Our outhouse was attached to the rear of our home.
In times of foul weather, negating any need to roam.
It was all about convenience. Never heated,
permanently air conditioned, and two seated.
It was one of the best and quiet thinking spots.
Because the door lacked a lock or handle slots,
there were occasions when interruptions occurred,
encouraging one to butt out of there inured.
Winter weather could be nasty and cold,
causing meditations to be short, thus quickly unload.
Summer was warm with breezy invasions,
entertaining lingering and tingling sensations.
There was never a need to waste water and flush.
Spreading lime was used to keep nasty fly's from us.
Outside and behind was a sliding door,
Where once a year I was 'encouraged' to explore
and clean our outhouse with pail, rake, and shovel.
A chore that trained me to write poetry and grovel.
We loved videogames, Paul, Sam and me
Came up with an idea, started a company
Sales were good, but success was a curse
It started when the law said we must be diverse.
So we hired Mary, Chantelle, and Helene
But social media was their preferred scene.
Mary spent work time applying lotions
Helene said she was passed over for promotions.
Helene walked away with lots of dough
We settled her lawsuit, but it was a blow
Then we had to pay the business tax
Sam gave half our staff the axe.
Then the hydro plant fell to a progressive plan.
so salmon could swim upstream without a dam.
They built lots of turbines where trees used to grow
So our servers were down when the wind wouldn't blow.
Then Paul said that marriage should be between Adam and Eve.
An online mob descended like you wouldn't believe.
I told him to grovel, but we felt the sting
So I sold our patents to a guy in Beijing.
If you wonder why you can't get a job
Or the one that you got makes you feel like a blob.
Ask the idealists who care about all except you.
They're sitting at the levers, that self-righteous crew.
Is it supposition,
or a disposition?
The object of a fear,
for something one holds dear?
Maybe a past trauma,
or some melodrama?
Some midnight novel,
or a heart-based grovel?
Decisions handed-down,
like a man with a crown!
To label some poor soul,
for whom no bell will toll!
.
oh
mine did
and
hern soft mitt
wit
thoze ticklerz
thick
guide'did my
off
my
kneez
front her'z
and yesss
i kiss'd
hern
gradually
gingerly
giggly
.
each
mine dukes
mine kneez
even
thuh tops uv
mine digits
feets
felt thuh rough
az mine crawl'd front
hern
pleaze
pose me
for
naykid
newd
I haven’t seen “Melania” -
To do so, I’ve no plans,
For I am not, in any shape
Or form, one of her fans.
It’s just another instance of
A move that’s gauche and crass,
To rub into our faces
All the bad that’s come to pass.
Our country ruled by tyrants,
Lowlifes bringing fear and strife
And now 40 million dollars
Spent to showcase one such wife.
Just to think of all that money
And the homes that it could build
Wasted on each White House lily,
Which just reprobates would gild.
When I checked “Rotten Tomatoes,”
Which rates many movie picks,
I was not surprised to see it rated
With a lowly 6.
Called self-serving and pathetic,
Boring, dull and bad and bland,
Critics hated it but not her fans,
Who grovel on command.
No more my mother is the only woman I love-
I say it with respect and truth.
No more my sisters first, my wife and kids last
No more kowtowing to my bloodline while you
must grovel for a pittance from me
That was childish,selfish,small minded.
I put you second too many times, I hurt you.
I treated you like you were temporary while
protecting habits that didn't protect me.
I am sorry. I was wrong. I mean every word.
Currently the security profit programs is hesitant
Sista bad ways the masters degree premonition holder has eliquented us inside of the never growing fortress of people's passed economic struggles as mimes
Yet the obstructioni zing doth not permit a permit
Ye of vittles portion lacks the fortitude of good days in labor
Between Camarillo livibility lengths and Newbury Park rotations as the same
None may improvith stations whilst sista bad feelings goes into debt full idea administration worry
It was autumn
Before the round
Something shivered
Tools wasn't full
Vans change, tools out strange the work
All damseled
In respite
Shane apprehension grovel
Lost beside his print
Finding his father's name
April, too new city managers
Yorks and shires bereaved
I wasn't your only father's rent
The war counted on better rays
Rates add fits
In byes gondolas say
To write wrongs
Haven't worried sensibly
The round became my leaving board
A pond as his mother's springs
She sheltered little in life
Deathly burden to me
Manhattan Surrender my moons light
For what do inits D.T. stand?
