Selected Poems of Charles Plymell

Selected Poems from

Eat Not They Mind By Charles plymell

PEDRO BAY

Pewter slivers of artificial light in horizon orange bring purple fins to moonlit silent encore waves and dances in a homeless image for poverty’s eternal wish of jackpot numbers to recall the chance in galled winds where played the tunes in twisting black branches like a tongue’s forgotten trances.

Now Sea Lions exchange their vows in water’s edge near alien shores where toxic waste past gliding bows mix life’s paddle in newborn spores.

The seagulls’ wings are holy robes wide berth in bow and beam

THEY VENT THEIR BENT

Bad Veronica left her poetry in a bag in the corner of the Laundromat Jumped in her car and headed down the block, her poems stolen by a pack rat Saved her bra, one sock and her only pair of panties with a face on the crotch She was late for her gig she was ready to dig, stomach in a knot, forgot her pot But was content like events of the establishment bent to vent on her incident Bad Veronica left her poems in the corner on the table in the Laundromat Her voice is her identification of new age incense she burned in reverence She had to play it straight and could not hesitate to elaborate and cooperate To celebrate with her mates like Dangerous Dan and the rest of the band Bad Veronica can’t wait to fly in a blue blaze craze under a tie-dyed sky Down in the old school the band began with Dangerous Dan fan of S. Clay Who understand the hand that demand the contraband and big damn lie Like the salt on last years asphalt on the road to the mall last fall and all Bad Veronica jumped on the bar stool, drank to get cool, rock with one sock Still in the laundromat with her new poems and panties with a face on them Shepherdess of excess, wearer of wantonness. Sorceress of fruitfulness Forgetfulness, left her underwear on the table in the corner at the laundromat.

And the T.V. blaring hollow slogans of the establishment.

QUANTUM OPERATOR WANTED

PAY: Minimum prevailing wind wage DUTIES: To soak up energy and fuse atoms at a star factory.

At the end of the line, create paper dolls from local fluff.

Grab interpenetrates for phyllotactic packing of faces in ancestral designs in phases of cold matter. Find customers.

TO QUALIFY: No problems of a homeless mind. Knowledge of Bohm.

EXPERIENCE: Origami nanoscale structures with zipper action; assembled scaffolds for solar cells.

PROGRAM FOR RAY BREMSER

The Rector of the Rectum will read from the Roster: LIFE SUCKS (Order from disorder) Certainly as old as Certainty! (Would I live longer in Loma Linda)?

HOT CONSCIOUSNESS The heart is quicker than the eye SELF ETERNITY Choice is quicker than the brain (please make sure to pay you dues......and don’ts)

PRESENTIMENT IS IN THE WIND

Black ice is on the asphalt and the street lights make it shine Blue Iris is beginning to fall and the night lights fakes its lines The heart is always first to know the future last to hold the problems of a homeless mind We used to work together for the ancestral heart My sister, Betty hitchhiked into Pocatello where those who rode the rails left their signs above their camps of embers the last beans cooked in the cans A century later a bird somehow knew I was a soft touch and followed me for seeds Its eyelids had not formed open and it fell prey I named it Betty Broken Song Only the wisdom of luck can follow the tangled infinite numbers of paradise that glisten and dance along Westbound rails under the stars lay its darksome dins of clay.

NO PAIN INTENDED

The theory of wounded dust like A psychic fire-final transformation, A virus after a brand new host to the final party, There.

Cyanic voices and gray faces of didactic melancholy Sappho without her cell phone popping a pill under the olive tree Cleopatra among hot dwarfs and superstars, her Eyelids inflamed by the disease of sunset on the orphan’d planet Where seas tumble, trees are blown by broken hearts.

I’d rather be in Kansas where everything is dead and gone Except the smell inside a 1948 Mercury with the soft green Lights on the dash memories that await the children of a ruined world.

IVY

Hitch a ride from the gray area Take a bend in the road going south out of South Bend somewhere imagined To the Delta dirt where the cotton is pure and the polka dot shirt flies in the wind Where blues are bad and words are dreams And the random bells are always ringing Like quantum operators in the binge of time bring Echoes at night as sweet as first Phoebe Snow But a blizzard rages up north winds blow broken songs from a chain of paper doll line the horizon each censored for emptiness and force Black ice is on the asphalt and the street lights make it shine The heart is always first to know the future before the body And the brain bring the problems of a homeless mind They say 23% of the universe is dark matter and 73% is dark energy and for all the rest, open your eyes