I sit wrapped in mist...
as the Fog Bank rolls in
on the shores of my mind

I find through an ocean
fed upon by the River Styx
lost in my own Complexity

Thoughts like confetti
float through the air
as if to Puzzle me to Dare

To arrange the Puzzle Pieces
of my life, while constantly bogged
in the mists of my own Mind

Sequential thoughts drifting
in the mists of time and place
as I continue to search for my face

Lost in the pile of puzzle pieces
a jumble in the duration of the
persistance of my procreation


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®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack

Minutes passing
Continual Eyeing
Pulse pumping
Heart Jumping

Fingers Tapping
Clock Watching
Vision Scanning
Anxiety Climbing

Clock Stopping
Sudden Stabbing
Heart Bleeding
Joy Fleeing

Thoughts Cauterizing
Time Healing
Well they weren't worth it
Anyway..............................JMF 10/11/14

Along the Valley
Of the Mississippi
Bluffs and Banks
Covered in trees
Whisper barely
In the Summers
Breeze,
Content to hang
In the Humidity
As Fall Comes
With Oranges
Yellows and Russets
The Rustle becomes
A Whisper from
Tree to tree, of
The Coming Soon
Wintery, they say
Their Goodbyes
With Soft Leafy
Sighs, and Promise
In the spring to meet
And for those not there
They will Morn the Passing
Bringing Blooms to their Graves

An ugly Ogre hid behind a tree
Just to see the Princess on her Steed
He thought the Princess So Lovely
He painted minerals on the Bark of a Tree

Each Day as She passed he etched Gently
Of her passing in beauty upon her Ride
He continued adding detail.....
On the Smooth bark side

A beautiful vision of his Love of Her
One day he was spotted*
By the Princesses Guard Who
Launched a spear into the Ogre

The Princess Rode over to see
And under the tree she saw
A Beautiful Painting of her on her Horse
When She realized soft tears fell

The Ogre Painted her Angelical
And from the Guard's Alarm
The Ogre was no harm.....
And the art of his Charm

Was eternally Lost...
The princess had the Painting
Hung in a small Garden...
*For one who Paid the Cost

Undaunted by the lack of sound
Waits patiently for answers bound.
A tiring task that puts to will,
The asked must have time to ****.
To spend so much time to ignore,
The message knocking at your door.
A lingering persistent knock,
That ticks away like the clock.
Passing one moment to the next
Each minute ads to the one before.
And still the question is ignored......JMF 11/8/14

This is a poem......
you don't have to read.
You're busy at home
watching Cable TV.
On Twitter or Facebook,
reading all the minuta
that comes down the feed.
My words may be little,
my words may be small.
But, each and every one
of them, I own them all.
Some will take time,
and others will pass by.
These words will be mine,
till the day that I die.....JMF 2/19/15

Ethereal Theories and Rituals
By Rosicrucian's and Masons
And The Knights Templar
Secrets whispered in listening Ears
Bound to Silence by unknown Fears
Symbolic  Accoutrements Adorn
Compass, Cross, Aprons and Horn
Secret Rituals done in Dark Shadows
Robed Members with Incense and Candles
Perform ancient Tomes with Canticles
Reciting Century old Chants of Words
Enarmed with Pike Shield and Sword
Perpetuated through the Centuries
All Carried out in total Secrecy.....1/19/15

TheBack Beat of the Bass, In a Bourbon infused bar
Smooth to the bend of , The blues note Guitar
Saxman whail's to the, Smoky Slow blues Singer
And Drummer riffs off , A High Hat Brush Stinger
The Piano Man lays down, A Slow soft tune
As the Vocals Stir the mix, In a Soft **** Croon
People dance so close, It Shuts out the World
Lost in Love, Lust, & Bourban.....
Bartender sets up another Round
As the Crowd of the room, Soaks up the Sound.....
Toker's Blowin'  Smoke, Hid in the hall by the Johns
The Bars Mood Sways...As the music Carries on
A Patron at the Bar, Orders up another beer
And the Dancers Float, Across the Dance Floor
The Glow of Neon Spills, Colored Red Lights....
A Soft **** Setting, For a Memorable Night
The Guests all begged and, Pleaded for an Encore
So the band fired up... Just one more
All on A Saturday night.....JMF 1/31/15

Please feel Free to Rut among my Poetry
Snouts to the Job Curled tail Swings free
Your Ire Plops in small hard Turds
All because you Hate my words.....
When views of life escape your own
Its almost like your Bacon on the Bone
It seems your views Land in your Sty
But all pigs need a Place to lie.....

