rebound.
The country is a fun place to visit.
The cows graze on grass and granola bars.
Under billions of lit up stars.
They guide my way.
And will stay until day.
I feel as though I'm living in an actor's play.
Where the man in the moon will have his say.
Off earth and on Broadway.
Times Square is not really there.
Life isn't always fair.
Especially when it gets in your hair.
So be a doer.
Don't make the world any bluer.
Time traveling is for the fewer.
Many of them aren't among the old but the newer.
Plastic garbage clogs the sewer.
I must make love to her.
Better late than sooner.
Will sail on a phantom prairie schooner.
Rocking to the sound of a piano tuner.
End - Jon Billet - 08.16.2016
Traveling near the sound.
Driving up and down the town.
While a police megaphone let's out a blaring sound.
This I hear on the rebound.
The country is a fun place to visit.
The cows graze on grass and granola bars.
Under billions of lit up stars.
They guide my way.
And will stay until day.
I feel as though I'm living in an actor's play.
Where the man in the moon will have his say.
Off earth and on Broadway.
Times Square is not really there.
Life isn't always fair.
Especially when it gets in your hair.
So be a doer.
Don't make the world any bluer.
Time traveling is for the fewer.
Many of them aren't among the old but the newer.
Plastic garbage clogs the sewer.
I must make love to her.
Better late than sooner.
Will sail on a phantom prairie schooner.
Rocking to the sound of a piano tuner.
End - Jon Billet - 08.16.2016
Saturday, August 15, 2015
It's Hot In Heaven
"It's
Hot In Heaven"
Writing to Reno.
Riding To Las Vegas.
Spinning top in the wind.
Plastic cup's bottom moving on water.
Dogs being watered like gardens.
Wild windy daze speaks no sense.
Writes what it says.
Its hot in heaven and colder than hell.
Such is life, but I love it so!....
My forward is backward, toward the light.
I drive only so far in the climatic change with my car.
I have weakness in strength in the length of rhyme.
I'm sorry I haven't got a golden dime.
Nor day of time.
Hear things with my eyes wide opened.
See them with my ears.
Don't drink beers.
Calm your fears.
Too many cloud's tears.
Starch in your shirt but not in your pasta.
Boys shouldn't pee on their fingers.
Girls don't piss on the seat.
By Jonathan Billet
08.14.2015
Art models
"Art
models"
I'm mind sleeping.
I'm mind sleeping.
To
remember the dreams as my thoughts focus.
Fantastic
recall that I have every night.
Dreaming
I'm at Purchase College painting absorbing and enthralling theater.
Painted
the artist models acting in a dream's play with rags and brushes on canvas.
Your reflected shadowed eyes scattered through the skies.
Your reflected shadowed eyes scattered through the skies.
A warmth
you have that heats up the sun.
You help
me survive.
Thanks
for being alive.
Love you
my friend.
By Jonathan Billet
09.28.2014
By Jonathan Billet
09.28.2014
Tuesday, August 11, 2015
T.V. Toilet Poetry
"T.V.
Toilet Poetry"
Knock out the walls.
Slide down the fun halls.
After
all we don't belong anywhere after all might be-
said
and done.
Never
from the rose petals of the sun.
Not
from anyone's gun.
Life is
as light as a feather, yet weighs a ton.
Everything
is left unsung and never well done.
In the
heaven days' hell.
Where I
fell.
Into a
wishing well.
To be
lost in the race's trot.
Do we
just rot?
Living
in the inkblots' dots.
I think
not.
But I
live high on the pot.
Constantly
flushings nothings down prison's toilet.
Yours Forever-
And
Never.
Jon Billet
08.13.2015 - Revised
Resting Place
"Resting Place"
Bury me in a sea of ashes.
Near a tree in New Zealand.
Where I can see but not go near the koala bears and kangaroos.
Never would keep them as my pets.
Someday they will be in the museum of natural history.
The human' oddity comic commodity.
Underneath the streets.
Below the moon.
Moonbeams play with your eyes.
Stay away!!!...
Please, peace, and carrots.
Love you - Jon Billet's
08/10/2015
Bury me in a sea of ashes.
Near a tree in New Zealand.
Where I can see but not go near the koala bears and kangaroos.
Never would keep them as my pets.
Someday they will be in the museum of natural history.
The human' oddity comic commodity.
Underneath the streets.
Below the moon.
Moonbeams play with your eyes.
Stay away!!!...
Please, peace, and carrots.
Love you - Jon Billet's
08/10/2015
Sunday, August 9, 2015
My Lord
"My Lord"
Is he dead?
No, the wind is below his head.
Underneath the bed.
Scared and hiding from the outside world.
Served exquisite Peruvian avocado salads at Machu picchu.
Food, he hasn't eaten in four thousand years.
The ace plays poker with computer chips.
Which to him seems like making shrimp dips.
Never takes business trips.
Journeys on styrofoam ships.
The deity has wide hips.
The world feeds him scraps.
Wants them to starve like he does.
Don't hold your breath.
This deity will never find out!...
Andy will never share her secrets.
She lives in my heart.
09/09/2015 -
By Jonathan Billet
Is he dead?
No, the wind is below his head.
Underneath the bed.
Scared and hiding from the outside world.
Served exquisite Peruvian avocado salads at Machu picchu.
