Today would've been his birthday but he didn't survive.
If John hadn't died, today he would've turned fifty-five.
He started by smoking pot and then he decided to start doing Meth.
That stuff is nasty and it didn't surprise me when it caused his death.
John angered some people because he stole from them.
When he died because of drugs, it was both sad and grim.
I'm very sorry that he died even though he stole from me.
He can never steal or do drugs again because he's gone for eternity.
[Dedicated to John W. Brown (1970-2019) who died on June 3, 2019]
Wagon John was not just another old cowpoke.
In conversation I heeded most words he spoke.
a wagon his home,
wherever he’d roam.
He died alone on the trail without any kinfolk.
Wisdom he passed on to school children in his travels.
Active man with no pretenses.
Good Man that was a recovering alcoholic
Oasis of knowledge.
Nature had captivated his lifestyle.
Joining him in his travels were Sugar Foot his saddle horse.
Offbeat from the mainstream lifestyle.
His home, two covered wagons pulled by six mules.
Negativity had no part of his life.
I Am Rose. Lyrics By John Gondolf
Am I a foul fellow when the house is longer than this morning? Am I the designer of the living room that doesn’t encourage formality, because we’re associated with rigid boundaries? I’m the next citizen of an affluent hovel. I’ll be the next coastal lowland along any gulf & hearing your voice, pattering on every rooftop, I cover all the island-dotted lakes with your shadow. Somewhere within, a breath produces vapour, making the sauna feel even hotter. Now if my shop doesn’t pay you, it means my family goes hungry. No public property is written off here. You’re the capital of these floating islands, a nice account in the only bank here, you can take my people for a holiday to May Isle. I get a bit of capital, nothing is your own, is it? It’s for her, my daughter in a white mask.
Stand still, I say, listen very carefully,
We made shadows, when we walking in morn,
Back shadows donot saw,they hide already,
The love you say innocent,that is mourn.
Hide mistakes behind me you say love
While noon only does hot with high warm of flame
How it is noble stage when not comforts nerve?
If we donot do any mistake, love blame.
Humans do mistakes,so they humans,
We cannot know love's loyalty without fault,
Mistakes make relation sometimes
How mistakes in relation assault?
Noble is last stage no love,no day decay,
Night as death,makes Immortal, I say.
He's standing on this Aussie man.! using his position to
Probe the plan.' Wake up Australia be no longer fooled
Look at the architecture..in Canberra' think on Davos and draconian rules! read dark
Dark policing by John Stapleton.) another of our hero's
Who is (far from wrong) a seasoned writer from the trenches of strife.' A giant of a journ'o who always thinks.)
Twice.! No we are not short of fighters.!!! Who can reason
Too true.!!! NOW GET UP OFF, YOUR BACKS AND HELP THEM SEE THIS JOB THROUGH.!!
In an old-time real-book-with-pages feel in his day,
Robert Louis Stevenson wrote 'Treasure Island',
in his own inimitable way,
and tho' I know I may be wrong,
he could not have been pulling Long John Silver's leg,
as John would not have had a leg to stand on,
for, with his crutch (plus parrot), and I quote,
'He had still a foot in either camp.'
is that which, in 1883, Stevenson of Silver wrote.
Was it black (spot) humour to write of Long John so,
as I dearly need to know,
and it clearly goes to show,
we need much more input,
with that said, putting my best one forward,
it begs the question, 'What's afoot?'
Tom Woody and Joe Dimino..Gave me thought.?? Got me
Looking..' this is some-thing to-know.!! I was spurred to
Expand on the Gospel of John, by Toms good comment
Helpfull and strong..Joe's onions..? Er I mean opinions.!!
Well they'd got my thoughts on the roll.!!! Scroll??? About Robin Hood
( and little John..' Or was it John little.??? I essayed a smile
And short internet stroll.' search concluded.' It was as I'd suspected and f A Christian Author was found..
Howard Pyle, so here I was, (on solid ground!!!) We'd connected..A most gifted man I
(Stand in awe) not of Pyle..May I add' yet OF OUR MIGHTY
LORD...!!!) HE is working He has worked He is working
Still.! Through ( Tom Joe and Howard ) in clarity through the
Din..Of this worlds false teaching.. His will.' What have we lost???
A golden epoch When Howard was hot.? A painter a writer
A lifter of faith a man of God.!!! And yet I haste.. To add
There is more.!!! What riches await??? This Great God and
Our Father Lord of all states.' His promise is real He alone
Can deliver.!!! My spirit now on fire..I say (let the ether shiver!)
I
forget—
like how leaves forget their tree
once autumn called them free.
Moments slip and leave
an unsettling void
for dreams to flourish.
Uninvited, wearing
the mask of memory.
A fiction sung in earnest,
stitched in gray hours—
where dreams blend into truth.
A hushed whisper:
“Beauty is truth,”—but
I wouldn’t know
if the echoes I call "mine"
ever rang—
I am built
of broken facts,
soft edits,
and pills that patch up
what my mind kindly discards—
So I wonder, if beauty is truth—
am I still beautiful
when the scars I wear were never real.
Was John Lennon
crossing the line,
mucking about,
burning his bridges,
or bucking the palace,
a fine sign of the times
then, in 1969,
not often seen,
when returning his MBE
to The Queen?
The chase after door was ajar.
From window to window, that far.
The buzz in my ear,
The fly needs to fear.
The whiz of my swatter on par.
“I’m hit,” says the fly, out of steam.
Is it truly dead or a scheme?
Over and over…
its eyes ice over.
I suck up the fly with air stream.
Dear Dad, you’ll be happy to know
the fly you let in, had to go
The show he put on -
Its buzz, it is gone.
It's buried in the bag - a John Doe.
Marion Robert Morrison
his voice couldn’t be confused with Roy Orbison
but he really gained his fame
when he became known as John Wayne
From heaven’s heart, a gift was freely given,
A love so vast, it opens wide the gate of heaven.
He sent His Son to walk this earthly sod,
To bear our pain, to show the way to God.
Whoever trusts, no darkness need they fear,
For hope and life eternal now draw near.
No soul is lost who looks upon the cross,
For grace redeems what once was bound in loss.
So let us cling to mercy’s gentle light,
And live in love that makes the whole world right.
1. To Fly
My father was an admiral, and so
I joined the Navy. Back in fifty-eight
to be a pilot seemed the way to go:
ship-sailors were committed to a crate.
Scrub decks? Paint rusting gunwales? That’s a ‘no’.
The Skyhawk was my weapon (and my fate!)
2. Rubicon Crossing
Some nations follow rainbows, I am told:
we thought, in Vietnam, ‘search and destroy’
would lead us to our fabled pot of gold.
For years we tried it, but it brought no joy:
we lost our nerve, and switched to ‘clear and hold’.
Saigon endured the selfsame end as Troy.
3. Brainwash
The Hanoi Hilton. Yes, I was a guest.
They found my father was a VIP,
and left off hurting me. Impressed,
they wanted to restore my liberty.
But if I left my buddies, I’d detest
myself. I turned them down. That’s decency!
4. Frozen Side of the Sun
Should politicians simply sing the song?
A woman voter told me, in the hall,
Obama was a Muslim. I said, “Wrong!”
I guess I lost her vote. I made the call
I knew was the correct one. I was strong.
Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all.
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