The soft sound of Wind Chimes,
And the Rustling of leaves...
The song of Water on Rock
Its tune plays on endlessly

Black Eyed Susan's amid,*
Queen Anne's Lace spread
Abroad like a Floral buffet.
For the Senses upon to Feed

The Smells of Morning Dew,
And Moist Deep Black Earth,
The Smell of Honey Suckle
and the Buzz of Bee's Search

Following the Nectar sweet Scent
Along the wafting Breeze
Shadows and Sun under the Trees
Embracing a day that's Heaven Sent

Memories Captured in a bottle to save
And Savored Upon another Day
Memories Used, but just Slightly Diffused...JMF


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®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack

Everytime I hear No, its always .......MY FAULT
As the Brain drags me down this train of illogic
Anxiety Loops in unending Circles Spun to the Tragic
What can go wrong, then to feel like.......
Life has ***** me, And why is it always my Fault

The FIST FLEW out of Nowhere, Sucker punched*
Slow motion falling as a..........
Childs head bounces off the ground
Awaking to throbbing Pain,
My Pants around my Knees,
And why is it always my Fault..

For those who know what I mean
Others can't know what we've seen
Even if Its both Bad and Yucky
*Childhood is for the lucky..........JMF  9/28/14

Wild grapes grow on vines
From the trees next to the Fields
A bunch of us harvested the yield
Purple fingered in buckets

A Galvanized Antique
Wash Tub on Wheels
With the Hose at the Bottom
Filled up with The Make

A log of Firewood was used
To smash the grapes to pulp
As the Juice Drained out
Collecting in a  Bucket

Pounding the pulp up
Taking Turns, Arms Ached
In the Back Yard, Sun Baked
As we plied our Log to Make

In the Kitchen 20 Lbs of Sugar
And gallons of Water Boiled
Watched and Stirring Constantly
Till the Syrup Batch Roiled

A 50 Gallon Oak Wine Keg
Prepared a Wooden Peg
A Hole drilled through
Coiled copper Pipe put to...

An ancient wooden Spigot
Gently tapped into place
The warm Syrup is poured
Yeast Added and then Grape

The Plug with the copper Pipe
Tapped into the Top of the keg
Coiled up Copper Stretches Down
To water, in a Redwing Crock

Halloween party we
Tapped some pitchers
A Light and fruity Vin
Sweet Pallette of wine

Christmas we Tapped
Merry Pitchers to toast
A Fine Full bodied Note
It made a Merry toast

For New Years we
Tapped the Last
The Marc of Dregs
Potent as Sweet Sherry

The Winter Wine
Tasted Fine
With Merry Toasts
For a Good Time

Text that echoes in the Matrix Silence,
Untold Waiting in Code, for essence
Parked with in a Servers bin, a bit of Cache
Complacent amid the encrypted path
Leading to a url IP Ethernet...
Waiting for a Comment

A Lovely Lick of *****
Does Flow a Loving Glow

Soft wind off the lake
In the shadow of a tree
Driving Tiny waves to
Lap against the shore
Lull you with the song
Of A Warbler on a Branch

The coolness of the earth
Soothing the Mid Day Heat
As the Sound of Cicadas
Are Hushed by the call of the Loon
All upon a mid day Afternoon

The Sound of Laughter as Red Kites
Dance in the Air among the Clouds
The creak of Swings in full Motion
Lead to Day Dreamed Notions

Coolness sets in as the sun Sinks
A chorus of Tree frogs breaks
The Nights Silence

Shadows shift in the bloom
Of a Midsummers Moon


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The Blast of wood and glass
Erupts Like Blooms of Flame
The First responders Arrive
Purely for the Clean up and Blame

It Came from the Kitchen
Investigators search debris
Hot ash and Smoke hover
Embers glow and Flare over

A woman rushes up
Begging a Fireman
Please tell me...
Did my mother Live?

There were no survivors
I am Sorry to say
She began Crying away
Sobbing Through tears to say

Mother Texted me today**
Cancer... they say
I just want one last cigarette
Before I go Away..........

All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack

The Blue Nile is a Local Club
It Hosts the Poets Groove,
A Late Night spoken Poet event
That is the culture of the Smooth.

