frank beaumier's poetry

Tomorrow Hollywood

2006-03-05T22:03:00.000-08:00

...
It was a stretch
acting out nor macho,
but I'ze reach deep within
for my feminine ho self;
script kiss the big hairy lips
of my manly black co-drinker,
Toots Devine, de odds on
favorite for Queer Standby
in a Bar, Support Actor of the Year
at newly named
Brokeback Harry's Bar
and Burger Grill. He stage whisper
everyone can hear:
“Nice lips muff fucker,”
wherefo yo been all my
life till now.”
I giggle play de role,
going on into my new
bold man at de bar
dinner theater type star
bit I could bes playing fo tips and beer.
“You sho gots a sweet
tongue in there cocksucker.
Big and long too. Lil ol me?
I'm gorn fo Best Cross Dressing Ho
Actin Somewhere Near Dinner Theatre.
Could dreams come true,
for me, today Brokeback Harry's
tomorrow Hollywood.”
And overcome with emotion, I
scream, “God bless Ang Lee.”

Tomorrow Hollywood

2006-03-05T21:59:00.000-08:00

...
It was a stretch
acting out nor macho,
but I'ze reach deep within
for my feminine ho self;
script kiss the big hairy lips
of my manly black co-drinker,
Toots Devine, de odds on
favorite for Queer Standby
in a Bar, Support Actor of the Year
at newly named
Brokeback Harry's Bar
and Burger Grill. He stage whisper
everyone can hear:
“Nice lips muf fucker,”
wherefo yo been all my
life till now.”
I giggle play de role,
going on into my new
bold man at de bar
dinner theater type star
bit I could bes playing fo tips and beer.
“You sho gots a sweet
tongue in there cocksucker.
Big and long too. Lil ol me?
I'm gorn fo Best Cross Dressing Ho
Actin Somewhere Near Dinner Theatre.
Could dreams come true,
for me, today Brokeback Harry's
tomorrow Hollywood.”
And overcome with emotion, I
scream, “God bless Ang Lee.”

Valentine Sweet

2006-02-14T15:01:00.000-08:00

On sweet candy love

hear de sounds of fat lips

eating gift chocolate; wurth

the fo nine five sale price,

shoc-o-la-te smears our faces

as we kiss; say "Gordo bless our mutual

love of dis good on V-Day."

Ummm, happy in our love

of candy, heart candy kisses, "Love you."

"Ditto," sweetest eat go

into a sexual high, candy

kisses so ter

enhance the treat

I know be waiting under a hairy

mass below.

I go fo' my own chocolate

choice sweet to cry of "Eat dat

Bromey, eat yo valentine."

--------------

Buy/check Frank Beaumier's books at

http://www.lulu.com/fbb

Brome Meditates on Christmas Past

2005-12-24T05:06:00.000-08:00

So Brome meditates on Christmas past;
think of those gone on before
as presents under his personal Christmas tree;
think the long road behind him
fucking she to fucking shining she, of de
willing smiles now lost to prosperity, of
love gone on into the tomes of history.
And Brome wonders on the future fucks as all before:
What they be, who they be. Be they be?
-----------------------------------------------
From, Merry Xmas Bloggers--Twas de Night 'fo Xmas--Frank Beaumier.

The Invisible Dog

2005-12-15T08:30:00.000-08:00

Who say, labels there
more a journalist than novelist.
Can’t seem to shake that either
as I string together the plausable
vignettes into novel form, work making
typewritten notes for the future
erotic reading, vicarious born to
the sexual, like to work when others
are at play, at the beach, swimming,
eating, barbecuing de ribbers.
Man must have his ribbers
on de holidays as de sex cling
to de traditions. But more
it all comes back to the ribber.
And when others
go back to work after the holiday,
log their clocking nine to five,
and minutes thereof, way
de means problem solving,
I like to fuck off,
take the afternoon off,
play tennis or walk
the invisible dog.
--------------------

2005-12-09T13:52:00.000-08:00

Some of the material published here may bediscovered in Books by Frank Beaumier. If interested,please go to http://www.lulu.com/fbb.thanks, frank beaumier.

