I do not know?
Some love too little, some love too long,
some they answer the riddle but fail to move on
some laugh and others cry
when truest feelings have been denied
Some do the act with a show of tears,
surrendering everything showing their fears
And some without a sigh;
they just let their pride die
For some men kill the things they love,
power given from up above
Yet each man does deny.
power from heaven they devise
Some kill love when in their youth,
some kill with abuse
And some when they grow old;
in the end the scam unfolds
Some smother with the hand of greed,
turning away from the hand of need
Because of lust for gold;
the way of love had turned old
The evil use their tongue because,
of vengence to discover
It takes love where it’s cold
and evil thought it mutters
But men who kill the girl they love,
and claim a passion from heaven above
have a story to be heard;
lets not listen to one word
Some do it with a callous look
with a wisdom from the good book
Some with a bitter word;
and with some with passion never heard,
The tyrant does it with his fist,
and serial killer with his list
The weak man with a sword.
a genious that was bored
(A collaboration by Elizabeth Wesley and John H Loving III)
This is a tragedy
A tragic in the history
MH a Malaysian Hospitality
Ended in a catastrophe
Another date of unhappy
July 17 you flew from Amsterdam
MH 17 you are proud flying no harm
Boeing 777 is your airplane
You are shot down in Ukraine
That’s in the Russian border
In the conflict zone it happen
Malaysians are shock
Everyone felt struck
And we mourn the attack
Crying your luck
Your destiny hack
Before MH370 is back
You come with a shock
Suppose Kuala Lumpur is your last track
Kota Kinabalu (18 July)
Bart Coleman is my name.
Five Card Stud is my game.
I had ridden into Rotgut two days before.
It is a small dusty rundown nowhere town.
I spent most of my time there in Salty Sam’s Saloon.
I had taken the local yokels for a tidy little sum.
Then, to my shock and chagrin,
Zack Waverly walked into Salty Sam’s.
I had taken most of his dough down in Abilene
three months or so before I wandered into Rotgut.
Zack spotted me, called me a dirty rat,
drew his fancy Colt pistol and shot me in my chest.
I didn’t even have time to draw a breath
and I was stone cold dead before my body
hit the the creaky wooden saloon floor.
The sheriff had a couple of drunken prisoners
bury my body in a shallow grave up on Boothill.
In a flim flam flash my eternal soul was in the pit of Hell.
I would have cried, but a soul cannot shed tears,
when I was informed by that old serpent Beelzebub himself
that there is absolutely no gambling allowed in Hades.
Now I truly understand why the netherworld is called Hell.
The Ballad of Tich Tomas
A dog was howling in the night
Perhaps she knew the truth
That Tich would not be coming home
This dog needed no proof
That the man who she loved so
He’d come to her no more
Because Lance corporal Thomas was
A victim of the war.
Now Tich, he was a country boy
His farm it was his life
A boon to his community
He’d give in times of strife
He learned his trade in farming school
With honours he’d come through
Then settled down to work his farm
That’s what he planned to do.
But then, one day it came to him
The news he did not need
He’d been called up for army life
He went off without heed
To do his time in Puckapunyal
To get him set for war
He soon made it as Infanteer
So he joined a fighting corp
He worked real hard and gained a stripe
This showed he had potential
He earned his skills in jungle fighting
And then there came the call
For he to go to Vietnam
To five RAR he was sent
Charlie company was his unit
When off to war he went
It was in April sixty six
Our man went into battle
There in the Phuc Tuy provence
Those guns did roar and rattle
Our Tich he fought real gallantly
So brave was he, but then
The shrapnel done it’s evil job
He joined the fallen men.
They brought his body back to those
Who were waiting for him there
The whole town came to welcome him
And helped with grief and prayer
They buried him with all the honours
That came to fighting souls
Who died to keep their country free
Courageous in their roles.
More honour it was placed on him
By the country where he’d fought
They built a statue in his name
And his likeness it was caught
By the sculptor who did honour him
And carve him into stone
And now Tich Tomas guards the park
As he stands there all alone.
If you’re ever down in Nannup town
Go to the park that’s there
You’ll see the statue of young Tich
As his spirit everywhere
Will fill the souls of those who see
This fighting man, so brave
Who’s body lies so peacefully
In his own town, in a grave.
Waking up five in the morning,
and looking the dawn's sun rise,
to start the day with a yawn and strech.
