—Poetry by H.L. Dowless,
Southeastern USA
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
Her name is Valentina Ringo
And she dances across this land.
In daytime or at midnight
She dreams the life she leads is so grand.
Parties come and good times go,
Then she lays nude by the surging water side
Displaying to them all she can.
She has the poses
As she rocks hard in every position.
Men give her expensive champagne with
bouquets of roses
And brown envelopes filled with thousands
of dollars,
No matter about her sober condition.
In the water hoses
And staged strawberry-lemon meringue
Tossed in bed before the camera
She knows no hesitation nor moral limits.
Her name is Valentina Ringo
And she dances across this land.
Her flesh is smooth vanilla coco
And when she’s in the light of the sun
It's tan.
She is such a bedazzling mystery
Nobody can believe the hard truth,
‘Cause in the limelight and the stage bedroom
She really glistens
Where all morality is totally forsooth.
She hears the call to action
And answers with her own special flair,
She will allow the others to fall
While she lives up to every requested dare.
Two on one,
Or one on three,
It really doesn’t matter much to her;
To her it's really loads of fun
When they all eagerly gratify her every
carnal need.
Her name is Valentina Ringo
She is known from midtown HillCrest
All the way down to Durango.
She really shines
when she gives it her very best,
This egg-soaked star of the picarona.
She’s danced and loved,
Excelling in every test;
Show everybody what you’ve got
Go-Go
Queen of the starlite doves!
When the hammers are big and really long,
She skillfully does them all,
Knowing where she can never go wrong.
She hides behind a painted face
While so bravely singing her tainted song.
And she dances across this land.
In daytime or at midnight
She dreams the life she leads is so grand.
Parties come and good times go,
Then she lays nude by the surging water side
Displaying to them all she can.
She has the poses
As she rocks hard in every position.
Men give her expensive champagne with
bouquets of roses
And brown envelopes filled with thousands
of dollars,
No matter about her sober condition.
In the water hoses
And staged strawberry-lemon meringue
Tossed in bed before the camera
She knows no hesitation nor moral limits.
Her name is Valentina Ringo
And she dances across this land.
Her flesh is smooth vanilla coco
And when she’s in the light of the sun
It's tan.
She is such a bedazzling mystery
Nobody can believe the hard truth,
‘Cause in the limelight and the stage bedroom
She really glistens
Where all morality is totally forsooth.
She hears the call to action
And answers with her own special flair,
She will allow the others to fall
While she lives up to every requested dare.
Two on one,
Or one on three,
It really doesn’t matter much to her;
To her it's really loads of fun
When they all eagerly gratify her every
carnal need.
Her name is Valentina Ringo
She is known from midtown HillCrest
All the way down to Durango.
She really shines
when she gives it her very best,
This egg-soaked star of the picarona.
She’s danced and loved,
Excelling in every test;
Show everybody what you’ve got
Go-Go
Queen of the starlite doves!
When the hammers are big and really long,
She skillfully does them all,
Knowing where she can never go wrong.
She hides behind a painted face
While so bravely singing her tainted song.
My boat crashed ashore on this uninhabited
island,
Running around in circles,
Don’t know where I’m going to go;
I’ve been on it a month already,
Time isn’t moving all that slow.
No matter what I try
I don’t find my way off,
I am walking around like a child who’s lost.
I feel like I want to cry,
But sweet freedom has its blessed cost.
There are monsters on this island,
A giant irritated raging snake,
It tries to take my boat sitting here in the sand
And every raft I make,
It personifies the greed of man.
I searched every inch,
I walked every mile,
And finally found two people there I knew;
So I talked,
And laughed,
And sat around for awhile,
Then I went out for a despairing walk.
I saw a ship far out at sea,
So I built myself a great big bon-fire.
I jumped,
And yelled,
And waved my arms,
But it ne’er came to shore for me.
Another soon came past
And I did the same.
It flashes its lights,
It sounds its horn,
While I waved my arms
With all of my might.
Am I the one who is to blame?
Alas,
No matter how hard I try,
They all sail on to pass me by.
Here I am sitting around,
There’s shelter,
There’s food,
But what do I do?
My woman has flown,
Where did I go wrong?
island,
Running around in circles,
Don’t know where I’m going to go;
I’ve been on it a month already,
Time isn’t moving all that slow.
No matter what I try
I don’t find my way off,
I am walking around like a child who’s lost.
I feel like I want to cry,
But sweet freedom has its blessed cost.
There are monsters on this island,
A giant irritated raging snake,
It tries to take my boat sitting here in the sand
And every raft I make,
It personifies the greed of man.
I searched every inch,
I walked every mile,
And finally found two people there I knew;
So I talked,
And laughed,
And sat around for awhile,
Then I went out for a despairing walk.
I saw a ship far out at sea,
So I built myself a great big bon-fire.
I jumped,
And yelled,
And waved my arms,
But it ne’er came to shore for me.
Another soon came past
And I did the same.
It flashes its lights,
It sounds its horn,
While I waved my arms
With all of my might.
Am I the one who is to blame?
Alas,
No matter how hard I try,
They all sail on to pass me by.
Here I am sitting around,
There’s shelter,
There’s food,
But what do I do?
My woman has flown,
Where did I go wrong?
Can we really be apart,
My love?
