This love that you and I share
It used to feel it was heaven sent
But something has happened
Our love is now full of discontent
I desperately want to save our love
I wish I knew what we had to do
To repair it and make it as good
As it was back when It was new
I know that there is no quick fix
And saving our love will be hard
We will have to go gently and slow
Both of our hearts are scarred
How did we let our love decline
To the point of being insalubrious
I pray we are able to fix our love
And make it once again glorious
Along the roads of grassy fields
where thousands of sheep flit from
Astray from the flock, flouting,
fleeing with fear
blindly following.
Driven through the streets of London
at the Barnet fair to the farmers there.
But the way, takes an insalubrious plot.
Sheer confusion along the countryside
sets in on the herd, then stray
when eddying rapids currented by the tide
and force of the streams give, taken
to an endless frequent float
for great distances steered, stirred
while the timorous turn 'round.
An endeavor to gain the place they set off
As along ancient grassy drove road lies,
weary shepherd and his sheepdog.
Drovers, some on the hoof
The sheep shall stray
back to stay presently in Eden's garden
Jade-green grassy hills of harvest gold,
and cerulean skies.
Plowing the pages of textbooks,
Sali’s teenage sauntered away
like a bull.
Her breath smelling chewing gum still lingers
in the solitude of his soul, but he’s
forbidden to call up.
His free bird’s died, getting a shock from
the wire of life – worms of worries
rot his mind.
He’s been installed in an insalubrious office,
where he gets itch from the file-ants
and the bossy-words.
His spouse’s spun a web for him –
he always moves
like a spider.
It’s only when he babbles to his baby
that he feels,
‘I live’.
He chews betel to reduce the level of
his tension - stains increase
day by day .
‘Adult’ is imprinted on his back
to carry all on
his back.
He jumps from counter to counter like
a grasshopper with the bills
in diverse hues.
And all his hopes are
cast over a never
homing day.
This melody of yesteryear sounded great.
We would hear it on a record at seventy-eight.
Anybody could play the song on a Victrola.
One listened to it on a juke box by Rock-Ola.
The subject of this song by Jo Stafford of all things,
was about the romantic dreams of smoke rings.
Miss Stafford’s voice was one anyone adores.
Back then, it was no crime to smoke indoors.
When dealing with broken hearts lovers wanted to forget,
they would often sit down and have a cigarette.
A habit of the past many considered glamorous
is now deemed to be offensive and insalubrious.
The song sounded mellifluous and sublime.
Things have changed significantly over time.
City and county judges have ruled against you.
Despite the court injunctions, you still feed the birds.
There you are again, up at five-thirty in the morning.
You have thousands of seagulls and pigeons flocking to the street.
The noise they make can wake anybody up out of their sleep.
They defecate all over. The street is matted in white.
Those flying creatures are insalubrious. They bring diseases.
Birds get plenty to eat anywhere else they fly.
They can cover hundreds of square miles in a day.
You feeding the birds is just like putting Donald Trump on welfare.
You also have to steal to feed your dogs and cats.
How can you keep seventy-five of them in your house?
Are you the reincarnation of St. Francis of Assisi?
I can’t wait to see the day you are evicted.
Smirk of deceit upon your face
No use, cannot keep up at your pace
My toe's stuck in the drain of the past
Such an insalubrious amount of speed
Impossible to meet the future going that fast
Insane, but what's the need
We'll never meet eye to eye
Your's look to the sky
And mine lay dry & lifeless on the ground
Blood on your hands, see what you really found
Fingers--tipless
Eyes cry, confusion, lipless
You're not making any sense
Ears fall off, just can't hear it anymore
Hair falling out, blame me, stressed & tense
I'll not be in your way any longer, you'll find me face down by the shore
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