So words become; the order of the day
and order of the day becomes
the soldiered meaning of all work and play,
the ever present, beating drums.
Then words become; the lure of the lie
and liars lure every son
with shadows of gold 'til they all but die,
to retire, to be, to be done.
And then, once again; the words become
the order of every day
to sleep, to awake, to be dead and done,
'til all words fly, ever away.
generic minds listen to generic music
have generic thoughts that are unknowingly abusive
watch generic things talk about generic things
gee this generic *****is spreading like a disease
better get your flu shot
thats what they said to me
a suicidal vaccine
a subliminal killing spree
its contagious and the outrageous
thing about it is that the people are blind in an eye
that they didn't even know they had
it's sickening to watch these clueless civilians
inside the looking glass
with nightmares of being free
without a key to their mind
for it is trapped in the frequency
in the illusion of time
bathed in our universe
killing all that refuse to see
those that admit to hypocracy
or see the message in hip hop
how cant you see
the message in the lyrics that
bring adolescents to their knees
from bullet wounds conflicting their flesh
contradicting that they're the best
but the songs keep telling them that they dont need no rest
that they dont wanna go home
that they should ride alone
with the gat as their only companion
and so the only path they choose is the one that they're told
until they grow old and hope turns to a window pane
inside a window pane, until all they feel is pain
they realize that the music itself is ashamed
so whats to look up to
when you cant even speak when you cant even walk because you look so bleak
your eyes are sunken from the tv you're infested with the dee zees
now its too late to turn around and live for your conscious
so when youre screaming oh please
close your eyes and bring your mind to life
open your eyes for the first time
and never wonder why
since the answer this entire time
has been inside
and you better find it before you die
you dont want your soul to be in a pool with all the others
a buncha brothers missing their mothers
but only seeing strangers
only feeling the haters
wishing they would have used their minds when they had them
and now its too late,
now it's time for another new born fate to grab them
Written January 8, 2013
The morning blues in a lily on the pond
Wake on the wrong side of the road
Penniless pockets play the vagabond game
Ride the tiger recently tamed
On a long road to nowhere, horizon's stain
All's my name sitting next to me
Lie down with graceful angels deep in the snow
Or on wet grass recently mowed
I've grown accustomed to the scent of your mane
Spelled chug-chuga-chug is my name
Oh why do flowers never bloom in the snow?
They never have a chance to grow
No, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore
The oaks and pines getting clearer
Much to a land unafraid to spread its wings
Listen to Woody Guthrie sing
Bacon sizzles in the rain and sunshine reigns
We've reached the line of no return
Of the big rock candy mountain we will sing
For the next week my phone won't ring
P aranoia permeates, etching itself into your fractured face,
A cacophony of constant pressure; life remains a stressful race,
N othing to hope for, no positives like promotion in the workplace,
I nability to love, relationships lift anchor and set sail without chase,
C hildren crushing dreams under mortgages; age grows with disgrace
I do not know?
The Beach of Promises
Fingers entwined, barely touching,
turquoise waters teasing your dancing toes,
strolling along that serene deserted beach,
our promised dreams within aching reach.
Hands clasped, holding on,
sea-breezes tickling the nape of your neck,
walking together, alone, vowing to never breach,
the dreams dreamed on that faraway velvet beach.
Hands in my pockets, alone,
traces of you linger, teasing,
lost in my scribbles, your memory fading out of reach,
my thoughts ablaze, now and then,
catching a whiff of your fragrance,
wafting through alleyways of nostalgia,
your hand in mine on our pristine beach.
Green bark a prism creates,
Feel the pull of earth, you must.
Rotates, a slime of endless hates,
Can hold me not, this world’s crust.
Friendship’s ties, isolation Deflates,
Succumbs, my spaceship, to bitter rust.
Mist, my soul forever permeates,
Lift-off, booms the rocket’s thrust.
My spirit when light returns, elates,
Swamps swell, swallowed hope’s swirling dust.
Trapped, I am, until student from fate
Arrives to learn; Cloud City or bust.
Living as a T.P.I
Just under twenty years ago
I was down in every way
Because of time in Vietnam
There was horror in my days
So Repatriation did give me
A special rate of pension
To help me with my daily stress
And take away my tension.
At first I hated all of this
I felt just like a taker
Though these guys knew without a doubt
That me, I was no faker
Then one day I did think about it
And came to the conclusion
That me, I was one lucky man.
Then gone were my illusions
So then, I made the most of it
I learned to play Guitar
And wrote about three hundred songs
[Though I never was a star]
I walked along the wetland trails
And heard the birds rich calls
And realized this lazy life
It was quite wonderful.
So now I bless each day that comes
And do not care at all
That I am living off the state
I guess I have it all
And all this leisure that I have
I deserve it, all if it
Because I went to serve my country
And I know I done my bit.
19 November 2013 @ 1500hrs.
Our world is embarking on a destination
that is odd and strange, everyone has
learned to fear age,
Corporations are obssessed with youthfulness
and the ability to be cute,
They are shoving capable people down the
"Involuntary Retirement" is what it is silently
called, the intelligent are overwhelmed and
appalled, because the victims are being replaced
with people who lack quality and have no taste,
But as long as they are young and virile,
Good people are laid out to pasture as if
they were waste,
Why does our society abhor aging gracefully?
Is it because they are so desperately trying
to please "the establishment" and the advertisers
who are ardent worshippers of youngsters with fluff
and trimming, yet beneath the surface they are
shallow and clueless?
this Puzzle now.
I dance, but stumble
into a waxed window
without anything but
Coarse is your
and dry are my
interests in you.
Once an icon,
onto a different
If luck brings
an arrival of