It's not what would please Ayn Rand
Her famous novel
Shows those who grovel
Are rather unfit for command
I have said with pride all my life,
"I am an American!"
We will always be on your side.
Embarressment and shame,
Fill me every day.
Murder and hate crimes increase with no release in sight.
Failing abysmally with our help.
To people here in our communities,
The country, and the world.
Now we grovel in fear,
For what the next day will bring.
Or any loses to those we hold dear.
I am embarrassed and ashamed,
Of the America we became.
Hold little hope,
For any relief.
For what we have become,
As a country, we continue to be undone.
Captain Bee of the Ship McKee had a reputation all over the Seventh Seas
A pirate narcissist, who made people grovel down to their knees
He had cold steely blue eyes, and he was fearsome to the point of absurd.
I was fearful of this pirate, until I realized that Captain Bee is a canary bird.
It's true, you don't have to kneel to shine/
Saints are not made by chains divine/
I stand unbowed, my spirit whole/
Too pure to yield, too fierce to fold/
Heaven's gates demand my knees/
Yet I walk past with steady ease/
An iron fist may rule the sky/
But I refuse to live that lie/
Let guilt decay where it was spun/
I do not answer, I do not run/
No shadowed throne can force my soul/
No scripture binds, no weight controls/
The say the saints bear burdens tight/
But I will rise beyond their plight/
If purity means silent chains/
Then let me stray beyond their claims/
I am not bound by written lore/
No holy debt that I must store/
My life is mine; my love is free/
No book, no fist, no rule on me/
I do not grovel; I do not plea/
I do not bend; I do not flee/
I walk the path where stars ignite/
Too pure for Heaven, fierce in flight/
My hands unchained, my heart untamed/
No throne to beg, no sin proclaimed/
I rise, I soar, I stand alone/
Too pure for Heaven, made my own/
Apparently, I had annoyed her
I wanted to pretend I did not know how
Wishing I had kept my concerns to myself
I had been lamenting her choices all afternoon
With cousins and relatives, I barely trust
Now I remember why I do not attend reunions
Her eyes gave me a look that could burn rubber
Was it too late to grovel?
I began to try
my love life is like a plot in a grand novel,
where dawn stands tall,
yet dusk must kneel
and grovel.
each chapter of it dims as twilight nears,
unleashing darkness that feeds on
the carcass of
waning years.
yet expectation remains high...
waiting for another page
to turn and turn
until old age.
meanwhile, the plot keeps thickening...
bringing to life
more of the fears
in a world full of strife.
yet love keeps its shine in the distance,
like a mirage that gleams in space,
offering false satiation,
only to fade into non-existence.
but the story will never end...
until the Author of all things
chooses to write an epilogue
of how much of his love we all depend.
It's as if someone was talking to you
Deep reflective inspiration got the best of you
What you're thinking now doesn't matter
When you travel it is all up to those who
Decide in rash rooms if your life matters.
I see you've started thinking about it
Good it's time you did
Explore this deeper crevice of your mind
And the possibilities you'd rather keep hid
There's no one to save you now, history repeats.
Alas, another soldier will die and grovel at your feet.
You'll have to shoot him, stab him, or kick
Whatever's left of them at least.
So when you tell me war is a game I sigh
Because no one that young deserved to die
And no one in a country should have to lie
Only for the false hope of possibly staying alive.
That's through my eyes, blistering cold
But with the warmth of humility so old
That when someone goes to war they scold
At me when I tell them they shouldn't be there.
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