Brent Kincaid
Brent Kincaid
16 hours ago

I saw a woman on the bus today
She was scowling for all she was worth.
I found it impossible not to think
She had looked that way since birth.
She was openly starting and frowning at
A young woman less than half her age
Whose manner of appearance and actions
Seemed to set the woman into a rage.

The young lady was with her friends
But she was the happiest of the lot
Yet somehow her expressions of joy in life
Seemed to make the older woman hot.
I could tells he wanted to say something,
A coarse and disapproving kind of remark.
But she appeared to prefer to keep quiet
Even though here thoughts were obviously dark.

I sat next to the older woman and asked her,
“Do you know that girl standing right there?”
She frowned and told me, “Certainly not
I’m sure that type has nothing much to share.
Surely nothing godly or proper or polite.!”
I asked her why she felt that was the truth.
“There can be nothing good to come to her.
She’s obviously a major waste of her youth.

Look how she dresses and flaunts her sex
And don’t disregard how she makes up her face.
She doesn’t care if everyone knows that she
Is an embarrassment to her folks, a disgrace.
It’s disgusting how she wiggles her butt
In front of all of these lusty men to see.
She’s a prostitute in the making, it seems.
At least that’s what she looks like to me."

I had so many things I wanted to say to her
To defend a young woman I did not know
But I made an instant decision that I
Would say nothing and let the moment go.
After all, the older woman had no regard
That times and changed and passed her by.
Nothing anybody had told her in life
Had made a difference, so how could I?

Brent Kincaid
Brent Kincaid
19 hours ago

Someday I’m going to learn to speak up!
I swear I’m going to proudly reach up
And take back what is truly mine
And that day will be fine.

Someday I’m going to tell all the people
What I think that the bad people
Should not  be allowed to do
Like commit crimes on you.

I’m going to let people know exactly how I feel
And not silently pretend things aren’t real
That are hurting, denying, robbing
My fellow human beings.

Today I am going to change things
And appreciate what life brings.
Listen when the birds sing.
And what poets are writing.

Someday I am going  to raise my voice and sing out
Whenever there’s something to sing about
Even when there just seems to be
Something important to me.

Someone put an elephant
In the middle of my room
To capture conversations
And often predicting doom
Or bragging about something
That it has never done.
This pachydermal pestilence
Certainly is not much fun.

I try to keep things secret
And pretend that they’re not there
Then all of a sudden, poof,
An elephant from somewhere.
I try to deny its existence
Laugh and talk around it all
But the thing is an elephant
Is really not that small.

Then once someone visits
They find it difficult to pretend
That the elephant is not there.
So much for helpful friends.
So, I make up stories to try
To deftly explain things away
But some things are too obvious
No matter what words I say.

Some just give up and leave me
To be the same fool as I act.
But, others get up in my face
And try to deliver some fact.
So, I can’t really be upset
With those who are in my group
But that doesn’t help me clean up
The disgusting elephant poop.

The church was started years ago.
My brother was a charter member.
But, he’s been a first class weirdo
Since as long as I can remember.
At first I thought it was hilarious,
And thought not too much of it.
But, I quickly found it nefarious
And told my brother to shove it.

Their services seemed rediculous,
The chants re-written bible stuff,
An attempt to cover up that they
Are doing something iniquitous.
“He that believeth in us shall prosper
Those who revile us shall not.
Go and suffer not the poorer
For heaven is for those who have got.”

My brother quotes this stuff to me
And gets angry when I question.
I have tried hard to make him see.
He takes it as an imposition.
They work to take over Congress
So their church can get paid money.
The plan is to clean up the DC mess
So religion is the richest industry.

I asked him if the church has plans
To share some of that with them.
He laughed and clapped his hands
And said they were going to pay him.
He would be blessed by their deity
For being a righteous servant.
All he had to do was maintain piety
And be Holy Church rules observant.

They were to vote down everyone
Who had another way of seeing
And to vote for their guys who run
Then, claim the rest are not human beings.
By this time I was no longer listening
Because I thought his intelligence gone.
But a close replay of his rambling
I realized it’s all close to going on.

The people in charge really are
Seeming to be saying all of this.
They’re selling us to the guards
Without even that dreaded kiss.
We are close to those wacko creeps
Controlling all of our land of freedoms
And ripping us all off while we sleep
Then even outlawing any kind of wisdom.

I must have been raised wrong,
I believe in being generous.
I think people should be loved;
That meanness can be onerous.
I have seen what evil does
And I want no more of that.
I don’t think that selfishness
Will really feed the captain’s cat.

I have watched back biters
And gossips and thieves
Bring themselves all unawares
To the point where everyone grieves.
I have witnessed liars who get
Tripped up on their own tales;
Regular folks and politicians
Get the air taken from their sails.

I know well that our elderly
Have already done their job
So it’s fine with me if they just
Sit around and act like slobs.
They took care of us when we
Were the indolent folks kids are
So, they are entitled to rest,
More than we are, by far.

