So, there’s a new eBook on Amazon but

Amazon has my new eBook listed, but they erased three others, and I got no notification as to why. I suppose it’s all futile. The ones that disappeared weren’t selling or even noticed. The new one is more comprehensive. It’s probably doomed as well.

Wuhan Girl Joins Us in Poetry

Wuhan Girl Joins Us in Poetry (UK)

Wuhan Girl Joins Us in Poetry (Canada)

Wuhan Girl Joins Us in Poetry (France)

Wuhan Girl Joins Us in Poetry (Germany)

Wuhan Girl Joins Us in Poetry (Spain)

Wuhan Girl Joins Us in Poetry(Italy)

Wuhan Girl Joins Us in Poetry(India)

Wuhan Girl Joins Us in Poetry(Japan)

Wuhan Girl Joins Us in Poetry(Australia)
Kindle Edition

Publication Date : August 7, 2020
Word Wise : Enabled
Print Length : 361 pages
File Size : 678 KB
Language: : English
Publisher : Lulu.com (August 7, 2020)
ASIN : B08LH1XTQD

Horseback Riding: How to Post the Trot

Influence peddling
can’t be done by pedaling

It requires foreign horsepower
jets and money in saddlebags.

Vice travelers are always advised to
rent a horse adorned by their host
with money in the saddlebags.
They must bide their time
to learn what the Big Guy wants.

The Hunter can easily ride and
catch feral contracts from the wolves
but beware the ides of October, and
the biding of October emails, for

when horse sense is in a New York barn,
and the story is trotted out of the equine:
right front and left hind quarters noted,
barnstorming for truth might begin

Maybe
if the wags are stalling the horse
there’ll be ups and downs to posting

a story-tail wagging in New York might
clean the excrement from the Swamp

Alexander Hamilton had a horse.
He knew how to post, and
trot out the news.

There is a link to modern times.
Find it in a gallop to bide time and
follow the money unbidden.

Notes on Amazon

OK, it’s probably just in transition while they up-date and arrange things. As of this morning there are some books suddenly missing from the Author’s page BUT I found the new book on Amazon:
Wuhan Girl Joins Us in Poetry
Kindle Edition
Publication Date : August 7, 2020
Word Wise : Enabled
Print Length : 361 pages
File Size : 678 KB
Language: : English
Publisher : Lulu.com (August 7, 2020)
ASIN : B08LH1XTQD
X-Ray : Not Enabled
Screen Reader : Supported
Enhanced Typesetting : Enabled
Text-to-Speech : Enabled
Lending : Not Enabled

So, it’s not on the Author Page, but it’s on Amazon. I hope it’s OK. I’ll check again in a few days. Revisions take time.

Horseback Riding: Posting (Draft 2x ugh)

How to Post While Horseback Riding

Travelers are always advised to
rent a horse adorned by a host
with money in the saddlebags.
They must bide their time
to learn what the Big Guy wants.

The Hunter can easily ride and
catch feral contracts from the wolves
but beware the ides of October, and
the biding of October emails, for

when horse sense is in a New York barn,
and the story is trotted out of the equine:
right front and left hind quarters noted,
barnstorming for truth might begin

Maybe
if the wags are stalling the horse
there’ll be ups and downs to posting

a story-tail wagging in New York might
clean the excrement from the Swamp

Alexander Hamilton had a horse.
He knew how to post, and
trot out the news.

There is a link to modern times.
Find it in a gallop to bide time and
follow the money unbidden.

Horseback Riding : Posting


EDIT NOTE: OK. I have to fix this. It’s not clear, which was the idea but it’s gone too far. It’s about the New York Post being censored. Maybe I’ll make a new draft later. This one is not clear.

When horse sense is in a New York barn,
trot out the story of the charming equine:
right front and left hind quarters noted,
barnstorming

If the wags are stalling the horse
there are ups and downs to posting

a story-tail wagging in New York
cleans the excrement from the Swamp

Alexander Hamilton had a horse.
He knew how to post, and
trot out the news.

