Best Skinners Poems
work
the genes are stitching
it is the gravity of the past
the weight of planets descending
invisible uncarpeted
stairs
it is the man on land
in asking why the drowning man
grasps at straws
the master looks on, very perturbed,
distracted, as if
thinking of something else
very busy
distracted by all the great effort, all the good things,
he has wrought , in spite of
everyone else
with their skinners in the bossman's
pocket
dear Lord save me from evil men
the bullet bait and snare,
save me from being caged
or confined for men to stare.
save me from the abattoir
or from the skinners knife,
and the plunging dagger
that would take away my life.
They takeaway my habitat
and hunt me when they can,
they destroy my offspring,
and take pleasure in the hunt.
and still they kill each other
with rocket bomb and shell,
send them retribution lord
and let them rot in hell.
(1.)
A Dark Curse She Still Comes To Torture Me
O' my darling, why do you look like so ghostlike
Your creamy skin looks like burnt-over ash
Hole in chest, were you stabbed with a spike
But as usual your face still quite so fine.
Those long sexy legs as flamed burnt ash
And once beautiful eyes are hateful beams
Ah yes, your smile that won you loads of cash
Can no longer conceal your wicked schemes.
My dear, yes I still have that stomped heart
One you skinned with rusty fish skinners
Wickedness places high on evil's heart
As you feast on your blood-soaked dinners.
You are ugly, your dark spirit exposed
I see your pale ghost gnashing its sharp teeth
I regret forever, once you I chose
Your grave, pray I you are thousand feet 'neath.
Has been thirty years, do I your ghost see?
Why does your apparition now pester me?
I believe it, your curse is that damn strong.
Pray now, your spirit goes where it belongs!
Robert J. Lindley, Rhyme
Jan. 20th 1973
(2.)
She The Great, Amazing Author Of Her Insane Circus
She that fed impalpably on the ineluctable
In hellish hatred of the sad unfathomable
Eating tarnished pies of the mysterious ineffable.
Hellishly, hellishly, in battles hard fought
Truth abandoned in her unreasonable refusal
Her heart holding allegiance to psychic death.
Mentality was never to be her mighty enforcer
She rejected normal and courted the insanity
She mirrored her thoughts to embrace her vanity.
To her death would be, her brother sun perishing
For many months she went away, totally vanishing
She was the famed artist of her deep ineluctability.
She vomited raw food and pissed on the rest
Her loud laugh sounded as the hidden ghosts a'crying
But her sainted queenhood she said, nobody was buying.
Robert J. Lindley,
Verse, 1971
A Mule Skinner’s Prayer
By: Tom Wright
1/15/99
Lord,
May you bless both me
and my string this day.
May our trails be wide,
our oat bin full,
and grass along the way.
May there be streams a-plenty,
and your gentle breeze
be always at my back.
Then when at last,
around my fire I sit,
and day is through.
I'll give thee thanks,
for I'll be found
at peace with you.
For my Mule Skinner friend “Wagon John”