I have been drowned with the desire to escape
To a place where I can hide my face
When I can avoid the fire in your stares
That scotches my very being
I rush through a pool of uncertainties
To find someplace to call safe
Before my legs fails to hold my weight
And my strength not so great
Nature’s Call
Turtles hug fallen trees
blink as the flashing sun
hop-scotches amid ripples
Osprey play lumberjack
construct high rise towers
a womb with a view
Muskrat preen whiskers
sigh in Spring’s embrace
back to work
The original Swan Lake
performance
brilliant – Bravo
Wild Turkey’s unfurl
temptations fan -
a hen’s delight
Tawny dappled doe
rest beneath blankets
of soft speckled shadows
Sharp retort
of Beaver’s tail
alerts the wind
Silence
grips Mother Nature’s
maternity ward
John G. Lawless
4/14/2017
You can feel the moon boil
As your rocket burns my soul
And scotches the sunspot
Of our love’s first footprint
I can feel the moon shine
Off your dust particles so fine
They are like a crashing wave
Deafening my mind like a bat cave
I’m hypnotised by your silver moon
For your heart’s treasure to mine
Only appreciated from distant stars
Pressurised under a trillion bars
I watch you split the atoms
And hold the aftermath in your arms
A se&y ‘Big Bang’ explosive
You emerge slightly radioactive
Time escaped the periodic table
Leaving electrons so unstable
To assemble your universal frame
And reenergise our elemental flame
There once was a bold prig named Wiener
who had an unsightly demeanor
he took pics of his crotch
after two shots of scotch
"Where's his wife? Well nobodies seen her."
I knew a man
who smoked one cigarette each day,
mid-afternoon,
accompanied by a cup of black coffee.
Beyond feeding his ego,
control was his raison d’etre,
so he probably did smoke just the one.
Not so with me.
I was far too gone,
reveling in excess on several fronts.
Cigarettes were
my shield,
my pointer,
my distance-keeper,
my comfort in the evening
with one or more neat scotches,
and, of course,
my addiction.
I’ve left behind that obsession,
yet I am plagued by
a particular cigarette memory:
that sweet after-sex smoke.
I miss that singular pleasure,
but then, life requires loss.
I suppose I could try it
one more time,
just the one cigarette
to see what might happen.
But that wouldn’t work.
Unlike my unpleasant
one-a-day associate,
my self-control requires vigilance,
else it dies with a vengeance
that I’m ill-prepared to manage.
Given that,
a smile of recollection will do nicely.
Most folks like to shower;
Some prefer the bath.
Life allows such choices;
We can access either path.
Lots of folks skip breakfast;
Many wouldn’t dare.
When we look at others’ lives,
It’s natural to compare.
Most homes have the TV on;
In others, no one watches.
Some adults sip sodas;
Others like their beer or Scotches.
Many homes are sparkling clean;
Others look quite messy.
Some folks dress in jeans or sweats;
Others opt for dressy.
Many people nest at home;
Others love to travel.
Some folks garden to relax;
Others just plant gravel.
There are those who read or cook
Or paint or dance or sing.
Every person somehow finds
Whatever is his thing.
I think of other people’s lives,
So different from my own;
And love the fact we all create
Our private comfort zone.
Tis a hollowed place
This maze of hidden alleyways
Which in blackness bonds
To these rat infested cobble streets
Where the gas lit lamps betwixt the corners stand
With the lone Bobbies, statues upon their beat
London, a smoldering city of ashes
Falls, tranquil within the first of lunar light
But, looming darkness transforms
Becomes the she, of accomplice
As we, the brutes are once again
Reanimating in the midst of twilight
Kings on our own
With daggers and a flask of scotches
Domains amid the sacred ruin
And greed with gain
We are home among our friends
And in the dank corner pitch kingdom, we anticipate
From a realm dubbed “The Dead End”
Lush stumblers, streetwalkers or the naïve
To enter here, our law says you must pay the toll
Or pay the piper before you leave
Then, spirits bestow a courage
As my bony fingers raise with the blade
Unresistant to the temptation of foot fall innocence
That soon comes unto this way
Tis a lonely hollowed place
This maze…
Of streets and alleyways…