Wolf Run

2005-12-09T13:47:00.000-08:00

The wolf raced time
and man across his frozen
homeland where
killing has begun
again in Alaska.
Count the wolves
bite the frozen
tundra, shot
by aerial snipers.
Easy targets there below
running on fallen snow
gunned from airplanes.
No baying of the hound
is heard, or horses hoofs
on silent English ground,
as de brother fox is brought
to bay. Lo the roar of the plane
and crack of enemy fire marks
this wolf and hunter's day.

Poetry by Frank Beaumier

2005-12-03T22:25:00.000-08:00

Poetry by Frank Bond Beaumier is available in six books at:
http://www.lulu.com/fbb

Peaked Too Soon

2005-12-03T22:21:00.000-08:00

The youngish writer
writes his mind,
despair to tell the
world, went to the wind:
"O good God, my
talent lost, Alexander
I know you well."
Hard the thought revealed
his mindset,
"My own doth cause
me pause."
A black block unto
the brain wrapped in
the telling refrain of, "I
can't do better, fear not as
good again in this life."
Repeat to the empty-ness
old ideas, might not
a rewrite, ideas, shout out
as a street person
"Yes, that was my best,
my shining moment.
Before and any rest
will suffer for this.
I fear to hear my own
bleak cry,
"I peaked too soon."

frank beaumier's poetry

2005-12-02T01:43:00.000-08:00

frank beaumier's poetry
On Snow and Love...........................................................
Snow coming down,

nice clean white cover

for harsh grey city ground.

-----------

She dream snow

never seen

living in climate

zone where snow was

a mystery, nature

unknown.

--------

They kiss

the snow falls

cold outside the window,

as earth calls it home

bringing to land,

and time is as it

has always been.

New white life

through lover's eyes.

Kiss sweet kiss

for time suspended.

Yet the snow doth fall,

and always will.

And lovers feel

eternity's distant call

forever lovers.

------------------

From Poetry by Frank Beaumier

Vol. IV, I See Hemingway.

Black Baby Talk

2005-11-29T03:25:00.000-08:00

On dreamer’s wings,
embrace around, over,
cover as the wind
will in invisible
sexuality; send obsessive
visions of mock reality:
"I’m your black baby
Brome."
From Poetry to Eat Out By

Planning Immortality

2005-11-24T15:53:00.000-08:00

Lines in my face
grow deeper each day
as I run the losing race
of life, fighting as all in vain
to retain my fading youth.
My beard and mustache
changes slowly van Gogh reddish brown
to line streaks grey to patches all grey.
My youthful immortality
changes too to see mortality.
Age settles on me as a shroud
comes down on me
and I think of my master plan:
black cunnilingus until I no longer
can attract willing subjects,
and then write, a novel
to be my claim to immortality.
So dream that self serving seeking some might say
misspent goal in life. Now facing the end, it’s
time to seriously play the remember me
game, do the lit bit, finish the careless fight,
turn out the bright light,
hone my immortality.
-----------------------
from new book, Bound for Glory
available at http://www.lulu.com/fbb

Change Time

2005-10-24T11:22:00.000-07:00

Surely reclusive in a crowd
as a depressive,
seemingly barely functional
loose hang time down
on the gentle public,
"Brother can u spare a dime."
Nomadic wondering free
on the streets once reserved
for the sane
where now the seemingly insane walk
mind warped on hopes and dreams
"Sure, change, change time."

Change Time

2005-10-24T10:55:00.000-07:00

................................................................
Surely reclusive in a crowd
as a depressive,
seemingly barely functional
loose hang time down
on the gentle public,
"Brother can u spare a dime."
Nomadic wondering free
on the streets once reserved
for the sane
where now the seemingly insane walk
mind warped on hopes and dreams
"Sure, change, change time."
Make a difference.

