and shallow voices
fill the world
with blissful ignorance.
The ignorant remain
happy and joyous, while
the lovely depressed
see the truth and gore.
Their brains may
never heal and their
hearts remain weak.
I fear I'm being forgotten
With the memories of fourth grade
And last Tuesday's dinner...
Slipping from the minds
Of those I care about.
Fading fast with silent screams.
I'm falling from society
And becoming a recluse.
Losing any sensation in my body,
I'm overcome with numbness
And tingling limbs. . .
Until I've lost myself completely.
G o i n g.
Dam I need a blunt,
can't put up with this cunt,
I'm fealin a new person
My heart just feals like cursin...
I've bin hear,
in this new home,
sober a new rome,
If i had my shear bong
you'd sure would hear a cheer song.
I'd feal you out so happy,
have my words churned out to sappy?.
I'm way out,
I'm not burned,
I get it I sure learned
far out mars rover,
spot me out like your'e lucky clover,
out in a big croud
I'm rare like a drout cloud,
like I said,
I miss my bed,
eatin all day,
freakin all may,
Give it a doobie a precious fuckin ruby
Not lit Not fit
How bout a bubble and a bowl,?
no trouble nore parol,
you know i'm slick won't get in no shit,
just help a nigga out and blow me a hit.
I love my jane we plan to mary
when she's gone my world gets scary..
So be it if i'm sketchy,
I'm posted monalisa ,
see me on the wall,
touch me and I'll fall,
trust I see it all,
you walk right out the door and leave me on this floor,
I've seen it as it's low thats why I tend to flow,
Best of what I know is what minds like to show..
don't come back that lock is latched,
holdin steady bit attatched,
I need a hook to hold me steady.
some one strong that will be ready,
It sort of just sits there
Vacant – perhaps a little smirk,
I don’t know.
It does, however,
show some age,
-This is what I’m getting at-
And peeling paint,
Up it’s left side.
Those people that lived there,
With scruffy bonnets,
Who worked seven till eleven,
Who would sit around the fire,
Why cast our minds back that far?
Oh I wouldn’t call it
Home that should be demolished.
this is me being
and disgusted with
men give children
learn the alphabet,
how to put a bullet
They'll learn about the
because their skin will be splattered
with needles shoved up their arms
a drug for the mind
making the killing no harm
brain wash brain wash
are so impressionable
they don't ask why
"why did i kill my mommy
why did i watch my family die?"
so many of us
we just don't know
The Beatles had Penny Lane
But all I have is an empty lane
Nothing do I hear; in my ears
Nothing do I see: in my eyes
Except for the salty tears
And the living on French fries.
Writing songs which sound out of key
But at least I’m still glad to be free
Bad verse; sure bad prose
It doesn’t matter to those
Who live with Lucy in the sky
That one with those diamonds
That helps her definitely get by
She sure captures those dumb minds
All that talk of her diamonds
Certainly never ever ends;
For nothings at the end of a Rainbow
But only Ritchie Blackmore
Who moved from Purple to vibgyor
Oh sheesh, do I have to spell it out
the colors of the Rainbow
though still no more
lingers on in mortal souls
but I just write bad verse
Bad verse; sure bad prose
It only gets worse and worse
And then they simply say,
“All you need is Love”
But I did then say
It is the loveless that seek
love that they never ever keep
"The End of laughter
And to lies." ~ The Doors
The end of another school year
The teachers and the children cheer
Much was taught, and much was learned
Many bridges were built and burned
Minds were shaped, and plans were laid
Friends were lost and memories fade
Kids grew up, and teachers grew young
The latter of life was climbed rung by rung
The future is bright as the skies grow dark
Every graduate needs to make a mark
The kids come, and the kids go
They're the same, for all I know
"This is the end, beautiful friend, the end." ~ The Doors
Yet teachers see death around the bend.
"My only friend, the end." ~ The Doors
I love teaching, just the end of the year exhaustion speaking.
though the wilderness woods,
far and away from the potholes
of well beaten pathways
The soft breeze slowly moves
the shadows cast in the moonlit night
past the thorny stems of time.
Wildlife paths illuminated by starlight
adorn the alluring wooded trail
Secluded pathways foraged by natural instinct,
ancestral prudence and intuition
Each shadow drawn willingly
into a deeper enlightening journey
As if synchronicity united hearts
learning to speak minds
The depths of undaunting transparency
are rendezvous with awakening breath
Looking back at life withdrawn in discontent;
exhaling shameless freedom without regret
Lost in perpetual motion, found in heart
Separate souls illuminated by the moon
stood alone yearning for healing connection
Ardor of hope shines an inward light
as moonlight slumbers while passion blushes radience
The night has a thousand coquettish eyes
shining on practical mysticism
The laughing owls of midnight
Echo their illusions of crystal clear reverie
Moved by swirling tempest breezes
showering down from high endeavors
where treetops pierce the stars
Wisps of the sleeping sky unfurl
stardust teardrops drunk by earth’s sod
Nocturnal Cricket’s rhythmus acoustical wings
are very quietly chirping a bashful courting song
Laughter rings out blissfully
like the joy of a heavenly child
Nature sways with a gentle motion
Her leafy arms groan and moan the silent toil
as she holds up the weight of the celestial light
Moonlight moves across the shadows
of love born beneath her branches.
Two shadows embrace as one
emerging rapturously from the sleepy wilderness
Reborn as naked as the free
enlightened by the enchanting forest...
under the enchanting allure of a full,
blossoming, spring moon...
The squeak of rubber soles on the tiled red and black floor. The tripping over ourselves. The track. And you Regina. Making our heads spin slowly. Or Broadway at midnight, Pandora. Dancing, ignoring Mateo next door. After all he is louder than us. Maybe. The July, August, then September sun fading slowly. The gentle kisses of rain on our cheeks and lips. The wet hair, flinging back and forth. Ikea. Rocks. Sexist boys. Thunder. Hipsters. Hips. Chests. Smiles. Laughter. Singing. Dancing. Wet. Perfect. Stage. Dark. These make up our times together. The train. This houses some of them. Ice, cold and hot, slipping over our skin. Water makes us up. We make up our minds. Emails. Bye the time summer comes, we shall be gone. Taking our chemistry and voices away. Apart we are nothing. Together we are a chorus. Songs. They make up most of what we are. Emotions. They are us.
5 million angels of God with a shortage of love
10 million small feet without a heaven to call their own
orphans of a lost war, children of hunger and distress
the loving nest in their parents arms got blown to shreds.
So they suffer, innocent souls that have no were to hide
in tears of pain, in between heaven and hell Muhammed walks
in a drone strike a child’s future in the last thing on anyone’s minds
Every day war mongers cultivate the future enemies of this land.
Suffer the little children, the infants, the school kids, the toddlers
In the hot desert sand burn and riddled with bullets lie their rotting corpses
their small eyes staring blank into infinity and no one dares to close them
sleeping on ravaged streets barely out of their strollers.
Wish I could send my useless hands to heal their wounds
the American invasion of Iraq became their tombs.
Suffer the little children in sulfur
victims of greed, lust for power and oil
pray to Allah every night to care for them
children without a future, victims of a war they didn’t deserve.
And so they suffer.