Smell the morning dew,
as you go and retrive the morning newspaper,
filled with tablots of lives more intresting than yours.
You wave to your hand to your neighbor,
who you don't like, still you say, "hi"
It's just the nature of the human being.
You turn and go inside,
you feel some pain on your leftside.
All those milkshakes and hamburgers
caught up to you.
What do you do?
Not much, you can do now,
You fall to the ground, clenching your chest;
you call out for help, but no one comes.
You see your neightbor, but he doesn't mind.
See he hated you as well, like you hated him,
and he is glad to see you fall to your
knees and beg for Mercy.
Oh no! here he comes,
Doctor Death, no not Jack Kavorkian,
No! the big cheese,
the Creature that prays on black souls,
just like yours.
Doctor Death come on down! Come and clam your prize!
Good morning Doctor Death! I'm ready,
A full moon night
to my delight
what is so wrong
with doing what's right
nothing is right
after so long
no use in complaining
time to move on
The Dream Water one day
might take me away
farther from the comfort
I float on my back
then shut my eyes
my body now sinking
into ocean arms open wide
Now swallow your son
back to his nature
when he is no longer
needed to stay here
the next generation
are dooming themselves
they need my experience
to guide them through hell
Why should I bother
on my own, I strive through
I turn my back on the thought
of bothering to save you
alone in this world
my, is it spacious
I'm finally smiling,
never so gracious.
Coming ashore at the island of Trunyan
to its teeth of bone
eyes to four directions tongue bloodthirsty
- what do you want this late at night? surely
to seek help from the moon
baskets : baskets
a frozen kris at the tip of my shoulders
suck the remaining portals of shame
at the split of banana leaves I look at her
purple sweat. her white kebaya sodden
pura gede pancering jagat temple as foreground
my name once again
my name once again
- that pot of authentic China rolls like a cart
speeding out of my body
like the shameless envious souls of jealous skeletons:
“look ma, my soul reawakens, I am no longer dead”
one o’clock that night the island of Trunyan
rolled its tongue in laughter
its tickled eyes stripping all bare
its hoarse voice splitting the eerie road
I want to go home soon – my boat is moored by the lakeside!
Kris – a dagger with jagged edges.
Kebaya – traditional shirt that ladies wear in Indonesia, typically made of see-through cloth or brocade.
Jump up and down like a jackrabbit
running through meadows
running from what?
Could it be heartbreak,
a venemous snake that hides in the grass,
hiding with fangs ready to pierce the tender skin
upon the tight, bronze flesh of everyday life?
Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye now!
I need a vacation a long way away from the faceless smiles
and ignorance of young girls, who don't look at you,
who don't show you love and respect.
Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye now,
as jumping spiders hop everywhere, crawling eight legs around me
my soul black like carcoal, but my heart still beating
slower this time, not like the days before
and like the jackrabbit running from anything and everything,
I run to seek love and vanish away from the empty voids
that people call, their souls.
Recording a film with no tape,
talking to a woman you love, but not having the guts to tell her how you really feel
Jump my boy, like a jackrabbit, take my advice
tell her before she leaves
turns down the endless avenues of endless dark love
the trees grow taller, taller than you
and you sit there feeling away yourself die, missing out in life.
I cannot see you lose your love.
Say it, say it, Say it!!! Tell her! Tell her! Build the guts up!
Build up the courage, tell her how you feel. Take her by the hand and never say goodbye! Never say goodnight, stay with her till the flight comes in the morning
of the first rays of sun shine through your dorm room take her and love her!
Do not be like me, the jackrabbit! I see no happiness
Reading poetry it makes me sad,
to write of others falling in love and I never finding the one.
People tell me, you'll find yours, have hope
but I am a frightened little jackrabbit
who flees from sounds of deep emotions, not having courage to fall in love,
not building the guts up to tell her how I really feel.
She walks alone, I find my oppertunity and sing my love song
She smiles and moves on,
please tell me I cannot fight anymore.
All I have to say is Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye
I need a vacation
to go to some sandy beach on an island of love
and write and write and write, the same poetry that depresses me
but makes you all fall in love with words!
Fiction about love stories, please kiss me
Blue eyed death comes, plays a game of chess with me
I bet twenty, he bets my soul
Kiss me death, the only love I'll ever get,
besides my poet friends who kiss my ass
Listen to my heart, truely, I don't write of beauty
I write for the sorrow soul, the fleeing jackrabbit
running away from love.....
