Wednesday, September 25, 2013

The Whole Bowl Life

You wake.
You go to sleep.
You consume a few particles of food.
You expel a few particles of food.
You go to sleep.
You wake.
You swim in a circle.
You consume and expel a few more particles of food.
You go to sleep.
You wake.
You hear a voice
'Mom! The fish is floating upside down!'
You get flushed down the toilet
And eaten by an alligator

Monday, June 03, 2013


A Work of Prose Poetry In Installments
A Collaboration of Light & Love
Ladies & Gentlemen,
I joyfully present
The 1st Web Installment of...

Wanting so much more in life, other than his 100k lifestyle

He feels his failure inside and squeezes it into a little pill,

Swallowing the bitter pill and leaving reality for a dream.
Here I am, looking out the window as the sun surfaces,

In awe of such beauty from above, traveling afar

On a venture to find oneself betwixt the mayhem – chaos
How I so long to roam this new road I now journey
I hear the bustle and commotion, as we now descend
The landscape below entices the desire even more so
As we now, approach land and I see my destination
I can feel the rush of the adventure, racing passionately
How it seemed forever, so distant, the dream I envisioned
Time has now come, to initiate this new course of action
All my earnings spent away, to live, as I have never dared
Breathing now slowly in – out, as the plane slowly descends


The wingspan of a Aeroflot Medium Distance passenger jet is 27,8m. Falling from the sky // plunging from the atmosphere // forensics will finally decide it was a glitch // in transmission, from the Navicore 870 cpu, which caused the turbines to stutter, then into the turbine was sucked a large-ish predatory sea fowl // whose bones became stuck in a flywheel // attached to a centrifuge // that centrifuge was spun by a rubber belt // re-enforced with fine stainless steel cables.

It so happens, that upon the day the molten steel was to be poured in the module, at the parts foundry of Bangalore, the head blacksmith was attending an elaborate Hindu funerary ceremony, in honor of his friend, who was killed in a terroristic explosion at the ashram which, subsequently, took the lives of 123 souls, at final tally.

Giuseppe 'Lucky' Frantellgio called in sick to work this day [the day of the somersault]. Unfortunately for us and the lone surviving passenger, as Giuseppe would always, always, always carry a pair of binoculars and a digital camera around his neck, as he trekked his path, checking the circumference of the Mt Riglettoni Tree Farm, as part of his daily chores.

The medium passenger jet, en-route to Lisboa caught a down draft and pitched its left wing into the very peak of those beloved mountain (3777 meters) before commencing to turn wing-over-wing, down to the base of the aforementioned incline.

Though not as famous as the Gran Paradiso, the bottom of this mountain is an enchanting spot where five rivers, three lakes and two valleys meet. This, indeed, is one of the most fertile spots in all of Italy, if not in all of the Mediterranean. This, however, is a privately owned mountain on a privately owned island, which has been property, for the last 1300 years, of the famous Marini family.

Let us trying, as it may seem, examine the wreckage, to find what remains of her passenger.


Larissa Marino never thought that life could end in such a cruel fashion
She could not believe what was happening, as commotion surrounded her
The screams alone were petrifying, how destiny could lead her to this moment

As the plane plummets from the sky falling far off course of what would beLooking out the window, she takes in all the beauty coming into view

Sadly thinking it would be that last thing she would see, on this journey
At least she made it as far as Italy, with the courage of something new
She hears an explosion, just before she loses consciousness

To be continued….

Copyright © 2013 Philip Pope / Lucy Martins
All poetry by Philip Pope / Lucy Martins are copyright protected by International Copyright Law, the use without written permission is illegal. All Rights Reserved ©

Wednesday, May 08, 2013

Zero Victim Status

This is written to YOU
Neither gender nor scars
Dictate these words to you,
All of you
(the humble & gullible;
the fiery & guilty)

You saw a young child wander down the rail lines.
Overhead, a flock of sparrows shoot across steel gray skies, pursuing a suspected American crow.
There is no train coming.
You cross the tracks gently,
you think,
to save your shocks,
taking a quick, calculated glance at the child,
further down the tracks,
under the cloud
of warring feathers

For the very first time,
you notice this child
isn't a child at all but a wise
soul choosing not to be
a victim of any particular railroaded solutions. 

You've seen him before,
walking along the river or across the seashore
at the foot of the coastal mountain range.
How could this be?
He must be at least
as old as you are.

Count it out the native way
Spring, summer, autumn
Spring, summer, autumn

How many have passed? 

Very Deja Vu, that.
At the intersection, a crow flies towards the ground
to tear at some dead thing, molded by the tread of a semi-rig.
Time flies and the crow flies
and the light changes.
You take a right 

Out of the corner of your eye,
you can't help but notice
Jesus Christ is healing the blind and raising the dead.
Since all literature is literature, 
you notice every phonebook
is a bible and every prayer is a song,
written from the very beginning
of time. 

The skies open up.
The rain comes down.

