your gasp
sufficing for its laugh
suffocating you to leave
your shoes on,
at least, until
your supper settles.
TRUE NORTH
(Ollie pleading his case before congress)
my actions did a shredder mulch,
but people shouldn’t hear,
the public is not fit to touch,
such things as “true” and “fair”;
for this, in truth, you all abide,
I appeal to my peers;
Let no importance e’er be tried
In this Election Year!
The men in power change but the poor go on suffering.
The birth of humanity
When humanity first burst
This fledgling sac of atmosphere,
And with fists clenched
And feet kicking said, “we’re here, we’re here!”
Then his next thought was that somebody else,
Something strange, might make a housecall to his door,
Some fiery welcome wagon from the stars,
And thus he grew afraid.
The world closes to only
The bed, the blanket,
A turning from side to
Side,
The retching from the belly
The looseness of the bowels
Disjointed images
On the souvenir of the death of a young poet
Farewell! I keep you close in a bottle
Of brown and tasteless beer which your singing
Lips sucked in to their death. As my mottled
Memory fades, on my mantelpiece you sit,
A dull reminder of days of an age now gone;
Gone in a glistening pink lipped wheezing
With vomit and words in a back alley
Streaming down the edge of drainpipes with our dreams.
After reading about the life of a famous artist
Rage, you withered old beast,
May your lecherous flesh
Be chipped from your cold breast
And crumbled into the dust
Which your prideful heart
Would not let you confess
The few grains you thought
Were yours, are ours or worms.
Like us, you too have prayed
In your hour of need,
And now for our children, we pray
That you and your fame
Stay and suckle your devouring life
In its solitary grave.
Music, so sweet and sensuous,
Floating, groaning with other cares,
Our bodies contoured to our chairs,
We orbit, exploring celestial sound,
Yet when first we learn these tantalizing rounds,
Our looks become quite critical,
It’s, oh, so mathematical.
The Song Of Belonging - meant to be chanted
I have every right to be, I have every right to be,
The eagle takes his prey
And I take mine,
The eagle takes his prey
And I take mine,
I have every right to be, I have every right to be,
I have every right to be, I have every right to be,
The grass grows tall
And I grow strong,
The grass grows tall
And I grow strong,
I have every right to be, I have every right to be,
I have every right to be, I have every right to be.
(Repeat song again or end)
walking alone
through a field
with the newness
of the green of spring
stepping over
fallen branches
crooked
in the twistings of life
rustling
of undergrowth
under each
well intentioned step
bright dawning sun
glistening dew
one comes arms wide
haloed
in rising light
There is a young con named Lyle
the crime he enjoys
involves some young boys,
for access type Ped .(dot) ophile.
She bears her love for me like a fruit
Ripened in a summer of long waiting;
Soft and yielding in her upturned hand,
I see the whole from seed to seed:
Our autumn waning to a long winter’s decay
Till some future spring finds us once again
Lying on the grass, our eyes fixed on each other,
Our souls twining like our fingers in the moist grass,
Where once again we will thrive
In our changing seasons of love.
Lovers seek a soul greater than their own,
They seek some greater beauty, some better worth to know.
For you and I, the new year’s thin film of ice has broken,
My love flows through scattered fragments floating,
My fingers dangling to warming waters flowing
As I caress your skin, soft like still water,
And know that our love is as new as spring’s rippling waves,
Our thaw saving winter’s long sleeping decay
As I plunge my soul into your shoreless love
And lose myself in a wonderful sea change,
Made into something rich and strange,
Transformed by your beauty and love.
As I said in the opening, creative expression is an intense means of learning - you open yourself up to the criticism and ridicule you thought you had long ago learned to avoid in middle school. But what is our alternative? Job, family, leisure time can all be either futile distractions and death bed regrets or opportunities for really living - your portal to self expression, growth, enlightenment, uh disdain, ridicule, pity... So here's to all the fools, life is what we make of it, some day we'll all become wise or dead ...
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