Desdamona The queen of the Poetry Scene
Hosted a Cool MC there for Years
Poets, Hip Hoppers and Rappers
All Gathered here bringing there words

Hip hop, Rappers, and Poets Hang
For that Late Night Poets Reading
The House band lays down your Music
Background as you perform the Speaking

The band can do from Jazz to Rap
They latch on to the feel and beat
Your doing your Reading replete
With the musical blendings complete

On the Stage with your Words
For an audience that heard
It gives you an incredible feeling
the Applause makes it all worth Dealing

I've seen Street Rappers Lay it down
Hip Hoppers with Singer Backgrounds
Girls with Love Poems, Feeling Alone
For a Poet its the best show around


All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack

It always seems that
Endeavors lead
To broken dreams
When all your life
You were told
You are a Failure

The seed they plant
Grows to flower
And leaves you with
A lack of power
And Persistance

Upon their assured
Insistence that you're
Just a door ****
Your futures stolen
Your soul is robbed

They need to see
Its easier to raise
A Boy with praise
Then have to fix
A broken man


All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack

The Black Queen of
The Hacker Scene
Blood Goth Style
And Silent Screams

Her Coding Skills
Were yet Unseen
Many were 'pwned'
By her Data Schemes

'Til she tried to crack
The Encrytion on the
Pentagons firewall
It was Her Down Fall

She got the Option
Prison Time or
Work for them
Fighting this crime

She ended up meeting
Darren who was her
Carmel Candy Joy
Their chats dripped with Cloy

She started with the FBI BAU
Cracking info and Flirts with Darren
She tracked signals world wide
Till the IP was Enprisoned

Cracking Data to Criminal Minds
What ever they ask she can find
And she's anticipated like a digital
Reader of Minds, A Fashion Fatale'

Bright pink Pigtails and
Blue Cats Eyed Glasses
With Glitter Lashes
She's a Digital Data Diva


All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack

His Father Was the Ambassador to Spain
But he never saw his Own Sons Pain
He came to a spiritual retreat.....
With his Darkness to defeat
His anxiety Cut like a Knife
With no Solace in his life
He prayed over scripture Daily
But the Battles he was Failing
On a Dark Saturday Night
With a Dull serrated Knife
He took his Life, he kept
Slicing till it was Done
The knife to dull to do it in One
In the Kitchen of the Annex he was found
Lieing Still cold and face down on the ground
They rushed him to North Charles Hospital
Though Doctors battled it was Fatal
I walked in the Annex Door.....
And found Ruth tears streaming
Kneeling as she mopped up the Floor
The flood of Blood Red
Was all that's left of the dead
I carried this memory for 45 years
And still today the memory brings me tears
With all the Ambassadors Rich Connections
Nothing can replace the Loss of a Son
As witness to this, I felt I must Pen
So one small soul isn't forgot in the end

Hot August winds
Blows across dried yellow grass.
The shimmer of heat.
Rippling off the blacktop.
At a roadside Motel.On the
South Dakota Landscape.

I see the arrival of
An Amish family all,
Dressed in Black.
Arrive dragging their
Simple bags into the room
As the door closes.

I head inside to escape the heat
The smell of sulfur.
Rises from the water faucet.
Mixed with the smell of
Bacon and Eggs frying
In an electric skillet.

I head out under the overhang.
To escape the heat and my parents.
Down the way, a boy in Black Hat
Black shirt open,
White Tee showing.

He walks over to meet me.
I show him toys I brought,
Bored in the blasting heat.
We hop across the hot blacktop.
Barefoot trying not to get burned.

Off to the park, We find
The hollowed out carcass.
Of an F-16 Fighter Jet,
We bonded as pilot and copilot
Jetting across the Badlands.

We strafed and bombed.
Enemy installations.
Cutting off troop Supplies.
We blasted the afterburners.
Breaking the sound barrier.
On a hot August afternoon.

The taste of Cloves on
Cloven hoofed delicacies
Entice the Palette's elan
Often served with Yams
First smoked then slow roasted
At Holidays its often Toasted
And it makes one heck of
An Omlette with Cheese
Its certain to please

Bullfrog on Lillypad Awaits
Dragonfly eaten, to Sounds of Loons

I sit here trying to decide what Writer influenced me,**

I had my Existentialist Period very young Jean Paul Sartre, seemed dark and Complex, but... Albert Camus Captured it for me, the Emergence of Allen Ginsberg, bridge the Atlantic...the Pop of music influenced it all, from the Doors to Dylan

But Deep Down in the Dark of My soul is Jack Kerouac"who I am sure must have been influenced by JD Salinger" From Keorouac, to Ken Keasy and Hunter Thompson seem to be a good place to end

Others such as e.e. cummings, James Baldwin, Carl Sandburg, Herman Hesse, J,R.R. Tolkien, Lewis Carol,  Issac Asimov. Robert Heinlein, and Stan Lee all had their places to... I feel Honored to be influenced By Such Amazing Talent.....