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

~ We went to the animal faire ~
~ All the animals wore human masks ~
~ We couldn't quite tell if it were:
1) More frightening than bizarre
2) Or vice the verse
~ A wild tribe of chimpanzees
{all running // to & fro}
in their off-shored, cyber-tech, CEO masks
that they may
close the deal
while stealing valuable informata
from wide eyed spectators
'Oooh'-ing & 'Ahhh'-ing
as ridiculous prices skyrocketed ~
~The animal faire! Thee animal faire!~
~Snakes smiling shyly to discuss
their shining sheen~
~Timid chicks flocking
for their supper's dinner~
~Sheep frill up their faces
while sashaying their bums~
~ Plummed does the Heron queen traipse
lightly down the Pine
searching out poppies
to make mild her mind~
~The animal faire! The animal faire!~
~What a glorious contrivence!~
~ A garage full of Ethiopian Hyenas
forever checking fluids;
changing tires;
slamming concrete weary Pigeons
into the passenger side~
~Jackal laughter rings throughout
to bounce of the dull corrugation
"Now you make money, my friend!
Everybody makes some kind of money
when they come to this circus!"~
We went to the animal faire... (da-dum)
The birds and the bees were there... (da-dum)
The big baboon, by the light of the moon...
Was combing his auburn hair...

Friday, May 25, 2012

All We Have Is What We Need

It never ceases to amaze me how much is taken for granted
stars were assigned their transitus before the beginning 
of this age
still and deep
congratulations are in order
at the newest discovery
of human achievement  

You think this ain't love?

Sounds float up from the street
Speed Street; O'Farrell Street
streets are streets
upon their surface 
paths do meet
by chance 
or precisely manufactured plan

That probably ain't love either, huh?

The coloration of the flora
blooms and decays; blooms and decays
over a matter of heat
through these calendared days
from May to May

Accredited to which law; in which universe?

Poetry grows on trees
Pictures are manufactured by bees
Buzzards circle the cul-de-sac 
for reasonable rates
(on home loans)  
“Eww! I hate it when he goes dark, with these.”

Honestly. Is love too playful for you?

Time's gear house is running down
-Happens every so often-
so say the shaman of the maize
so say the cosmic cats
with their focus of eons away
purr and chirp through the haze
all through the night
as the sky gives way

Love is light

Tuesday, January 03, 2012

Holiday Treatment - PopMass Style -
{From Entirety - pmpope 2009}

trip the lights over a silvered garland tangle
as certain moments erupt
(eight toed-skink & hula albino)
You must hang fire
Jolly full of holiday folly
call it a wreath of holly w/ berries
lay it upon the mattress of time
for the dark nighted wynter
bemused of silent family cruisings
apply an extra finger to the nog
Turn on the light
inside your 'art
softly, tenderly praying
the angelic hosts
to scorch & torch & toast
everything not made as work
of the Divine in this season of joy
no one needs a money grubbing martyr
needlessly nodding
in a parking garage of life
spent in solitary hunt & peck
for the next chunk of sky
to fall
in the form of a government check
there is no intrigue for the corrupt worldly
a stale crust of week old pie
as the last object consumed
takes its' place beneath the browning tree
buried by squirrels;
forgotten by January
You can't spell 'Merry Christmas!'
with an 'x'
acrost your heart
May as well
drop your coin
on the dark horse
take the ride
& shine the light

~pmpope 2009

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Earth Without Form

hours and hours from the sun
called into being by the one

more dead than alive by the looks of it
hopped up and strung out on earth credit

love for love they’d exchange their spark
on waves; on beaches; through freeway parks

acid rain soothes the dawn
along the bank the carriage drawn

never before and never again
would the atlas break back the long lost dead

Ramboed out a couple of guns
to deliver a fine, fine death to the devils’ flood

never before and never again
would the rose dare whisper what the wasp had said

a little bit of knowledge is a dangerous thing
for the Buddhist & Muslims & Opus Dei

never before and never again
could they bust the rock off its’ orbited spin

Wednesday, November 09, 2011

11:11 - make a wish

for once to find one heart
twice to never part
nor seeking fulfillment
in empty arms
to lie
in an uncomfortable bed

to be explained
by contributions made
to the greater good
and shine the light
which travels a-far
even though long gone
past the dying star

to love for love's sake
without price
eternally wrapped
in that last kiss
good night

pmpope 2011

Monday, June 20, 2011


Pulling up to the red light
in a nondescript sprawlburb
I notice a man sitting at the corner
With a bucket & a squeegee.
He runs up to cars & offers to wash
Their windshields so they can see
Where they are going
And all the marvelous things
God has prepared for them in this
Journey of life where only the smart
& the strong are necessary to carry on.
'What a good man.' I think to myself
With a slight brush of my hand
I acknowledge the wallet
Resting plump against my chest
In this wallet
Are pictures of my family,
My reason to be,
& also plastic cards
They equal so many pictures
Of dead presidents.
I think: 'It's a good job & tax-free to boot.'
The man spins his sign
In some hispanic language it says
Something about: God Bless You!
I think: He is loved by God
What good is my money
To him?
Pmpope 2011