"Mary Jane"
Write well into the night.
Dark sky with dim light.
Lovers fight.
Their plight.
She gets stoned.
He stays.
He gets stoned.
She leaves.
Now she wants to spend the night.
He gets high and leaves without her.
This makes her sure she wants to stay.
For another day to come.
He adds up the sum and leaves.
From San Francisco to New New York.
Back to San Francisco.
To search for the pieces of his broken heart.
Jon Billet -02/03/16
Thursday, February 4, 2016
Wednesday, February 3, 2016
Hour Of The Flower
"Hour Of The Flower"
Posies in the eyes.
The tangerine skies.
Golden moon rise.
Haiku flies.
High tides.
Morning paper cries.
Daylight slides.
Automatic escalator rides.
Nothing is all.
Afternoon lunch call.
Sun's fall.
At the shopping mall.
Found music.
It filled my heart with joy.
The singer is really the candy rapper.
Always will be a twenties' flapper.
A real toe tapper.
Very dapper.
A turtle snapper.
Swimming, paddler, in a warm pond.
Jon Billets'- 01-31-16
For Sasha
Posies in the eyes.
The tangerine skies.
Golden moon rise.
Haiku flies.
High tides.
Morning paper cries.
Daylight slides.
Automatic escalator rides.
Nothing is all.
Afternoon lunch call.
Sun's fall.
At the shopping mall.
Found music.
It filled my heart with joy.
The singer is really the candy rapper.
Always will be a twenties' flapper.
A real toe tapper.
Very dapper.
A turtle snapper.
Swimming, paddler, in a warm pond.
Jon Billets'- 01-31-16
For Sasha
Is This My Question?
"Is This My Question?"
To many questions not enough answered.
Don't have a time of day for prayers.
Plenty of thoughts, to struggle with, and write about.
With my water gun, I quench my thirsty desire for answers.
I wish for all the ideas under the sun.
Walk around and collect thoughts from bits of talk.
Spoken words forgotten in conversation by those who quoted them.
Missing pieces of a larger puzzle's world.
I'm a digger in a box shoveling snow waste and urinating rain.
The mom and pop gun shop blows me away.
On winter's snowy and rainy day.
Get caught up in my own little world.
Is it ever too late?
For a date with destiny.
History is mankind's mystery.
If not now when?
It's not a matter of if, but when?
Got lost in a Second's World War.
The start of it all.
Jon Billet-01/26/16
To many questions not enough answered.
Don't have a time of day for prayers.
Plenty of thoughts, to struggle with, and write about.
With my water gun, I quench my thirsty desire for answers.
I wish for all the ideas under the sun.
Walk around and collect thoughts from bits of talk.
Spoken words forgotten in conversation by those who quoted them.
Missing pieces of a larger puzzle's world.
I'm a digger in a box shoveling snow waste and urinating rain.
The mom and pop gun shop blows me away.
On winter's snowy and rainy day.
Get caught up in my own little world.
Is it ever too late?
For a date with destiny.
History is mankind's mystery.
If not now when?
It's not a matter of if, but when?
Got lost in a Second's World War.
The start of it all.
Jon Billet-01/26/16
Answered Prayer
"Answered Prayer"
The child thinks about questions.
Questions answered in a dream.
Riddles turn into rhymes in my mind's imagination.
The dream into reality.
Water into air.
Air to silence.
Sounds of spring then summer.
From fall, came winter.
Soon, an albino Siamese cat turns from a bumblebee.
To a towering fig tree.
Tucked away in a book of biblical ancient history.
Circa thirty-three A.D.
Defecating snow and urinating wet rain.
An answer to a question is a lie.
Catching questions in thin air.
See heaven above and nothing below.
Falling through a hole in the ground.
Six and six are eight.
In the eyes of a dream.
There is no color scheme.
Only strawberry whipped cream.
Peach ice cream too.
What your dream is, isn't up to me-
It's a reality that's up to you.
Jon Billet- 01/27/16
The child thinks about questions.
Questions answered in a dream.
Riddles turn into rhymes in my mind's imagination.
The dream into reality.
Water into air.
Air to silence.
Sounds of spring then summer.
From fall, came winter.
Soon, an albino Siamese cat turns from a bumblebee.
To a towering fig tree.
