Howard Dully was twelve years old
when Dr. Freeman felt so bold
to dig around inside his head
a wonder that he isn't dead.

The year was 1963,
when Howard had his lobotomy.
He never even had a clue,
of what his parents planned to do.

                  ORBITOCLASTS
The name Freeman gave to his personally designed
lobotomy knives.
They went under Howard's eyelids 3 centimeters
from the mid line and parallel with the nose.
Driven to a depth of 5 centimeters he pulled the handles
laterally, returned them halfway, and drove 2 centimeters
deeper.  He touched the handles over the nose, seperated
them 45 degrees, elevated them 50 degrees, and at this point
he probably
smiled to himself.
For now they were parallel,
and ready for photography before removal.

An angry stepmom arranged it all,
she made the final judgement call.
They labeled Howard as insane....
opened him up, and juggled his brain.

Howard survived because he was still growing.
Not fully developed,
his brain would keep going....
off in directions he couldn't control
but never condeming
the depths of his soul.

Not long ago I read his book.
I felt intrigued to take a look.
I hope, dear reader, you do the same.
Remember his story,
remember his name.

On a long stretch of highway
his thumb to the road,
Leon set off to lighten his load.
No thoughts of tomorrow
no plans set in stone
just a few hundred bucks,
and a dream of his own.

Leon was weary of playing the game.
His boss and his girl,
they both thought the same.
Their griping and wanting
was keeping him tied
to a life that he loathed,
left him weary inside.

He would act on an impulse,
and finally be free
to do as he liked, and be who he'd be.
A fantasy stirring could finally come true!
No end to the wonderful things he could do.

For hours he walked,
while the headlights flashed by
light on his feet and a smile to the sky.
While on that same blacktop
Jenny drove on
anxious to make it to Phoenix by dawn.

It may have been fate or say what you will
that she spied him on time
as she came up the hill.
Surely this guy must be needing a ride
so she pulled to the shoulder,
letting Leon inside.

Jenny felt guarded while driving along,
not accustomed to helping who didn't belong
in the world that she lived,
and the life that she led,
ain't it funny how sometimes we do what we dread?

Her worries subsided in such a short while,
for he talked with such ease.
He had such a nice smile!
It's true what they say,
you just never know
who you might meet if you give it a go.

Just outside Phoenix the sun started rising
when Leon said "Jenny, ain't it surprising?
I feel like I've known you my entire life."
The last words she heard,
as he pulled out his knife.

Ain't it funny how sometimes we do what we dread?
Leon's still dreaming,
while Jenny lies dead.



.

Albert Day was one of a kind,
A middle aged man,
with a much younger mind.
Some claimed he was crazy,
some said "Just *******,"
some said as a child
he was left brokenhearted.

Whatever the reasons
it didn't quite matter,
for Albert cared not
for the first or the latter.
Let them say what they wanted,
stupid fools with worthless lives.
Bratty kids... barking dogs...
know it all's with cheating wives.

He knew more of them,
then they knew of each other.
What they knew of him,
he had learned from his mother.
He knew he was useless,
nobody could love him.
No wonder to Albert,
that's what they thought of him.

Albert lived in a small mountain town,
a place he believed to know well.
The annual picnic was coming around,
Albert figured he'd go for a spell.
It wasn't like Albert to be in a crowd,
these people were ******* his eyes.
But this year he'd go,
this year he'd be proud,
for this year he had a surprise.

Saturday dawned with a bright blue sky.
Albert awoke with a smile.
He didn't know how
he didn't know why
but he did know today was worthwhile.
Townspeople gathered at Finnigans Park
with umbrellas, and sunscreen, and chairs.
Albert arrived with his mind in the dark,
stupid fools, how they're left unawares.

Alone on his blanket he sat and he watched,
as festivities got underway.
Wondering when to contribute,
his festivities to this fine day.

He studied the husbands,
he stared at the wives.
Watched the kids as they played in the sun.
His patience wore thin,
yet he still wore his grin,
reaching into his sock for his gun.

It only took seconds to squeeze the trigger.
Just seconds to see them all fall.
He thought to himself as he watched them...
stupid fools.... you don't know me at all.

Sometimes I sit and wonder
who would I want to be
if I weren't me?
Would I be that girl who always
accomplishes her goals?
Would I be that woman
who made it to the top?
But then I start to wonder,
to the top of what?