Food, he hasn't eaten in four thousand years.
The ace plays poker with computer chips.
Which to him seems like making shrimp dips.
Never takes business trips.
Journeys on styrofoam ships.
The deity has wide hips.
The world feeds him scraps.
Wants them to starve like he does.
Don't hold your breath.
This deity will never find out!...
Andy will never share her secrets.
She lives in my heart.
09/09/2015 -
By Jonathan Billet
Friday, August 7, 2015
Hindi Poetry
"Hindi Poetry"
In you I must confide.
I tried to hide my suicide.
Rapping and hacking a day away.
A translation from Spanish into English.
From the reality into a dream.
A solid into a liquid.
Liquid into gas.
Prison to freedom.
Inside into outside.
The crib to the grave.
From inside Sing Sing.
Singing a song.
I can't be wrong.
Only left right.
By Jonathan Billet-07.30.15 - To A Love
In you I must confide.
I tried to hide my suicide.
Rapping and hacking a day away.
A translation from Spanish into English.
From the reality into a dream.
A solid into a liquid.
Liquid into gas.
Prison to freedom.
Inside into outside.
The crib to the grave.
From inside Sing Sing.
Singing a song.
I can't be wrong.
Only left right.
By Jonathan Billet-07.30.15 - To A Love
Tuesday, August 4, 2015
Glassed Beer
"Glassed Beer"
Spies have dripping eyes in their pizzapies.
Highs are found in his tonics and lies.
The rainbow skies pass us by in knotted tie dyes.
There's a recorder in each and every one of them.
They have no R.E.M.
Send a pen when the time is near.
There was nothing to fear but fear.
Sounded kind of weird.
It wasn't clear.
We couldn't hear.
Nobody fear.
A six pack of pabst blue ribbon malt liquors' beer.
The hops taste better by the year.
Making me shed a tear.
In my undergarments gear.
So close yet so far from my rear.
by Jonathan Billet's 08.03.2150
Spies have dripping eyes in their pizzapies.
Highs are found in his tonics and lies.
The rainbow skies pass us by in knotted tie dyes.
There's a recorder in each and every one of them.
They have no R.E.M.
Send a pen when the time is near.
There was nothing to fear but fear.
Sounded kind of weird.
It wasn't clear.
We couldn't hear.
Nobody fear.
A six pack of pabst blue ribbon malt liquors' beer.
The hops taste better by the year.
Making me shed a tear.
In my undergarments gear.
So close yet so far from my rear.
by Jonathan Billet's 08.03.2150
City Bays
"City Bays"
The jet engines, blasting and blowing, really got me going.
Showing a blue moon singing an old love tune.
Watching Do Ho, on my favorite television show, Hawaii-Five-O.
While The San Francisco Bay came into view.
Something spellbinding and new.
When I stepped down from the heavens above.
The mind is dead but my body is kept well fed.
A taxi cab's buddha drove me into the city of love.
From there I went to Chestnut Street and took a seat.
I saw a seagull flying in the air with all its fanfare.
Turned into a rhesus monkey.
Metamorphosises from a monkey to an elephant.
Playing on an electric harpsichord.
Jupiter's June's crescent of a moon.
Come out in sunday brunch's confectionary establishment's afternoon.
The costumed elephant's music made the women faint and croon.
I couldn't stand the drought's hot afternoon June's summertime day.
Just wanted to get away, this time to stay away, from the city, by the bay.
by Jonathan Billet- 08.03.2015
The jet engines, blasting and blowing, really got me going.
Showing a blue moon singing an old love tune.
Watching Do Ho, on my favorite television show, Hawaii-Five-O.
While The San Francisco Bay came into view.
Something spellbinding and new.
When I stepped down from the heavens above.
The mind is dead but my body is kept well fed.
A taxi cab's buddha drove me into the city of love.
From there I went to Chestnut Street and took a seat.
I saw a seagull flying in the air with all its fanfare.
Turned into a rhesus monkey.
Metamorphosises from a monkey to an elephant.
Playing on an electric harpsichord.
Jupiter's June's crescent of a moon.
Come out in sunday brunch's confectionary establishment's afternoon.
The costumed elephant's music made the women faint and croon.
I couldn't stand the drought's hot afternoon June's summertime day.
Just wanted to get away, this time to stay away, from the city, by the bay.
by Jonathan Billet- 08.03.2015
Sunday, August 2, 2015
Hot Blooded American
"Hot Blooded American"
I'm really so cool it's hot.
My head is working in slow motion.
The world spins rapidly, in a rush to get nowhere.
Nothing for something and something for nothing.
Hell's bells ring while quartets sing.
Songs whispered.
The world's going to the pot.
Who's not?
Hit you in the G's s spot.
Worth twenty billion Grand.
I have have your support.
Until your bodies run short.
See you in heaven's court.
By Jonathan Billet
07/31/2015-Revised 08.02.15
I'm really so cool it's hot.
My head is working in slow motion.
The world spins rapidly, in a rush to get nowhere.
Nothing for something and something for nothing.
Hell's bells ring while quartets sing.
Songs whispered.
The world's going to the pot.
Who's not?
Hit you in the G's s spot.
Worth twenty billion Grand.
I have have your support.
Until your bodies run short.
See you in heaven's court.
By Jonathan Billet
07/31/2015-Revised 08.02.15
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