In Orange County
In Orange County, Californiyay,
When you arrive at John Wayne Airport,
No need to show driver license or passport,
But be prepared for inspection to gain entry.
Are your teeth white enough to light the roads?
Is your navel hairless and clean enough to be licked?
Do you have two tats, if not, get going back
If your not blonde, produce pictures of your parents,
In any event, law demands, go directly to the colorist!
At the John Wayne Airport,
Religion is everywhere,
Who says God is illegal
In the great state of California-yay?
A flimsy dress, no room to guess,
Sashays slowly before the lines of the waiting,
If you are a believer, all is revealed,
A thong is the path to the Promised Land,
All you do is silent pray, Good God,
Mine eyes have seen the coming of The Lord!
A middle aged woman with many large bags
Dances a pas de deux with the luggage carousel,
Wrestling those black devils to the ground,
Her less than flat physique is displayed,
All you do is silent pray, Good God,
Please tell me she is pregnant!
Everybody smiles and says hello, so friendly,
But having mastered the technique of doing so
While looking over and past you, rest assured,
Your New York sensibilities of ignoring the movie star
Sitting next to you on the subway feels like the ultimate,
In this place the sun never sets, which is why the citizens
Have sunglasses surgically attached to their heads.
Have not seen a big nose 'cept mine
Being looked down on from people who by law
Must be a minimum of six feet tall.
Need my gritty, need my cabbies giving me the finger,
Need the senior citizens fighting tooth and elbow for anything on sale,
Need my rivers, need to bleed orange and blue,
Need my ballet, my museums, my rude compatriots,
Who rush to your side when you sidewalk stumble,
Who never judge a book by its cover,
Cause the jerk next to you is likely the author.
Who open their pockets and hearts to every needy person,
Hand extended, give 'em a buck, genuinely wish 'em God Bless,
They who let us share the fabric, woof and weave of our
City streets, their homes...
I got beach, I got mountains,
So maybe they're not visible from my living room,
But I got more living in the hearts of my fellow Yorkers,
Than there are grains of sands on the beaches of
Uncaring minutes are but passersby
disregarding my wails.
They hear me; they offer no help.
Though, with only sixty seconds to exist,
why would they stop for me?
The hours pound against my skull with intent to smash their way in.
Such constant clangor resonates through my consciousness
disturbs my ego,
the agitation seems to sieve out
tiny jealousies from among other thoughts.
Oh those god-damned Days.
They see me confused and seize their chance;
they pull out my feet
right from under my frame,
and helpless, hurt,
I collapse to the earth.
And here time really sets in.
The Months form gangs called 'Years'
and The Years take their turn
breaking my joints, my fingers, my knees,
all my snappable, crackable points.
Curved, crippled, and creaking,
I languish in fantasies of what's supposed to be,
oh, and the 'might-have-beens'.
Time makes things worse.
A dark shadow moves over me.
I look up as far as a heavy, beaten head will allow
only to see the massive, soul-crushing weight of the decades
seating their backside;
down to rest upon my twig-like spine.
And throughout the abuse,
I crawl, cringe, cower
as safe as can be in a low lying state on the ground,
(which is still six feet too high for all that time cares!)
I hear from somewhere afar
an unfaltering decree
from my maker to me
"Stand up straight! For Heaven's sake!"
The sun sets gentle as it is painted
and painted over,
a portrait of sliding sky,
in gradients too slow for
notice the painter erase the day's melodies
brooding all the
while the sky finishes its fall
onto the rising night.
He is a quiet man, all
calloused hands and stained foreams,
more accustomed to solitude than
the harsh daylight of scrutiny.
With the precision of an almanac,
the painter finishes, canvas cleaned
of its light and
sliding quiet beneath his blanket of tattered stars,
the man waits
in hope, that tender lunacy,
to find the lady who resides in the corners of his dreams.
He longs to touch her outside his mind's eye,
but all too soon he is asleep
and she is nowhere to be found.
After his breathing evens out, he
rises unconscious from the bed,
shuffling towards the canvas.
Sitting picturesque before the easel
he eases the woman into existence,
champagne beneath his brush.
She never stays longs, though,
leaving with the drop
of her mimosa glass,
bleeding orange onto background and body;
he rushes to catch her oils as she drips between
The painter sighs deep and begins to
cover his work.
Every night his heart breaks
as he paints and paints her over.
When he finally wakes,
dropping the shredded sky from his frame,
he finds the canvas inexplicably different
than how he left it.
It will be forever, it seems,
until their shadows will be allowed to meet,
concrete as a realist's ache
As each day passes the sun sets sooner in the sky,
Lifted above us each day, never going awry.
We long to share that light; we live to see,
Alone, standing waiting to feel free.
Away from the pain, the torture we endure,
While time leaves us to mature.
As the sun rises, we count down the days,
To feel something even if it's just it's rays.
The warmth keeps us going, until then we wait,
Wait until there is something else to set us straight.