Eating bowls of dying meat
sucking poison which taste sweet.
Gas filled bodies that retain their juice
a dead little dog that took abuse.
The death song plays for a mutilated boy
insane parents who receive no joy.
Black dogs bark at the funeral fires
death looks down and picks his desires.
The decapitated body of an unknown man
no one cried which was part of the plan.
A shot in the dark took the poor man down
crazy children laugh as they hear the sound.
'Blood in the gutter' whispered the man
slay your neighbor as fast as you can
No one hears this , no one understands
'Blood in the gutter' whispered the man.
A slash of the knife brought grandma down
the young boys laughed at the blood on the ground.
The blood stained clothes of a forgotten child
the man with the knife is running wild.
The meat in the gutter might be your own
for you are left for dead
and to the dogs you were thrown !
© By Larry Hays
All turned down to the worst
as the children lost innocence,
as the bums drank their last breath away,
as the man eating sharks finding their way,
to the over-crowded sandy beaches,
as the man turn to the woman
and gave her a slap across the face,
as the thef steals in the night,
as the coward goes behind his loved ones' backs,
as the oil lanterns spill over and burn the bridges
to salvation and paradise.
Something always happens to the good guy,
a knife in the back in the midst of dawn,
his woman leaving with another man,
he dying slowly of cancer,
or suffering from intoxication of the blood.
Poison. Poison, ravages his body,
oh, how could God let such things happen
to such a good man?
His life work, his social life, his nirvana
all destroied, burned away, turned to dust.
But with the evil, came the good.
Yes with time and time again
repeating itself in a circle of time,
across the crossed faces,
as blue eyed Death smiles
and as the girls grin,
Everything came into place,
Anyway with evil, came the good.
Indeed it had came right to his front doorstep.
In an icen forest ,
inside a crystal grave,
beneath the ancient snowy trees,
a tiny fairy lays.
In frosted air above her,
brushing wings with glassine leaves,
snowflakes dust the branches,
as all faerie-kind does grieve.
For a summer fae was never meant
in wintertime to bide,
the northern King,thought love would be,
enough to warm his bride.
But the King’s brother did wish her heart to claim,
and when she did not turn,
he poisoned her with holly,
and left her with frost burn.
But justice is not lacking,
for the evil deed was seen,
a sprite was in the window,
but could not save the Queen.
The King’s brother we see frozen,
hung now from diamond thread,
he thought to win the Queen her love,
but now has lost his head.
So now forever sits the King ,
in the winter land of Fae,
to never love another ,
from the land of Summer’s Day.
Here I behold my shadow,
And it stares back at my horror
Giggling up at my very cold soul-
I seize fright, I take flight
There I peep through the mirror,
And panic at the radial terror
The eyes, the wrinkles, the color-
Where is death; there should be no morrow!
Before me lies my photo,
once discarded afar from aversion
How did it return to my parlor?
Who pierced its eyes, X-ed the forehead?
Then I behold my Cadaver
In the red casket, sweat on its brow-
What crime soils my hands?
Is there no peace even in Death?
In disgust I turn away-to flee
But - the toll of bells - hollow knells-
Then from behind echoes a hoarse shriek
I recoil to behold that cold cadaver
Stagger from its doomed red casket
and with its mouldy hand, blackened by damnation,
Reach for my poor soul
Six million feet under...going down dirty tubes and dark tunnels
Gun shots...sirens...lightning and thunder
Falling from grace and I'm falling forever
Too far gone...six million feet under
Six million feet under...black clouds, bullets and rounds
Genocidal gangsters turn my smiles into frowns
Giggling with glee lunatics they spew their loud laughter
Too far gone...six million feet under
Six million feet under...close my mind, my eyes, my ears
No truth...no tears
Death is coming to life and my vision is clear
Now the undertaker bangs his death drum drama
Too far gone...six million feet under
Six million feet under...like a lost lamb stuck inside of a lions mouth
I hear the devil and his demons screaming murderous shouts
Just another slain sheep now sobbing at the slaughter
I roll like a stone and fall dead at the alter
Too far gone...six million feet under
golden grave diggers they never will earn enough ghoulish disrespect - -Thieves try to steal Sigmund Freud's ashes