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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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Kara met Kane

one frozen friday night

on Sixth Street in the rain

standing outside of a poolhall

called The Ritz

in wait of a taxi in vain

mixed drinks raced through her brain

like foredoomed freight trains

on a night out with the girls gone insane

with Penny and Jenny and Jane

singing a bluesy refrain

under the Austin, Texas skyline i love

lit all glowing with golden and gray

as life came into focus

the very first time

that Kara laid eyes

on Kane…

 

to hallucinate

through her mind’s eye

in utter disbelief

the sweetest vision of her future husband

in a white wedding day dream

all of this could be seen

all this marital scenery

with heart shaped candy eruptions

coming right up out of Sixth Street

as Kara conceived

their very own children

like bleached ivory babies

tied to honeymoon balloons

by umbilical strings

with a lifetime of fond memories

as Al Green sings

a two story pink

house with a big red door

and a gold two karat diamond ring

and all of this in just one moment

Kara did magically see

that Kane was the man of her dreams…

 

back into reality

where he stood outside of a pizza place

just a few feet further down the street

wearing a black leather jacket

and smoking a Swisher Sweet

you could smell the pepperoni

you could smell the anchovies

under the pizzaria awning

drinking a Pepsi

eating thick slices of three cheese

on that drunken misty late friday night

when Kara and Kane

did meet…

 

skin is symphony

and sugar is sweet

so they made love for six straight weeks

and i swear

you could see it both of their eyes

that never ever in their lives

had they ever felt

oh so alive

and it’s so nice

when life is like a surprise

when love is an effortless sacrifice

you pay the price

sometimes

for the flesh inside the thighs to flush

Kara and Kane became addicted to that rush

to the injection of just a touch

you can never get enough

one night they had sex on a city bus

Kara went wild as Kane blushed

’cause adrenaline is a drug

and so the next night they bought some guns

and just for fun

they robbed a bank

and went on the run

and it’s all big fun

until the Austin Police come

run Kara and Kane run

’cause The Man is going to want some

blood

and when the levee breaks

here comes the

flood…

 

but first

let me remember her

the way she was

raven haired child of the sun

with creulean eyes

and i can’t lie

even i fantasized

her hyacinth hips hypnotized

her lavender lips never lied

she would’ve made a fine poet’s bride

she was a vixen with verve and her vibrant vibe

she was Venus in a velum of vice

and i’ll never forget what she told me this one night

that everyday is like

the highdive

so you might as well

jump…

 

north

on Lamar

in Kane’s ‘65 GTO

with the motor roaring and raring to go

they left a blue flame

all the way back to the Colorado

a wake of squad cars, sirens

red and blue lights all a glow

you could here Kara’s .45 Taurus unload

her bullets blazed out the passenger side window

a cop car hit the ditch

another cop car rolled

one cruiser even ran into

a telephone pole

a mushroom cloud of fire explodes

go Kara and Kane go

leave rubber on the road

just like life is the last picture show

around curves

and over hills

over long winding roads

go…

 

up

atop

majestic

Mount Bonnell

wher mocking birds dwell

as legend tells

of an Amerind princess

and her lover who once fell

from their very own romantic hell

up above a vista view

of such a wide expanse

of both time and land

and from that same mythic peak

so mystic and grand

with gun in hand

Kara and Kane prepared to make

their final stand

even though they knew that

The Man had the upper hand

they still had a plan

and so as long as they had those cops out ran

and as they waited for the police to arrive

they made sweet love on that mountain side

as if they had not a thing to hide

from this cruel world

or that night sky

and as the sirens began to wail and cry nearby

as they stood naked surrounded by sky

on that rocky precipice

Kara gave Kane just one last kiss

at the approach of those

combat booted feet

hand in hand

in one lover’s leap

they did jump

down.

 

© Jeff Callaway

Texas Outlaw Poet, Jeff Callaway, rocks and shocks the audience at the Going Green Opening Reception at the 211 Gallery in Athens, Texas on February 7, 2015. Music by DJ Smack. Poems include The Greatest Poems of All, Pitt Grill and Hungry Ghost. Filmed by Mags Hill. Edited by Jeff Callaway. Available today on Amazon and Createspace!