Sometimes I'll sit and daydream....
of something spectacular I want to do.
But I can never fully grasp
what that spectacular thing is.
I run from one dream to another
with no closure
and never really waking up
from the dream.

Sometimes I'll sit and think about
yesterday, or ten years ago... or twenty
and I question why I did the things I did.
Some events were easy,
some were difficult....
and I pat myself on the back
for making it
through those tough times.
Then I scold myself
for not accomplishing more
during the easy times.

But most of the time
I just worry a lot.
I worry about the future.
How will I ever afford to fully retire?
How will my children care
for an elderly mother?
How much longer will I live?

Sometimes I simply look around me
and drink in the here and now.
Sometimes I feel so full of love and joy I could burst!
So many things to be thankful for,
so many.

I know now that life goes by so quickly.
So lately when I sit and wonder about my life,
I think the best way I can spend the rest of it
is by simply thinking of others and doing for others.
Even some simple little thing
like bringing someone flowers,
or visiting someone lonely....
might just be the most important things
I can ever do with the rest of my life.

Let the music free your spirit
  when you hear it
   it takes control
    within your soul.

Let the music live inside you
  let it guide you.
   Each day a song
    you take along.

Let the music always lead you
   let it need you.
    Given a chance
     life is a dance.

It started out when he was four,
I bought a toy
at the dollar store.
And when I gave him
that little guitar
I never dreamed he'd go to far.

He could bring it to life
with only an ear,
the sweetest tunes,
I ever did hear.
He couldn't write music,
and he sure couldn't read it
but that little boy
sure seemed to need it.

He played for awhile,
but soon it bored him.
He forgot the guitar,
even though it adored him.
He'd begin doing one thing
and fly off to another.
He made me so tired,
just being his mother!

He still hasn't changed,
but he did surrender.
Not long ago he bought a Fender.
When he lays his fingers
upon the strings
the magic happens,
and my heart sings.
I'd stop anything
just to hear him play
his music takes my breath away.

I wish so much it could be his living,
all of that magic he could be giving!
But we must cope with life's demands.
Dreams and desires
are out of our hands.
Playing guitar will not pay the bills.
We make the most of other skills.

I'm just glad I bought that toy.
I treasure the music,
and I treasure the boy.

A baby is born with a trouble or two,
what you feel in the womb really happens to you.
But matters are worse when you finally arrive,
baby, sweet baby, how will you survive?

At least on the inside you kept yourself warm,
but now on the outside you will feel the storm.
At least on the inside the drugs kept you high,
but now on the outside you've reason to cry.

A baby is born through no fault of his own,
decisions made for him from someone full grown.
Selfish and needy she thought not of him,
he arrives with no more then to sink or to swim.

And how do you swim when you can't even walk?
How do you ask when you can't even talk?
A baby is born and he suffers each day,
just so his mother could have her own way.

I saw that man fall in the street.
It was like he suddenly
lost his feet.
His sign went flying,
as did my mood.
I should've been crying,
will work for food.

I saw my friend breaking down.
She needed those pills,
but they weren't around.
Her hands were shaking,
as was my mind.
Her heart was breaking,
yet I left her behind.

I heard the sirens again tonight.
My stupid neighbors,
another fight.
I've seen that girl,
we spoke once or twice.
She's not in my world,
I've been more then nice.

There will always be something wrong.
Some lost soul
some sad song.
There will always be people,
to rearrange it.
But God, just once,
can we try to change it?

She looked directly in my eyes,
and then she looked away.
It really came as no surprise,
that I should feel this way.

I'd seen it coming for so long,
I knew what lie in store.
I simply wanted one more song,
I yearned for just one more.

For she could take my breath away,
with songs so sweet and clear.
I'd go to listen every day,
just for the chance to hear.

To be around that strong sweet voice,
I could not help but smile.
Each day I had no other choice,
but to listen for awhile.

Who am I to want for more?
She's gone now....  yet I linger.
Yearning for what went before,
inspiration I could bring her.

In dreams last night I heard the phone,
a constant steady ringing.
I said hello to a voice unknown,
until I heard the singing.

That grimy young man who stands on the street
holding his old cardboard sign
it can't be that bad, he's still on his feet,
I'll betcha he could work just fine.

That worn looking woman who pushes the cart
my God, what a pity to see.
Look long enough and it might break your heart.
That could never, ever, be me.

That sad looking man who begs by the store,
he always makes me feel funny.
I'll give him a little, I refuse to give more,
I work too **** hard for my money.

