Marisol, Chopin, & Bukowski

Chopin came first,
His piano dark, moody
The “Poet” composer,
I slept to his notes.
Bukowski came later,
His words raw and real,
Poetry from the fringe,
Bukowski is inspired
by Alcohol and Chopin,
As am I.

B.J.H.
09-10-2013

Silence… would be better

Finally found the nerve
To listen to J.H.
Words bring pain
Drag up pictures
We forget
Then a phrase
A melody
Opens a box
And we feel again
Silence would be better then this
I am not yet ready
To listen to J.H.

03-07-2013
that poem came this very second as i was posting a video.. funny how it happens… even when you have teardrop eyes

Barfly and Bukowski And People

 

Creeping, Searching and Lurking

Creeping, creeping, ever seeking

Lurking, lurking, always searching

Gone, gone, where can she be

the girls is lost, the girl is free

 

Crazy, crazy, do you hear them whisper

Calling, calling, why won’t she answer

Crying, crying, she is crying

She is crying, I am dying

 

Hissing, hissing, they hiss at me

The hiss at me, I cannot see

I cannot look

I cannot find

I cannot find her, she is mine

 

Creeping, creeping, ever seeking

Lurking, lurking, always searching

Gone, gone, where can she be

the girls is lost, the girl is free

 

 

by Bonnie Jean Higgins

02-22-95

 

Kinda my tribute to the Dr. Seuss style of writing LOL

Daffodil thoughts on a silent poet

:: Blank Page ::

I always admired him

His words captured my attention

Sometimes I didn’t understand them

But the passion in those words

Told me more than he knew.

The excitement he had

The fire in his eyes when he shared his dreams

It brought me inspiration

His pen is silent now

And a fear creeps into me

He wrote to free  his mind

And at times to regain sanity

I wonder now how he keeps his mind

from shattering

His passion and abstract daydreams

A writer only puts down his pen

When they have given up on living.

B.J.H.

03-12-2012