Amazon.com: Texas Outlaw Poet Live At The 211 Gallery

Createspace.com: Texas Outlaw Poet Live At The 211 Gallery

The ghazal (Arabic/Persian/Urdu: غزل) is a poetic form with rhyming couplets and a refrain, each line sharing the same meter. A ghazal may be understood as a poetic expression of both the pain of loss or separation and the beauty of love in spite of that pain. The form is ancient, originating in Arabic poetry in Arabia long before the birth of Islam. It is derived from the Arabian panegyric qasida. The structural requirements of the ghazal are similar in stringency to those of the Petrarchan sonnet. In style and content, it is a genre that has proved capable of an extraordinary variety of expression around its central themes of love and separation.

The ghazal spread into South Asia in the 12th century by the influence of Sufi mystics and the courts of the new Islamic sultanates. Although the ghazal is most prominently a form of Dari poetry and Urdu poetry, it is now found in the poetry of many languages on the Indian Subcontinent.

Ghazals were written by Rumi and Hafiz of Persia; the Azeri poet Fuzûlî in the Ottoman Empire; Mirza Ghalib and Muhammad Iqbal of North India; and Kazi Nazrul Islam of Bengal. Through the influence of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832), the ghazal became very popular in Germany during the 19th century; the form was used extensively by Friedrich Rückert (1788–1866) and August von Platen (1796–1835). The Kashmiri poet Agha Shahid Ali was a proponent of the form, both in English and in other languages; he edited a volume of “real Ghazals in English”. Ghazals were written by Moti Ram Bhatta (1866 – 1896), the pioneer for Ghazal writing in Nepali language.[1]

It is common in ghazals for the poet’s name (known as takhallus) to be featured in the last verse (a convention known as the maqta). (from Wikipedia)

Here is a ghazal written by, Texas Outlaw Poet,  Jeff Callaway, titled “Hungry Ghost.”

 

HUNGRY GHOST

by Jeff Callaway

 

She was gone when I needed her the most

of all. My love it is a hungry ghost

 

to haunt the halls of my hearts home as I

fall. My lonesome call is a hungry ghost

 

song. She’s gone for real. And an appetite

that cannot be filled is a hungry ghost.

 

My heart is a black hole. My heart is burnt

toast. A neutron star is a hungry ghost.

 

She awoke deathwatch beetles in me for

spite. It’s not right. Night is a hungry ghost.

 

And so tonight I fly with my giant

white gossamer wings like a hungry ghost.

 

And so tonight I float a drunken boat

on a lone sea that is a hungry ghost.

 

Tonight I fight inside myself to hope

she might return to burn a hungry ghost.

 

I miss her the most. I miss her the most.

I miss her so much like a hungry ghost.

 

with a million dreams of her leaving me

alone in bone, I am a hungry ghost.

 

A hungry ghost. I am a hungry ghost.

Boo! Jeff Callaway is a hungry ghost.

 

 

©Jeff Callaway

Many of Texas Outlaw Poet Jeff Callaway’s multi media renderings of beer bottles will be on an extended stay up at the amazing 211 Gallery in the cultural epicenter of East Texas, the historic ATHENS, TEXAS! If you would like to come take a peek, there you will find them well hung. Come on out and take a gander at them whenever gallery hours allow!

Thursday, 11:00 am to 5:00 pm
Friday, 11:00 am to 5:00 pm
Saturday, 9:00 am to 5:00 pm

211 Gallery

211 N. Palestine,
Athens, Texas

http://www.artgallery211.net/

https://www.facebook.com/211gallery/

Texas Outlaw Poet, Jeff Callaway, is included in an anthology with Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and William S. Burroughs, as well as many other amazing beat Texas writers of today and the past!

“Many of the major Beat writers of the 1950s and 1960s had a fascination with Texas. They spent time there, traveled around the state, wrote there. And left a legacy among the Texas writers they met as well as those influenced by reading the original Beats. This anthology includes both well-known Beat writers and writers who are currently in the process of making names for themselves with their publications.”

Get your copy of this wonderful anthology on amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Beatest-State-Union-Anthology-Writing/dp/1942956088/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1453665483&sr=8-1&keywords=Beatest+state+in+the+union

Get your copy of this wonderful anthology at Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-beatest-state-in-the-union-christopher-carmona/1123258350?ean=9781942956082

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