Until then, we're here to live the life that remains,
Fighting through what gives us sadness and pains.
We struggle through the fires and trials of life,
But in the end everything always ends in strife.
One day the sun will no longer rise or shine,
The stars slowly dim; planets cease to align.
In the darkness we will find it; a guide, a light,
That will show us the way through the darkest night.
The grass bows in respect as he passes,
A fool so very unruly,
Spits vengeful passion,
Sets the bowing grass on fire,
Destroying nature with his smile,
Eyelashes flutter in mortified shame,
Curling of their own accord,
In harmony of discord!
Disputed by speech in truth!
Love songs live ,
Chastised for lack of care,
Darkened magic mind,
Riling by inspiring,
Eternal gossamer magic,
This fool's a clever fool!
He is such unruly fool,
Will never admit it,
Will stand in attendance,
To whims and things,
Main retorts in nonchalance!
Founded in chalice,
He's no village idiot!
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
the cool stone his breath, he digs
hoping to find what he is longing for
the shimmer of a gold vain? sure of what they said
o how they told him long ago
so he blisters, too deep to remember, and how long the depths
the pick axe worn thin, blood and bone and steal and will
rip into the next swing, and cold chunks of stone
fall onto cold chunks of stone, piles, drifting in two and three
to dig into a swinging party this deep must be a farce… yet
his hands no longer blister, and finding love brief and wonderful,
wild flowers in bloom, a field of holly, the most beautiful
dancing, the sway and whimsy of a ball surround
wind harps sweet air; the beat of the drums stead fast
and after the waltz, the moon walks them home,
knees… begin to ache, the weight of her beauty sore,
her pedals fall against the shores of lapping tides
and fading dreams…
and the longing for gold remembers him
….....deep underground, he awakens to hands blistered dry, now laying beside… detached
knees worn away, and his arms too… just pain the mind reassures
leaving his limbs behind, he must be close… this body to drag, is at least a bit lighter now
for the journey is another mouth full of dirt, the warm carbon against busted teeth
a broken inch crawls into light, the eyes struck blind and his tired tears do not stop him…
still the warm glow, somehow a reminder of the past, an old guide longing to meet him...
and something ancient still looms behind him too, a trail… the thick shadow, of fresh soil
so thoughts convince, to the center of the earth
or maybe a candle, that knows not that it shines,
the warmth he has been longing for, the shadow of dust behind
told of gold, sets off into the soil, and deeps the cold stone
and the cruel trick! or so he thinks, there is no gold down here at all!
just his warm laughter…
and the light ahead…
and the dung behind…
and the earth worm
continues to dig
with a smile
less than an inch away...
from summer grasses
Having none of my own,
Your light leads me on.
My paths are dark,
And my way is sinful.
Born human sets my destination,
Toward death I rapidly walk.
All seems lost
O God where art thou?
My heart cries out for help
And yet all stays silent.
My soul is weary and fragile
But Your strength overcomes.
My weakness is proven
By your eternal love.
Without You I am nothing.
Without You I am lost.
Through Your power,
O Lord be my all,
A lost orphan I come to you,
Empty and pleading
For Your fulfilling love.
You are the King of Kings,
You are the Father of Fathers.
May God be exalted!
May my life glorify His holy name!
Let the whole earth praise Him,
And come to Him in thanksgiving,
Forever be glad and rejoice in the name of the Lord,
For He alone reigns, forever!
Demons of Desire
look at that squeeze
my god is she hot
the way she swings those hips
sets my soul on fire
I'm begging you please
give me a shot
to taste those sweet lips
Demons of Desire
check out those wheels
that gorgeous paint
the chrome shinning in the light
the way they conspire
let me see how it feels
see the ladies faint
as I cruise the strip all night
Demons of Desire
fancy place on the beach
now thats the crib
make them all jealous for sure
take me much higher
tell me how far I must reach
how to act so glib
greed and lust not for the pure
Demons of Desire
Gomer LePoet ....
Shrieking winds caress my inner hurricane, emotions haven't gone numb
Basking in five hundred degree weather, beneath a desert sun
I'm awake now, towards the moonrise I run
Every piece of me thrums, my heart drums
Across a frozen meadow, wither wildflowers in snow,
I am caught by shimmering eyes of gold
Two hearts beat
It's a lie, you're not alone
I've found us, and for now a home
So much to know
Soft hills of grass, warm with summer
Picking flowers, eating out of orchards
I fondly remember
Catching butterflies by the light of embers
Flickering fireflies in late november
Wandering through emerald fields of memories
Wishing for this moment to last forever, however temporary
Time for now is slow
While the sun sets low, we always know
We wander together
And never alone
you breathed me in
on a cold november night
you showed me what its like to live
under the pale moonlight
hours of tag
two sets of eyes
brought us here
and looking back
I wonder how it ever passed by
your words flowed
to the wavelength of my mind
I am full
im used to
the sequence of time
your mind is slipping further from mine
already has left here