So tired of the TV talking heads
twisting every word that's said
much of it scripted
and has to be read
they don't even have a vested interest
only putting their mouth
where the money is at best
my advice to them...
'If you have nothing useful to add,
Mum's the word
don't drive us mad,
keep it under wraps
stow it under your hat,
put a lid on it
or a cork in it,
zip your lips,
spare us the hot air,
it's a verbal Sirocco and, in all likelihood,
an ill wind that blows no one any good.'
chasing the heat haze on the highway
smoking a spliff while "let it roll” plays
praying to feel your touch by Friday
without adding another cross on the byway
I haven’t seen the world
as it is
for a while
but I refuse to close my eyes
and abide
by their lies
as a mother Searches
ashes
for her child
all so some bastard can watch the sea
while it rises
and dies
I hope this half gets me to payday
although It wont take any pain way
I can Stow it away
for another day
While it watches and waits for my minds decay
they left in 1921
but just took there guns
to Jerusalem
still a child throws a stone
& they break bone
to break soul
in the sky zanana’s flown
to kick hope
show control
wains with nowhere to go
forced to roam
with no home
a Folk with no gravestone
left alone
not a rose
PERVERSITY
There once was a struggling poet
When words failed, he’d know it
With that one metaphor
Used many times before
His conscience told him to stow it
I don’t think you really mean it
The angry words cloud the air
Like I’ve really never seen it
Gotta keep it in perspective
Don’t wanna be a hater
Gonna stow it somewhere safe
And I’ll save my tears for later
It’s hard to know the difference
Perception is reality
I’m just a witness to the pain
That overtakes your personality
But it feels meant for me
And the hit has left a crater
Gotta fill it now with love
So I’ll save my tears for later
Writing is freedom
An escape from this chaotic world
Your pen gliding across the paper
Each perfect word carefully chosen
Magical thoughts appearing in your mind
Your hand aching- but not caring
The pen halting to a stop
Your eyes moving back and forth rereading your masterpiece
A sweet taste consumes your mouth as you say, “Man that’s good”
Deciding no more revisions will do you justice
You stow it away in a journal for only your eyes to read.
Lack of perspective
on a burdensome life
leaves us in pieces
near a sharpened, slick knife.
Smashing heads yet again,
to the wall I beat mine,
trying to break through
to our friendship in time.
My appearance lacks
motivation and heart,
locked away in my mind,
I am falling apart.
I don't treat such a treasure
like one should be loved,
stopped giving time of day to
my friend from above.
Care too much
and stow it all away,
making it look like I don't care
whether you leave me or stay.
A painful gut feeling may
nibble at my gray heart,
but I just fear the truth
and I don't know where to start.
with the wind at my back and a cool breeze on my face
toe to heel, shoes click-clack as I walk about this place
as I live this life and pray for better days
box up all the old stuff and stow it all away
looking for the answers to the same old questions
breathing in the dust from previous misconceptions
narrow is the road that is paved with the truth
wide is the trail that leads away from you
I listen to that little voice here deep inside of me
whispering of the sweetness but it doesn't set me free
the sand has many footprints, swept clean by each new tide
and the moon that glows upon the sea reflects where it resides
I yearn for something better, hope that's undeterred
what comes as promise in a dream, each morning the sun blurs
still I have my reasons--why I've held on to the past
knowing way down in my heart it wasn't built to last
the answers to the questions stay here unresolved
there is no gestation, when love does not evolve
A poet was rhyming an ode
Driving his car down the road
He became so engrossed
That his car hit a post
And his trousers became a commode
So from that day on our sweet poet
Swore on his word that he'd stow it
avoiding such deep concentration
Before he'd become so unravelled
Or he'd be on a roadway less travelled
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