Mo about the Mofo

2005-10-20T11:46:00.000-07:00

.........................................
Brome as mofo "Sufi" used
natural talent, striking into
man’s inner soul, slicing
away the life long face
of race, and religion,
with internal direction
found there within in a stream
of consciousness words
of delicate and harsh
expression. Accomplish an
arduous undertaking
without formal training,
or a great deal of knowledge.
like an evangelic asshole
he bore into the gore of
long lost or on traditions, and found
them wanting. NO, not
a true religious "Sufi"
but a man of his own cloth,
a me, man, choosing to judge
the asshole as whole ground.
Yet holding respect for percent
of living creatures; did not object
too harshly in print to fab Gurus and Swamis,
held some fuck ups
in rare esteem construed
or misinterpreted criticism
of life styles ism, misusm and atic,
or of particular people,
be they be murderers,
sexual deviates, the dangerous,
the psychopathic, those harmful
to the environment, whomever
or wherever they may be.
Live and let live mofo,
were seen his creedo.
---------------------------
From Poetry fo Mofo.

On Golden

2005-05-21T14:30:00.000-07:00

On the Golden And she enters for him, evoking memories of the past. No, never before had he seen such a sexual glow from an old and graying woman, bowed from use or misuse, natural decaying as life must reserve surely for all; she, bent as if reachingdown for some enticing morsel or fallen treasure on the floor;still to his mind tasty as a working whore, past sixty if a day. Skin clear as a morning raindrop on a fading rose. Tits that did not appear to sag other than follow the natural conformation of the bending pose, and a very charming smile full of snow white teeth reveal no lack of confidence;nor sign of frontal cavity. Leering up at him from half turned facesilken voice advise, "You want methen as I you pay a price."

Reggie and Nigel see "The Entertainer"

2005-03-05T06:04:00.000-08:00

Arriving at "Mater's All Night Trannies" Club,
perhaps one of the most popular after hours
joints in London pub district,
Reggie grandly tipped the cabbie a bob
and flipped another bob bribe at the doorman:
"There's another like it for a table
with a cockside view," he tells the impressed
overdressed flunky who leads them inside where all hell
is breaking loose, or as the Brits say,
"The laddies were smashing well."
Several patrons were on their feet cheering on
the sexy well developed trannie on stage who
was song singing, "Moma, You did me wrong." in a
Mae West imitation while slowly undressing.
"'Olly shit," Reggie, go, "Look at that cocker."
"I'm looking," Nigel say, "I see. She got
more meat 'anging than me."
"Well shit, shehe's an entertainer."

The Entertainer

2005-03-05T06:02:00.000-08:00

Memories

2005-02-28T05:52:00.000-08:00

Actions and deeds live on and
press into the mind as father time
take its inevitable toll.
Remember again,
you who did partake in bold
fantasies build you now
your venery on memories.

The Introspective Writer--a poem

2005-01-20T10:31:00.000-08:00

He resort to soul-searching,
perhaps better known in some native land
as meditation, for answers that man need know.
Think: show me a man who in an introspective
moment unwinding after a hard day chasing
thin secretaries, who has never looked inside
his mind and saw something more
than just your typical tv addicted pot smoking
nine to five ever man. Be there a man who has never
at such time seen the Bard within, or the inner writer
waiting to burst forth: a man of words and deeds
and more than a flaming fag he be
or she he, more than some Eastern Harvard grad, maybe a Capote,
fighting to get out. The seeking man begging for just one shot
at the legitimate writing game, for a shot at fortune and man/girlie fame.
Be there inside every person man ner woman lurks
a frustrated novelist waiting to break free.
Philosophical long as faith with freedom reigns,
and hope survives, and charity remains;
while there is one untrodden mental tract
for intellect or will
and man is free to think and act
and write, life is worth living still.