I was raised to let people be
If they had some philosophy
That did not match mine
Or even the vast majority.
Someone thinks a different way
That’s fine if it hurts no one.
Not everybody thinks the same
Carnival rides are that much fun.

I saw for myself that people
Were individual in so many ways.
Different in how they dressed
And what they had to say.
Some liked sports TV
And many preferred the soaps.
All of that is fine with me
So, why call each other dopes?

Is there something wrong with me
That I don’t go along with the crowd?
That I don’t enjoy the fights,
The sports fans shouting out loud?
Am I silly for not slowing down
When I pass a wreck on the highway?
Well, if I am, then that is fine.
I will go on doing things my way.

When it’s spring on the ocean
The wind is clear and warm
And the campers pull in
To wait out summer storms.
And one of them spends time
As he spends his time in Egypt
Making flutes of bamboo
To find his living in it.

He seems to be immune
To states and times and towns.
Whatever is his story
He's glad he's still around.
And when the campers waken
To sniff the fog of dawn
The ocean will still be there
But the flute man will be gone.

Gone to seek his being
Where no man is alone
Where no one rubs his shoulder
And each soul is his own.
You know he's glad he met you
But he is moving on.
He leaves the waves behind him
But the flute man has moved on.

You say because I am not a Christian
That means I am totally bound for Hell?
Mostly those who claim to be Christian
Behave in such a way you could never tell.

You say because I'm gay I am unnatural,
That I am surely the Devil's tool?
You're upset I am the way God made me?
The way I see it you are the fool.

You say Jews and Muslims are disgusting,
And you look to them to place all your blame.
All three religions are the followers of Abraham,
And much of what they believe is the same.

You say women are possessions like cattle
And are required to walk three steps behind.
If You agree to treat people like chattel
You can't expect others to be blind.

Almost all religions agree on one thing,
Stealing is a basic kind of sin.
But if you use your money to bribe people off
It's not a righteous life you're living in.

You say you want America back
Exactly he way it used to be
Back when women had no rights
And we based our wealth on slavery?

You say you believe all men should
Be free, with inalienable rights?
But some of them should not vote
Or even be allowed out at night?

You say you retain the right to decide
Who gets to do what and where?
Read that to me in the Constitution.
I don’t remember it being there.

Pretending while the rest of us are descending
Into the legislative hell you love so well.
Tough titty, DC City,
You get no sympathy from me.
Half the country is on drugs, and you’re all smug.
Piss off clowns, I hope you all go down.
Tough titty, DC City,
You don’t much impress me.

You sold your souls to the big money creeps
And soon you won’t be able to sleep.
You are finding out the old saying is true;
You are judged by the company you keep.
And you’re keeping company with half-bright thugs
And ugly fat cats with purely evil souls
You value wealth more than suffering people.
You’re those without compassion on the whole.

You think if you lie often enough we’ll believe
Sadly that sometimes truns out true.
Tough titty, DC City,
Your fingers are sticky as glue.
The people may burn your mansions down.
See if your bribes protect you then.
Tough titty, DC City,
I hope the good people jail you.

I wish I could hold back paying my taxes
Just like you rich people manage to do.
Tough titty, DC City,
I’d laugh as you tumble.
When your corrupt regime falls apart
You’ll want us to rescue all of  you.
Tough titty, DC City,
I’ll sit back and watch things crumble.

Into the dust of Mojave
On a blow-away afternoon
Wandered a traveling stranger
To the highway truck stop saloon.
Taking a seat by the window
His back to the hot blowing wind
You could tell by his face he was grateful
To be out of the sun once again.

And those desert breezes call him
When he is all alone
Ask him where he’s going
He is going home.
Mysterious sandy traces lead him
Along a distant track.
Home is out there waiting
And he is going back.

Then a laugh floated up from the corner
Where the stranger had recently been.
Except for the glass he had emptied
The booth was practically clean.
Out on the road he was walking
His back to the sweltering town.
His car was still parked at the truck stop
But the stranger did not turn around.

And those desert breezes call him
When he is all alone
Ask him where he’s going
He is going home.
Mysterious sandy traces lead him
Along a distant track.
Home is out there waiting
And he is going back.

Yes, my wonderful fans, there are lyrics to a song I wrote in the seventies.

I call my shoes doxies
'Cause they really get around
Just like the hookers
In the sleaziest part of town.
They started out rather nice
But now they show their years.
They look so much better
After you’ve had a couple beers.

Come with me, Doxies.
Let's us take us a stroll
To a cheap bar I know.
Not much money in my roll.
I need to meet the kind of gal
Who won't look at my feet
And think I am cool enough
To wink at her on the street.

I still have some swagger left
From when my shoes were new,
And I can still bust some moves
With a fancy step or two.
The shine on my Doxies has not
Stayed as they were long ago
But I'm sure they'll serve me well
For maybe another year or so.

My Doxies are a bit beat up,
But still they have some verve;
Just enough class that we
Can throw a hot babe a curve.
So don't look down on my Doxies;
They're the only shoes I've got.
They get me where I need to go
And I really like them a lot.

 
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