A Tongue to kiss a Special Person.
A Tongue to Hiss a bad performance.
A Tongue to lie, to those you love
A Tongue to Shout to the sky above.

A Tongue to twist Promised words
A Tongue to console those who deserve.
A Tongue to quote a campaign speech
A Tongue for Temper tantrums screech.

A Tongue to lick a juicy peach
A Tongue to taste a vintage wine.
A Tongue to Laude a Life so Full
A Tongue to lick a fudgecycle

A Tongue to please something bare
A Tongue to lick a nice spot there .
A Tongue to pray to heaven above.
A Tongue to softly Speak of Love.....JMF 10/24/2014

Imagination is the fertile Land.....
Where wishes and desires take Command
A place where Children might find Trolls
Or Doctoral Mathematicians find Black Holes

Some Dark Imagining's can Lead to Crime
While Con's that Can't Do the Time
Or brave Officers Protect us all
When Dangers Near they heed the call

Artists and Poets Live in this Realm
Sailing Creativity with a Steady Helm
As they Sail the waters of Contemplation
They are Carried to the act of Creation

Couples longing Sensual Treasure
Arrive Aroused for Total Pleasure
Fine Lingerie so Satin Soft
With Loving touch raise them Aloft

But Childhood is a Magic Land
Where Tiaraed Princesses Rule Grand
And Boys who try can Fly the Sky
Or Closet Monsters are Battled and Die

Be very Greatful when you enter this Nation
For our Sweetest Gift is Imagination
So treat it with Gentle Pride.....
And Travel it till the day you Die.....JMF 1/28/15

The Steamy air Hung heavy
In the Office of the Private Eye.
Kansas City in August
The Air wants to die,
Or it only Smells that way.
Drifting up off the Riverbank.

Thelma my receptionist Waits
Filing her nails by the Silent Phone
If things Didn't Pick up soon or Late
Bills would have me Down to the Bone
Chasing Bail jumpers, something I'd Hate
Have to settle on, less some business was done

Just as I knocked back a Belt of Bourbon,
Came a Knock at the Door, in Walked
A pair of Legs from Here to there, to look on
Not sure if it was the red of her lips,
Or the red of her bright Hair,
But a Swing in her Hips Got me there.

She Laid on the tears as she told me her Fears
A Long lost sister being run by the Mob
Prostituting she said with a Gasp and a Sob
Her Silk Stocking legs crossing Sealed the deal
I'd put an ear to the street and find out the feel

A Kansas City Kingpin ran her on the street
If I staked out a Corner I'd see them Meet
Slipped my .32 from the Leather and Spun it once
Checking the chamber for a full Loaded Gun
I hunched down in the front seat of my old Chevy

It was only Minutes till he played the Heavy
I shouted out stop, as he Pulled a gun... Popped
It Seemed like Slow Motion as his body Dropped
She screams for Police, next I'm Cuffed by a Cop
Long legs says I stalked her, and am Patently Crazy
I took the Fall 'cause she set me up for the Patsy

The moral of the Story is..........
"Dames and Bourbon Don't mix".....JMF 12/11/14

At 16 I met a Man who owned
A sailing Craft a 24 foot Yawl
A Polished Captains Wheel to Steer
Two Main sails a Jib and two Fore Sails
He had an Affair with a girl 18.....
And I was the Beard

He taught me to sail the craft,
Follow the wind with the Tell Tale
Fair Taught, you Kept the sail
Follow the wind till the End,
Swing the sail boom, to tack back again

He always bought Hot Peppered Crab
And a 12 pack of National Beer
Once he took it out the Middle River
He would take her below for whispers
With me at the wheel, I sailed the Bay
My Love of the Boat and he for her,
Were both, Same in a way

The Ship she was my lover
And to him I was his Cover
For a 30 Year old Husband
And an 18 Year old Girl
Sailing in the Summer Sun
I watched the sails a Furl

Taught with wind, she veered to Lee
Sailing till waves rolled up from the Sea
And that's when she Picked up Speed
I would tighten up the boom line.

The only sounds  flap of the Sails
And The creak of the Rope
Beneath the Moon so Pale
On a Warm Summers night sail

A summer I'll Never Forget
And the Tragedy of her Death
As she Drove for home her car crashed
Her hopes for her life Dashed
And that I lost my friend I regret....

