Sunshine soul resonating joyful vibrations
In a key of kindness, modulated by mirth,
With chords of joy, arranged in light,
And a symphony of smiles—
I approach my day.
Laughter echoes and resonates warmth,
In a cadence of contentment.
My soul is tuned to joy, lilting with laughter
And soft choruses of delight.
I welcome my day.
Serenity in symphony with bliss
In cascades of jubilant chorus
Of modulated merriment, cadenced glee
And overtures of ecstasy
I receive my day
Raptures rhapsody infused by zest
In a hush, a solaced timbre sings
An aria of elation, euphony in rapture
And harmony of heart
I embrace my day
Open the drawer you'll see a diary,
A wimpy kid full of anxiety,
Lean frame meek face all I got,
but I strolled blithely.
The first page got my expensive dreams covered,
A trip to the Alps in the shimmery Swiss summer,
then hike the Mont Blanc and write some for her,
sitting on the rocks sipping mild liquor,
tongue-in-cheek, whimsical humor.
On that note please turn over to the next page,
chips n antenna never held my gaze,
too late to pull out I must stay,
I must say,
I might pull this one off,
else my achievements be measured by a length gauge.
A grave predicament I'm stuck in,
maybe I need to do something,
maybe I need to be fronting,
but nothing surprises me anymore,
seeds I sowed shall be reaped come forth.
Page three demands me to rise above obscurity,
scale heights not meant to be,
Rake opulence not meant for me,
As right as rain, I want things to be.
For now, I'll hit the sack with a twinge of guilt,
cause I dreamt of things far ahead of me.
1. Stay low,
2. Strike a blow,
3. And go with flow.
Or wake up on the bench
With that ammonia stench.
"How many fingers do you see?
What do you do on 50-Slant-C?"
"He remembers the plays again.
He's okay to go back in-
Just an elbow to the chin."
1. Stay low,
2. Strike a blow,
3. And return that elbow
Here’s a little checklist
If you think you’re getting old.
Check off fewer than a couple
And perhaps you’ll be consoled.
Are you losing hair or finding it
In places unexpected?
Do you crave a turtleneck
So extra skin goes undetected?
Do you need a nap by 4 p.m.
And doze by the TV?
Do you wake up nightly, several times,
Because you have to pee?
Does a cough or cold last weeks and weeks
While energy is lagging?
Do the wrinkles in the mirror
Make your spirits feel like sagging?
Do you read a book or see a film
And then cannot recall it?
Does technology require help
‘Cause you cannot install it?
If you’ve answered yes to most of these,
Then, sadly, you’re among
Those of us, including Dylan,
Who are not “forever young.”
I'll never get addicted to games of chance
I'll never get up on a stage to dance
I'll never read novels about romance
I'll never wear a kilt instead of pants
But, on the long,long
list of things I'll never, ever do
At the top, would be to ever
cause hurt
to you
When finished climbing mountain dew, explore other paths to prosper through.
Through shouldn't exist, climbing mountain dew was a check off the checklist.
- Loverboi
Tick, cross, tick, tick, tick
Scribble, underline, circle
Tick, tick, tick, tick. Sigh.
The shuffle of conception
veils intent behind promised order
until every umbrella-opened mind
cries out for truth, the
liberator, sleep.
Surrendering misplaced trust
proves the natural sequence remains
behind the reptilian empire, ancient
wealth, eugenic lies,
mechanical time.
I tap once for yes and twice
for no, yet no matter where I shall go
elements of control box-in my soul
using microchip, camera and
satellite.
A jump, knock at my door!
I answer; the answer cries out in you,
our friendship, the cosmos of wonder
ablaze in the open glow
engulfing me.
World domination is a fickle thing.
Arsenals must be compiled,
and friends beguiled,
to see successes bright sheen;
At first armies are riled,
building from the broke and poor,
can save you your store,
a trick from The Hailed;
Citizens must have rights, to ignore.
Omnipotent secret police,
the raids must not cease,
cultural ideals, smudged by gore;
And no food, or space to lease.
Those city smucks must work long hours to produce.
And high taxes for the farming recluse.
No matter how much given, demand a bigger piece;
Contact territorial others, tell them of truce.
White flags hide true power,
your revelation, their final hour,
enjoy your brothers, necks snapping in a noose;
Dropped bombs birthing magnificent dour,
beautiful suns of the night,
killing sons of the fight,
mushrooms are the freshest flower;
But, indulge in those you smite,
take advantage of their blight,
for soon, you will fall from your height.
As the angels take holy flight,
evil is slayed by his purging light.
For you, Hells fire burns bright;
Universal balance makes all wrongs right.
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