Tucked away in a book of biblical ancient history.
Circa thirty-three A.D.
Defecating snow and urinating wet rain.
An answer to a question is a lie.
Catching questions in thin air.
See heaven above and nothing below.
Falling through a hole in the ground.
Six and six are eight.
In the eyes of a dream.
There is no color scheme.
Only strawberry whipped cream.
Peach ice cream too.
What your dream is, isn't up to me-
It's a reality that's up to you.
Jon Billet- 01/27/16
Secrets
"Secrets"
The best thoughts are those kept secret.
The best kept secret is one that is lost.
My mind is full of secret thoughts that I can't conceal.
A few I don't know, so I won't reveal.
Life is a perfection I feel.
Especially when the writing becomes real.
I have nothing to sell or steal.
It's like dealing a deal.
Sushi chefs' gourmet meal.
Open and close the revolving doors.
My love will never part.
You are a piece of art.
The stalled car tries to make a new start.
A loud drumbeat to the universe's march to the heavens.
World horrors escalate.
I elevate myself, on the pot.
Sitting on a rocking chair, rocking the night away.
On my porch, with the stars.
Some people are lucky enough to have garage cars.
Other people are lucky if they have cars.
They sleep inside steel bars.
I can't rely on myself to write a good line.
So I don't sign my rhyme.
I let other people write my poems for me.
Poetry for free.
Jon Billets'- 01/27/16
The best thoughts are those kept secret.
The best kept secret is one that is lost.
My mind is full of secret thoughts that I can't conceal.
A few I don't know, so I won't reveal.
Life is a perfection I feel.
Especially when the writing becomes real.
I have nothing to sell or steal.
It's like dealing a deal.
Sushi chefs' gourmet meal.
Open and close the revolving doors.
My love will never part.
You are a piece of art.
The stalled car tries to make a new start.
A loud drumbeat to the universe's march to the heavens.
World horrors escalate.
I elevate myself, on the pot.
Sitting on a rocking chair, rocking the night away.
On my porch, with the stars.
Some people are lucky enough to have garage cars.
Other people are lucky if they have cars.
They sleep inside steel bars.
I can't rely on myself to write a good line.
So I don't sign my rhyme.
I let other people write my poems for me.
Poetry for free.
Jon Billets'- 01/27/16
Tolerant Tides
"Tolerant Tides"
Love is tolerance.
Vice versa, will also, be so.
Always know, and love will grow.
A great distance to go.
Over desert sands, far and slow.
Kiss a lover's toe.
Blow out the fire's sun.
So it will snow.
On a cold, Broadway's day.
A show will play tomorrow without the sorrow.
For yesterday and today the globe's play will stay.
Having a say, in its own peculiar way.
Real fear is very near.
If you listen you can hear the fear.
Of the globe world's ear.
Steer clear.
All the world is a stage in a writer's book.
There's nothing left to cook.
Take a look at the burning heat stove below.
Up here it's the world's greatest show on earth.
Is it a stage for clowns wearing masked frowns?
I think it's miles of smiles.
Beautiful bells ringing on antiquated phone dials.
10,000 tiles make a beautifully built Mosque.
Called The Dome Of The Rock.
In the holiest of all cities.
Shalom and Salaam!...
In a hot ancient spring.
Jon Billet -01/25/16
Love is tolerance.
Vice versa, will also, be so.
Always know, and love will grow.
A great distance to go.
Over desert sands, far and slow.
Kiss a lover's toe.
Blow out the fire's sun.
So it will snow.
On a cold, Broadway's day.
A show will play tomorrow without the sorrow.
For yesterday and today the globe's play will stay.
Having a say, in its own peculiar way.
Real fear is very near.
If you listen you can hear the fear.
Of the globe world's ear.
Steer clear.
All the world is a stage in a writer's book.
There's nothing left to cook.
Take a look at the burning heat stove below.
Up here it's the world's greatest show on earth.
Is it a stage for clowns wearing masked frowns?
I think it's miles of smiles.
Beautiful bells ringing on antiquated phone dials.
10,000 tiles make a beautifully built Mosque.
Called The Dome Of The Rock.
In the holiest of all cities.
Shalom and Salaam!...
In a hot ancient spring.
Jon Billet -01/25/16
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
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
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
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