There is a link to modern times.
Find it in a gallop to bide time and
follow the money unbidden.

Posting
Posting 2

Adventures

Fleshing Out the Text

They were walking text-makers
and emoji hunters, but

the last neat text said
meet on Main Street.

Looking down
on opposite sides
they were crossing when
he got hit by a truck.

He was dying as
his circuit boards
splayed out of his body

She said aloud,
“You’re a robot?”

He said,
“Yes, aren’t you?”

She took out a pocket knife
cut open a vein, and
bled to death.
———-
The Adventures of You

I told you not to go to the South Pole
because I don’t want you to freeze

But your freedom is dear to me
and you are so happy with adventure.

I want you to be
gleeful with a dog sled,
race with the wind.

I think the angels
will warm you, and
professor lover dear
I love your research
of life, of snow, and
of me.

I will tell your peers, that
they must publish your papers
in a Journal, just because

I say you are worthy
of truth, and
the data is glorious:

let them look, and
if they give you a prize

I will be ecstatic for you,
but as I gift you with me
I hope you’ll duck into
the cloak room at
the Noble Prize ceremony
and kiss me, because
I love your work
———-
Throbbing In Crevices

Though there’s little food in Sugar Ditch
the rabbit hoped to hop from me
a foolish-stewing-hopeless creature,
who’d let luck go where
fecal creeks don’t drown
perfumed hope

Broken down in Sugar Ditch
waiting for a scholarship
I was wheeling like
lightning struck me down

The documentary camera came
just before a thunder wash,
saw the open sewer
that’s home to family shame

I pulled out my crying rag
time moaning sack of clothes
and the man heard me sing
while driving lightning roads

Honking horns daring me
to dream away from poverty,
I bent my trumpets to heaven’s ears

But no one told me
evil flies to me
every place I go, and
King Sorrow would reign
over sovereign hopes

I reached the skyscrapers
a tourist of bad timing
had to be the highest
place to see heaven
aside from you

After lightning struck this New York
I was lying under debris,
my quilted sorrow bristling
with cast off bricks

Mortar thoughts around me
being so damn mortal, I
could be thundered away
to the heavenly scene

But a steam pipe was hissing
while lifted stones flew away
like missiles whistling
choruses of dusty blues

Jaws of life jacking time
they slid my body out in time
let the building collapse on through

Thought I heard,
old Joplin singin’
more on Earth
will be slapping you
if you
dodge more bullets
from another fool

And when I sang right out
across the clapping crowds,
my best laid blues
went right to you,
New York girl
in a rabbit hat

Oh magical girl,
my new love,
you kissed the breeze
made illusions
fondle my wishes

Now I dream of you deeply:
my salvation laughing everywhere

To whinny, my dream horse gallops, your
giggling jiggling in my cortex,
cerebral fondness hunting for you
in pulsing fibers
embedded in desire
throbbing in crevices
of nerve-cell books,
passions hiding in no man’s nook.

You journey through my mind,
scampering mind dancer,
doing wild animal tangos. I embrace

your beauty in the hunt
to capture your essence;
my dogs sense your scent,
a presence so foxy,
they transcend all knowing
rockin’ and rollin’ in serotonin.

I have traveled into you–
touch me there
where thoughts are real
and lightning tingles fine:
hats off to
everlasting good times

When I awake to you
I am in heaven

“Back Door Poetry” (eBook)
    by Douglas Gilbert
       on Amazon
       gp/product/B08LQX3ZF7

US

UK

Canada

France

Germany

Spain

Italy

India

Australia

Japan

Walking in a Dream World

Avian Translation

I’ve always wanted to speak
to the smaller birds, so
I’ve done a lot of weird whistling

Sometimes a little birdie cocks her head
and tries to see if I’m a threat or a bird benevolent,
but I’m neither a mate nor predator, just
a conversationalist

So I whistle something which means
“give tomatoes to Owls, like Caesar.”

