.

Pacing backstage like a bull in the batter
Thrashing about as if china exists
Driven to drink by some wine on a platter
Blowing off steam for he could not resist

Snorting a scene when the lines are recited
Reading the script just a few seconds more
Up with the curtain by hands so excited
Wishing the winter had closed every door

Shoveling snow in a thong made of paper
Counting the flakes that attended his show
In the front row as the smiles did taper
Sat an old woman he knew long ago

She held a bag printed green with a flower
Wore her hair up and her underwear down
Gazed up at him as if she held the power
Reached in her satchel and pulled out a crown

Glistening gold trimmed in jewelry gleaming
Something indeed that was fit for a king
Pinching his skin just in case he was dreaming
Thinking it must be the silliest thing

Low went the lights with the audience hushing
Now was his time as he stood on the mark
Hoping that nobody noticed him blushing
The brightest of red in the darkest of dark

Then as he spoke in an accent so fitting
Words written out by some dude named Shakespeare
Looked to his feet where the crown was now sitting
An inscription inside “For a lousy King Lear”

He searched for the woman and noticed her leaving
Screaming out loud, “What’s the meaning of this?”
When she looked back, now his eyes not believing
She wore his face as she blew him a kiss

Had he gone mad as the world became hazy
Spinning in place, royalty gone insane
“Give me your praises,” he shouted like crazy
“Tell me you love me and tell me your name”

“I’m called Cordelia and I far from love you
Your acting *****, you’ve no talent at all
I’ll give you no praise, no that’s something I won’t do”
And there she stood as the curtain did fall

She started to laugh as the sirens were blaring
They carted him off on a stretcher of gold
To the asylum with everyone staring
Tossing the tickets that they had been sold

Then out of nowhere the crowd started cheering
She took his stage, now her kingdom, she swore
Taking a bow, the applause so endearing
She had no choice but to give an encore

Did you lose me?
Are you too busy?
Am I just so unimportant
That you'll toss me to the back burner
Like a failed dish?
Something you're done with.
I'm finished,
You're out of focus.
Focusing on the ones on their knees,
The ones who sing, and truly believe.
I thought you were accepting,
So why won't you accept me?
Did you lose me?
Are you too busy?
Am I just so unimportant
That you overlooked my name on the list?
Was it ever even there, written clearly in print-
Or cursive?
Maybe your thumb smudged me off,
It's possible that you erased me
And just ignore all of my calls.
It's not your fault,
I know it's mine with this filthy mind
And skin that crawls with sin, like parasites.
I'm sorry for killing your son-
I'm sorry I ****** him every night,
I want to be forgiven,
To turn all of my wrongs to rights.
I want to retrieve the innocence
You let life, so cruelly take;
Why then, was I not saved?
Was I a child so depraved?
Did you lose me?
Were you too busy?
Was I so unimportant
That you let him have his way?
Or is it just a part of this play?
Not everyone gets the chance
To see your face,
To feel your grace,
And find the path that leads your way.

You're not my father
And I think of you as cancer,
But I'll keep on calling
Hoping one day you'll answer.

-SLuR

.
Each morning I rise unto hours,
Wheeling in sun, with wee wild flowers.

An hearty wish, on hills by the sea

Each day I skip about live stones,
In winds I run, deep dancing my bones.

I am made of each, cairn on hillocky

Each sweep of air a breathy kiss,
On skyline by the sea, one mighty bliss.

Dancing my bones, in winds I run

Each hour a new turning of page,
Each heap on hill, of these I am made.

*Wild wee flowers, wheeling in the sun

Dark is the night, by the light of day

Harsh are the words, which some people say

Grievous the malaise, which we often feel

Deep are the wounds, of a hurt that won’t heal

Lasting the wrong, to whom it is done

Fleeting the moment, when praises are won

Tragic the loss, of someone we love

Empty the feeling, when they are thought of
WIZDUMBs BY JA 619

Our car, among the classics
Our things, became antique
We, turned into relics
And our friends, befit a clique

Our cottage, now the hermitage
Our home, is a relique
Our life, will be a heritage
And when we talk, it’s a critique

What we do, has grown archaic
Our habits, turned oblique
Our thinking, esoteric
But we’ve, become unique
WIZDUMBs BY JA 418

I now wear frogs as feet
And black tents to hide my layers
I don’t bother with makeup (except the lips)

We tried a new church today
And what I found is
musicians make better musicians than preachers

You ask again
Another favor
When will I start saying no with an exclamation point?