May 29, 2005
Prairie Shooter girl in LA
Shooter girl knows
It's all about the 2killyah
-nothing like diluted crack.
off the all beaton track
This shooter girl knows
that racism is a state of mind
there's no knowledge you can find
like that aquired from the.
state of growning up in the. near the
near that reservation
gives you the right. to judge the.
at that soccer tourney fundraiser ah
mostly made ah..white-ah.
including my son-ah.
called WINNERS
for the sinners
to say...
yah, governments gotta get there money back somehow. from the.
only table that won. the
tax payers
dullah.
hmmm. wunder why.yah.
Posted at 11:00 pm by girlroar
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Feb 11, 2005
Rondo a Capriccio, Rage of Lady laryngitis
Uninspired by this monotony of life,
my voice utters a forced whisper.
The chosen paths, habits and there lack of action
fill me like the anti aphrodisiac gods
drink my imagination & exhale
-A Hemp-like disaster of assimilation.
The intake and excreatement
is the corporate Crack that diseases ingenuity-
Make me like you and youz.
Yet, the hand rebels and repels all that
those money hoodoos catastrophize us all to be
Cuz Beethoven rages over a lost Penney
With a damn good cup of Java
Simmering on the piano stool.
Posted at 11:07 pm by girlroar
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Jan 27, 2005
redneck rethoric escapes us
between the "what the really we are"s
inhaling the scent of part time smokers and the patio...
I steal the intimacy of your poetry
remembering Julip and his anecdotes
the "sopposed to have been"s
that defines what is.
Posted at 12:55 am by girlroar
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Nov 27, 2004
Missing Mr. Jack & Miss Daisy
spiderman
struts like Cling Eastwood
with his cowboy hat on
and fisher price web maker
transformed into the gun
that he wasn't sopposed to have
dangling in an
entangled web
of skipping ropes &
Mr. Dress-up whispers,
the giggles and "come get me"s
that once filled this room
empty into
the uneven staccato
-A syncopation
of dripping facets.
Posted at 12:09 am by girlroar
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Nov 26, 2004
To those that actually read this blog
i've got a bad cliche in my hand. (Frankly, i have to admitt I love the social statement of a cliche). Time has run through my hands like water. And really, its true. Between closing my business, and starting a 'corporate' job where the cloning process begins...time has escaped me. But even though I'm not posting, i still am writing. And in this world, i hope and try to make so its not motivated by ego nor selfishness. i really write cuz i do. its an instinct thats been repressed by the domestic diva gods. currently, i am working on a wee project. so inbetween i hope to improvise...
Posted at 11:55 pm by girlroar
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Sep 16, 2004
icon wife
playing Driver
and Sabath on the 12 string
deepening
in pleasing
he and she
Am i all that you wished for?
but all that am not.
Nelly F and Atwood
(despite oryx and crake)
oxidize through
the methamphetamine
hazes exfoliating
desperation
on suicide street
as the domestic diva slouches
over her osteoporosis pose
mopping up the
acetone and
ammonia
dripping down the billboard
onto her
worth
less
ness
and joni's on the side
saying 'do you think you should have?'
Posted at 02:37 am by girlroar
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a sly glaze like
icecream icing
drips
past those
moments when I was or thought
I could of been
or will be
cuz I've got that trick
up my sleeze
that's meant for
deception.
The mischevious success
that demeans your
past judgements
like
infidelity.
Posted at 02:34 am by girlroar
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Jul 1, 2004
It’s odd
how you disappeared,
like my sisters and I used to in the department store.
-Hiding in the middle of the clothing racks.
My mom would whistle whoo hoo
Whoo hoo
Whoo hoo
To the point that we were so embarrased,
we absolutely had to come out.
I find it strange
how Bush can’t find you
to defend his war.
The anecdotes in rack 911
hiding and hovering inbetween
the burqa line & Tommy H.
But the whistles for help
linger in the aftermath
Of 11,000 protesters
plunging past the peace.
©Pamela Gomola
July 1, 2004.
Posted at 02:21 am by girlroar
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Protrest Vote From Alberta
Eyes set un-accepting after eighteen years
zipping and zagging
past the skateboard park
into the election hall...
Peeking past the uncultivated hemp.
That ‘s whom I should have voted for.
Cuz when I’m outside in my BLUE tank
& torn up Levi
-The stencil that paints
this blistering
RED attitudE
just cuz
that’s the Way it is.
-Don’t put the screen on
cuz no one else does.
Posted at 01:15 am by girlroar
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Jun 30, 2004
The sporadic high heel staccato interrupts a deserted university hallway
like your voice interrupts this moment
sneaks past and stumbles out through the scrawl
the page in-between old poems and Eng. 377
is you
standing there,
tall,
dark
and well.....sort of handsome
-an obtrusion to 'I am'.
mischievous tears
that wink a bad cliche
a kiss etched
right here
your allegory
and hidden haiku
unravel Ceol Mo Cridhe
into unsung lore
and all I can do is fold you up
and tuck you back where I left you.
Pamela Gomola
©June 30 2004
Posted at 12:57 am by girlroar
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