Does separation truly make the heart
Grow fonder?
How could such a notion ever be,
When all I want to do
Is to fly away with you,
My sweet dove.
Does distance
Only equal an impassable transcendence?
Nothing can contain one’s spirit,
No container,
No special room,
No magic potion,
Not even the surging ocean;
No flying broom.
It's not a mystery when
A banshee remains in our company.
What about us,
My love?
Can a berating tongue
Lash the spirit until it buries itself in the sand?
Might it beat the sweltering heat
Of determined passion down?
A downward gaze might glare to a point
Where it bends a spellbound spoon,
And it beats the spirit into a conviction
Where it would rather find itself somewhere
Way up on the moon!
Six months of constant condemnation
Can drive twenty years
All the way across a huge nation!
Still
Therein lies this constant longing,
A yearning for what was,
When we twain possessed a sense of belonging.
Where were you?
Where was your heart?
What are you beholding too?
If you could catch a falling star,
My darling morning rose,
Might you hang on and remain true
As you did from the moment of the great
journey’s start,
I would suppose?
JACK-A-ROO!
WHERE ARE YOU?
Jack-A-Roo,
Where are you?
On the hillside by the hay,
hunting rabbits on this clear fall day?
Jack-A Roo!
Where are you?
Might you be standing by the seaside
at high tide,
riding a whale and ringing her bell?
Or catching a shark
by the time of dark,
so you can hang him up high in the yard
by the dockside park?
Jack-A-Roo!
Where are you?
Are you hunting ducks in the dale,
with a good scatter gun and shell?
Might you be at the State Fair just as well,
riding a colorful carousel?
Jack-A-Roo!
Where are you?
I recently heard
at the time of new bloom,
some seven men shall fly away
to the moon!
Will you be one among them,
oh so soon,
out catching stardust with a spoon?
Jack-A-Roo,
we love you!
Are you laboring to be president?
At this time votes shall not be hesitant.
I say,
millions shall think you were heaven-sent!
My dear
Jack-A-Roo,
oh so many are counting on you!
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Every single soul is a poem.
—Michael Franti
___________________
Today we are welcoming H.L. Dowless to the Kitchen, national & international academic/ESL Instructor, for his first visit. He has been a writer for over thirty years; his latest publications have been two books of nonfiction with Algora Publishing; a fictional novel by Atmosphere Press; and fictional publications with combo e-zines and print magazines: Leaves Of Ink, CC&D Magazine, a novel with Atmosphere press, Short Story Lovers, The Fear Of Monkeys, and Frontier Tales. He recently signed three contracts with Pen it Publications.
H.L. Dowless has enjoyed a lifetime of outdoor activities from big game hunting, camping, fishing, and trapping, to archaeological field work in various exotic locations. What he enjoys most of all is meeting freedom- loving, interesting, creative people who are also regular dedicated fans of his publications. Welcome to the Kitchen, H.L., and don’t be a stranger! (See more of H.L.’s work at https://www.booksie.com/users/h.l.-dowless-196043/.)
____________________
—Medusa
WHERE ARE YOU?
Jack-A-Roo,
Where are you?
On the hillside by the hay,
hunting rabbits on this clear fall day?
Jack-A Roo!
Where are you?
Might you be standing by the seaside
at high tide,
riding a whale and ringing her bell?
Or catching a shark
by the time of dark,
so you can hang him up high in the yard
by the dockside park?
Jack-A-Roo!
Where are you?
Are you hunting ducks in the dale,
with a good scatter gun and shell?
Might you be at the State Fair just as well,
riding a colorful carousel?
Jack-A-Roo!
Where are you?
I recently heard
at the time of new bloom,
some seven men shall fly away
to the moon!
Will you be one among them,
oh so soon,
out catching stardust with a spoon?
Jack-A-Roo,
we love you!
Are you laboring to be president?
At this time votes shall not be hesitant.
I say,
millions shall think you were heaven-sent!
My dear
Jack-A-Roo,
oh so many are counting on you!
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Every single soul is a poem.
—Michael Franti
___________________
Today we are welcoming H.L. Dowless to the Kitchen, national & international academic/ESL Instructor, for his first visit. He has been a writer for over thirty years; his latest publications have been two books of nonfiction with Algora Publishing; a fictional novel by Atmosphere Press; and fictional publications with combo e-zines and print magazines: Leaves Of Ink, CC&D Magazine, a novel with Atmosphere press, Short Story Lovers, The Fear Of Monkeys, and Frontier Tales. He recently signed three contracts with Pen it Publications.
H.L. Dowless has enjoyed a lifetime of outdoor activities from big game hunting, camping, fishing, and trapping, to archaeological field work in various exotic locations. What he enjoys most of all is meeting freedom- loving, interesting, creative people who are also regular dedicated fans of his publications. Welcome to the Kitchen, H.L., and don’t be a stranger! (See more of H.L.’s work at https://www.booksie.com/users/h.l.-dowless-196043/.)
____________________
—Medusa
“My boat crashed…”
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
A reminder that
Natomas’s Harvest The Arts
will take place today in Sacramento;
for info about this and other
upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
Natomas’s Harvest The Arts
will take place today in Sacramento;
for info about this and other
upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
fragile, these
days of our lives—
handle with care…