That shabby young girl who waits for the bus,
not once has she had the whole fare.
She begs, and she's loud, and she makes such a fuss
that I have to pretend I'm not there.

We've all seen the woman, the man and the girl,
and we know there are so many others.
These are the people who share our same world,
these are our sisters and brothers.

Please don't look away, look straight on.
Can't we see that nothing is changing?
With each coming day, each new dawn,
let our hearts do some new rearranging.

Do one little thing, no matter how small,
it's only some time that you're taking.
But we've got to stop doing nothing at all,
there will be no change in the making.

In his new khaki pants
with his white boarding pass,
Ernest looked forward
to flying first class.
From Denver to Vegas
he'd waited so long
if you travel in style,
you cannot go wrong.

Greeted by stewerdesses
flashing sweet smiles,
he awaited the privelage
of saved flyer miles.
Not a cloud in the sky
as the plane took descent
Ernest quite comfortable,
pleased and content.

He chatted away,
with the woman behind him
when something she said,
seemed to remind him
of a love he once had
so young and so sweet!
She was just like eye candy,
indeed.... what a treat!

But Suzanne was not comfortable,
and so scared of flying.
She admitted to Ernest,
she really was trying!
It had taken such courage
to step on this plane,
she was two steps away
from taking the train.

They talked like old friends,
conversation came easy
when suddenly Ernest
began to feel queasy.
The moment had come,
he was living his dream
his trip of all trips,
his wonderful scheme.

He must take his eyes
from this beautiful face.
Remember his plans,
remember his place.
"Excuse me, dear lady, I'm not feeling well,"
he reached in his pocket
and felt for his cell.

He turned one more time
just to look in her eyes
for a moment just wishing,
to prolong the surprise.
In his mind he debated
just calling it quits
as his thumb slowly pushed,
and he blew them to bits.

"

I watch them wheel on down the hall
then come back up,
prepared to fall
back into the daily grind.....
God I wish that they could find

Some way out
or some way in.
Some way to get back home again.

Wilma sits there by the door.
She's waiting
as she's done before
so many times, so many days
and there are just a few small ways

that I can help
to give her hope,
or simply find a way to cope.

Ellen calls me by my name.
Which makes no sense
for it's the same.
Every afternoon at three,
I'm not who I seem to be.

I wish I were.
For maybe then
I could bring them home again.

Parallel parking and green from my rings,
these are a few of my least favorite things.
Crumbs in the bed and the toilet seat up,
coffee grounds left at the end of my cup.

Crinks in my socks and cricks in my neck,
not enough funds to cover the check.
Old wilting flowers and ***** brown snow,
roaches and rats and the ugly black crow.

Ranting and raving because I feel ******,
sitting alone at my party of pity.
Wasting good time when there's not much to spare,
kidding myself that I don't really care.

Doing such damage is useless and crude,
and it all boils down to my own attitude.
One things for sure and it's perfectly clear,
if I end the party they all disappear.

All of the squirrels had big bushy tails,
and legs that could practically fly!
They would swing from the trees,
doing just as they pleased
always laughing when Sammy crawled by.

Squirrels have short legs, that is certainly true,
but Sammy's were smaller then small.
They sure slowed him down,
and his face wore a frown,
how he longed to be bushy and tall!

Sam's tiny tail stayed tucked all the time,
he would hide it right under his tummy.
He had trouble running,
and though he was cunning,
his slowness sure made him feel crummy.

One hot summers day Sammy sat all alone,
as the other squirrels played in a tree.
And when daylight grew dim,
one squirrel fell from a limb,
so Sammy crawled over to see.

His scrawny brown tail was tucked under his belly,
his short stubby legs led the way.
In a hurry he went,
feeling tired and spent,
but he knew that he must save the day.

Sammy had taken a great many falls,
he knew how it felt to be hurt.
So without hesitation,
he forgot his frustration,
and he picked the squirrel up from the dirt.

As the other squirrels watched he did his good deed,
and you can imagine their shame!
For not one of them moved,
while Sammy had prooved
he had courage and strength, but no blame.

So remember, young friends, do not judge anyone.
Do not snicker or laugh at another.
Remember young Sam
and I am who I am,
and treat everyone like your brother.

Yolinda Young was from Yonkers.
She was plagued with a huge set of honkers.
  When Yolinda was sneezing
  it wasn't to pleasing
for the noise made Yolinda ge bonkers.