And she says, “Huh, what? And
for a Human you don’t look so bad
even though you have no feathers.
Why is it that you can’t fly?
It’s so easy.”

And I said, “Why is it that
you can’t speak and write novels.”

“Well, then,” it said, “have you written one lately?”

And I said, “Um, no…”

And it said in a way that I think it meant kindly that
I was a birdbrain.

Ode to Sloopy

Oh my neighborhood is blessed,
so sweet the streets, but yet
I mourn where you were,

where I saw you down the other road:
down and out town where I never
could seem to be for long
forlorn and never understanding
your faithful path; I watched

the caresses paved on
bumpy roads, your skips

on tangled streets, without
any proper signs but caution
and sorrow, and

I could have loved you
so easily if you were in
my class at school, and
my illegal notes would have said

I am not fulfilled with
just my toys. Joyce dear dream,
with the pony tail and smile,
could you play with silly me like
you’ve always loved me
on the streets of true love.

Sometimes I think
you’ve known me

But now that
I’ve grown
now that I moan

can I give you my map
to find me, though there’ve
been so many years?

There’s a song and I say Hello

Joyce babe, oh
you’ve known the song so
don’t fall off the mountain;
hang on to an edge,
hang on to a love to be
that should have been.

Oh baby I don’t know why
your Daddy put you down
and why you stayed with cockroaches
in your sorry part of town

Oh baby, can you cross the border,
and don’t be down,
’cause there’d be no disorder
if you’d wait for me on the corner,
only wait for me where
we would have loved the sky
on a street of love, and where
we could have walked forever, but
now I’ll call you a cab into heaven

’cause I know there’s a cliff
where everyone dis’s you

But baby don’t fall;
I’ve got the rockin’ gear
and the pinions of a mountain climb

I know you’re on a cliff, but
hang on

I will hoist you up to God, and
maybe He will share you with me

because I want to save you, and
my rescue ropes are of joy. We will

cross the border
and climb a better mountain
beyond outrageous stones
those devils throw

How can they know
your kind heart
if they’d be mocking birds.

Let me sing to you of
sweet rescue, because
don’t we both need to
climb to a heaven we need
so desperately

I think we are good
to hang on for love

because never would I
want you to be anywhere
but on my street if
you love me, or

even if you don’t.

Foamy Dream

There is an ocean at dawn
that skirts the night tides
crashing swirls and sea birds

There is a froth to morning dreams.

I’ve been staring at foam in my coffee
remembering the ocean starring in ending rain
a conjured dream of frothy us, stars
beneath an oceanic drink of dawn

It was
coffee boiling hot for
the exigency of a dream, and

when from the freezer I plunged
an ice berg scoop of ice cream in it
the titanic foam made giggle bubbles
that speak of the dream when
you laughed your dainty blessing,
so pretty your voice, your smile in
the swirl of your skirt like a current
or maybe I just imagine such formality
like the majestic blue of the ocean at sunrise
because you know I don’t mind your bikini too,
love the virtues of shallow laughter-water,
know that the splash and the play
do pull tides from the deep imagination

I can be hot
to be cool

and we sat on the white sand
under the silly white umbrella we had borrowed
not imagining rain on our white beach, where we thought
if only sunshine would be in the heart then joy rises

for sunrise at the beach is
a glistening foam
silver crests
deep blues
an orange glow
and ice cream foam

and I dream of you
with fireworks in the sky
because…

maybe I imagine love
blue and foamy
silvery crested

[EDIT: Amazon changed the links]

Pussy Cat

Pussy Cat

Why does he know when the snow overwhelms me.
Why does he know I plead for his whisker, and
the wick of a flame,
oh yes come brush me
with your fur
and I remember how you
gave me the fur coat of your chest
the tickle of your beard, and i
didn’t mind if you would
brush me with your hair
and I could smell you like you
were my lion, and I
were your pussy cat

— Zawmb’yee Nuje