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SURF SONG by Jeff Callaway

I wish I could surf.

I want to ride the crest

of the bluest wave

the sea will be my brother

oh surf would me save

oh see me out

on the endless sea

only the waves

my surfboard

and me.

I come in with the tide.

I wash up on shore.

I stand on the beach

with my surfboard.

the ocean and I

as one My Lord.

I shake my curly blonde locks

in the wind

all wet with

the stuff of the sea

within.

if you didn’t look too close

you’d think I had fins.

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LISTEN to Texas Outlaw Poet, Jeff Callaway, read and rhyme LIVE to blistering and emotional psychedelic trance and ambient beats! ALSO be sure and follow TEXAS OUTLAW POET for upcoming spoken word and trap rap tracks!

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Texas Outlaw Press presents a Texas Outlaw Poet picture by Jeff Callaway based upon his poem of the same name a celebration of movement. All acting and narration by Jeff Callaway. Music by DJ Smack. Follow Texas Outlaw Poet, Jeff Callaway, at http://www.texasoutlawpoet.com!

 

Watch on YouTube:

 

PHOTOS/SCREENSHOTS:

 

POEM W/ MUSIC (audio)

 

POEM W/OUT MUSIC (audio)

 

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NOCTURNAL EMISSIONS by Jeff Callaway

my

alabaster princess

of Atlantis prances

into oblivion

kissing me with her ocean

and breathing in heavy animation

a promenade

of sensual acumen, aplomb

a parade

inside the lover’s aquarium

where there is algebra in our footsteps

and a masquerade

of opulent beauty

in the caress of her

fingertips

all icy

patterns on my bare skin

to the bone

so we drop the linen

in the kitchen

towards an apex of explosions

or a crushing weightlessness

taking us towards our graves

or mine

gravely

in the grave digger’s serenade

her tongue of waves of fire

is like life is the alphabet of death

and her teeth are like tombstones

that spell out orgies

in her mouth

where i immerse myself

mercilessly

in the rain her hair is also fire

orange and golden curls

that swirl

secret side inside secret

swirl she is a cupcake

in her creamy skin, an ivory

death wish bone china cabinet

and i am the rain

upon her sweaty bed

with its no sheets, a bare bedlam

and i am the child she is torturing

in the dungeon

with butterflies

nurturing tsunamis in my stomach

as i reside within the walls

of her

wet soft pinkness

© Jeff Callaway

 

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she

sat there in the smoky room

where the poets loomed in the gloom

and the coffee brewed

as time seemed to

stand still

I knew that she was real

or that she was like

a wonderful white rose

just waiting to bloom

in Spring

or even right there in front of me

where I noticed how her bones caught

shadows of light

from beneath her skin

that I wanted to be inside

and soon

I longed to touch her

with my long velvet tongue

my hands

calloused and wet

with words

with ink there of

that burned

into the page that was her

with long blonde tresses

and spectacles

all spectacular she

was just like she was

the moon

that I could feel her

pull like I was the ocean

my swoon and my sway

as she sat there silently

scrawling romantic electric words

with her doll like hands

creamy and ceramic

into her black leather notebook

where she kept her poems and things

she seemed just like a cat

with her litters of light

as I took the stage

to read

I watched for her responses

to each

of my bombastic elastic words

that I bombarded

upon her ear lobes

until she became shell shocked

and pulled her kites, her eyes

from the page

to glance up at me

with her eyes

her eyes like lights

that shown up on the stage

where I stood lonely

and longed for her to join me there

but she just smiled…

COPYRIGHT © 2006 JEFF CALLAWAY

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TO: JOHN FOGERTY

the crickets chirp

an old Creedence tune

like Bad Moon-
…
Rising or Born On The Bayou

the water moccasins sing too

through

poison devil tongues

of Satan’s tooth

to

hiss the song right on through

their mouths agape and cotton fanged

the moonlight serenade

alligators and crocodiles promenade

to Have You Ever Seen The Rain

their ivory wide smiles for miles

seem to say

yes

to the bullfrogs bopping

the slimy toads hopping

this Green River is never stopping

with snapping turtles surfing

on logs meant for the chopping

so just Keep On Chooglin’

up to the big Bad Moon

Rising

above John Fogerty’s phantasy zoo

where his creatures in Mississippi mud

sing the blues

in the breeze

just cause

I saw it on TV

the footprints of the Boggy Creek

monster

mad in marshy marmalade mud

this Blue Moon Swamp is a musical masterpiece

to flood

the silhouettes of cypress trees

as the dark shadows bud

and bloom

to the lead guitar grooves

and the lead singer’s croons soothe too

his music sets the mood

while lily pads float soliloquies to

the rowdy river

that mirrors

the mystical sky in deep blue

to ooby dooby ooby dooby ooby dooby too

like Willie and The Poor boys do

when the marshmallow clouds thunder and boom

and rain down on birds of prey

but the whooping crane plays

like my ding a ling shakes like a big rattlesnake

and he smiles

with a catfish in his slender throat

and a hungry death wish hope

as the great horned owl

watches all suspicious eyed

hoot hoot hooting!

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