Hiding away
a bear waiting for springtime.
A frightened songbird
not brave enough to sing the words.

Pushing it aside
a broom sweeping feelings
under a woven rug of emotion.

Crying inside,
smiling on the outside.
I fool everybody, even myself.
I'm strong as a bear,
but I'm really a frightened little songbird.
I want to sing!
Loud, sweet, and clear!
So much to say.
I've so much to say.

I'm a poet on the inside.
Everything I see makes me curious.
The look on a strangers face
makes me wonder what kind of day they're having.
Something always stirs inside me.
I feel this urgency,
this hungry need to feed
anyone willing to listen.

But I'm hiding away.
Waiting
hurting
needing
words won't come.
Then the bear in me awakens,
I have to conquer.
Spread your wings, little songbird.

Sally the skunk began thinking,
"Why am I constantly stinking?"
  She thought she was smart
  but each time she would ****
her brain was consistently shrinking.

I saw you so clearly,
speaking my name.
In a dream, in a vision,
you called and I came.

We danced in the moonlight,
you held onto my hand.
We embraced, we locked souls,
yet I don't understand.

It has already happened
we danced just like this
you reached for my face,
and you gave me this kiss.

I have felt this same breeze,
as it tickles my skin.
Yet I don't understand
what once wasn't, has been.

Do not tell me, my love,
what it is we must do
for I already know
from the sweet deja vous.

Winding staircases
leading to nowhere.
Ugly faces from high school
surrounding me
taunting me,
while I shiver in my underware.

I was spinning and falling,
yet never hitting bottom.
There were telephone conversations
with Cathy.
so clear
I could hear
every word...
as if she never passed.

Tick tick tick
that hideous tick.
In sync
with all my anxieties.
Sweet dreams replaced
with cigarettes
and a cold kitchen floor.

Three a.m. worries
slowly joining up
with the buzz buzz
buzz
signal to the never ending morning
a prison sentence
of daytime.

Cat got your tongue?
Now wouldn't that hurt!
Let's go for a spin,
and dig up some dirt.
Am I faster then lightning?
Slow as homemade soup?
Is it raining cat's and dog's?
Think I'll fly the coop.
Do we really give a ****
for the price of tea in China?
If the eye is truly black,
then why is it a shina?
Why bore the lad with lectures,
just give him birds and bees.
No need to work for money,
it's growing on the trees.
What's exactly up your sleeve?
Up the creek with no paddle?
If I'm so high upon my horse,
then how do I sit on the saddle?
Thanks, dear friend, for stopping by,
it seems the time just flew!
Think I need to wrap this up,
which leaves me feeling blue.

He lets his alarm clock
  ring and ring.
She wants so much
to break the **** thing.
You'd think after an hour,
it would break by itself.
  Ringing and ringing
echo on the shelf.

How many times
has she told him this?
  Over and over
so this morning, NO KISS.
He can just forget it.
To much **** trouble.
So get up, get ready
do it now, on the double.

He rises to greet her
then changes his mind
cuz that look on her face,
aint hard to define.
He has seen it so often,
and he knows what it means.
She makes him feel ancient,
and he's just in his teens.

She throws him his backpack
and points to the door
"You'll miss the **** bus,
you've done it before!"
As he scrambles for clothing,
she shoots him that glare
and he finds himself smiling,
just to get outta there.

His school is a refuge,
a haven he keeps.
A place to find peace,
just like when he sleeps.
At school she can't touch him,
in his dreams she never wins.
Yet he knows the next beating
before it ever begins.

The sting of her hands,
striking out on his face.
Those same wicked fingers,
in a much different place.
A place she has claimed,
a place she has taken.
Oh God he's confused
alone, and forsaken.

She lets out a sigh,
as the bus drives away
and now that he's left,
she gets on with her day.
The brats finally gone,
not a moment to soon.
She's wasted by ten,
and passed out by noon.

Two o'clock lingers,
and gives way to three
as he comes to the door,
and feels for his key.
Walking into a house
so dreary and cold
he succumbs his strength,
and pretends to be bold.

He pretends he is master,
this is his house instead!
It does not belong
to that stranger in bed.
So he walks quickly over,
and takes off his coat.
He tucks it beside her,
as the knife slits her throat.

He retreats to his bedroom,
sweet relief of no harm!
  Takes the clock from the shelf,
  and he sets the alarm.