Silent Staunch The Sentry Stands
Guarding Graves of Grassy Fields
And Yesterday Afternoons

A Small Boy playing all the Men not in His Life
Forgetting Strife and Daily Deeds
Zones and Bonding, Contract Bidding
A Small Boy, still not too Old
The Cross Street Jungle Bought and Sold*
And all that's left.....

Silent Staunch the Sentry Stands
Guarding Graves of Grassy Fields
*And Yesterday Afternoons

The Secret is that UFO's.....
Are disguised as Weather Balloons

Life would be so better
If it wasn't imbued with Antipathy
Some moments I awake
Not even knowing why
Full of Self Doubting Apathy
It may as well be Antipathy

Days move past me
Like products on an assembly line
Each one in its time
Here and gone in the blink of an eye
Not even knowing why

Its easy to see
Life flows around me,
But not through me.
As though I am cast in paler light
And seem to all removed from sight
Not even knowing why

Graven upon the Stone
It will say with antipathy
Here I lie, not even knowing why

Abstracted Painting
.
print in
.
black and white
,
as if
,
they paint
,
the page
.
hues of blues
.
or of
.
Langston Hughes
.
the page roils the spirits
.
to anger red
.
that fades
.
to shades
.
to purples and blues

Avante-Garde, Hipster, Beat Poet Words and sound of Celebration
Graphic Painting done by me Shamus.Media,Arts
www,shamusmediarts.com  © a month ago, SilverSilkenTongue

Out in the West, a Tale is told
By Wise weathered Indians of old,
Passed down as a Shamans Tale
It told of Guardian Spirits...

For Our Mother Earth and Father Sky
On Sacred Lands only reverent pass by
Those with Selflessness Come through
To pray to Mother Earth and Father Sky

Give thanks for Brother Sun and Sister Moon
Some that the rite goes back to ancient eons
Brought by the Anasazi to all his Children
In praise for what they were given.....

A wanderer Came upon these Sacred lands
With ****** in his heart, and blood on his hands
Father Sky sent his Spirit Hawk as Guard on the Land
His cry in the Sky reached the ears of the Wolf Spirit

A pile of bleached Bones the angry man came upon
The Gaurdian Wolf Spirit Howled out a Warning
As the Man's Spirit broke the Sacred Circle
Bounding the Bear Spirit came to ****

His Claw reached in and took the Hatred from his Heart
But without it the Man lost his Spirit and Began to Die
His death quick but not alone, he landed on a pile of bones
With his Companions He lay, til the day he was just bone dry...JMF

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®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack

On a visit to London I got to go, to one of London's Famous Music
Clubs. I was enjoying The Pints Of Guinness, and the Beautiful
and Lovely London Ladies.The Euro Techno pop was Blastin'
British Bums in an ocean in motion. All in All an amazing Night, soon
it was time to hit the loo as they say.I grabbed a Stall and Sat down and
settled in to take a dump, when OUCH!I felt a Jab in my ****
I looked between my legs and didn't see anything. *****
I wondered I started in taking my Dump and felt another
Jab in my But OUCH!! I finally Rolled a Hip up... and
there was a tiny British rocker with an electric Guitar
Standing at the edge of the Bowl, he Yelled out don't **** on
meee... startled I asked what he was doing there. He
Told me he had a Gig in Dublin and after The Bar Closed
he grabbed a Lepreuchan by the Scruff of the Neck...
thinking he was Hallucinating, the Leprechaun begged to be
let go offering to grant me one wish, I told him, thinking of the Band
" I want a Grand Tour," Being old and hard of hearing he thought I
said a Ground Sewer and my life has Been **** Ever Since.......


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First time I stood On a corner
With a 6 String Yamaha and
A Marine Band Hoerner
Laying Down the Harmony
And bending the Blues.

Playing Some Neil Young
Blowing that Harp and
Singing that Song, it was
A Late March morning
And my fingers were Numb

Cold drizzle kept me Company
People stopped and listened
Tossed some cash in my Case
Headed off out of the Cold in Haste

I broke into the Rolling Stones
"You Cant Always Get What you Want"
I was just trying to get what I need...
Some Awesome long Hairs tossed in bills
Headed down to Taco Grande, got My Fill

Fat Bean Burrito, extra cheese and Onions
Wrapping My fingers around a Paper Cup,
The sweet Black Coffee warmed me up
Nineteen Feels like the King of the World

That Guitar Led to warmer Days, with
With Blushed cheeked Coeds Litin' a Jay
Down on the Lakes edge, Ended up laid

Those Songs and the Guitar Fed me for 2 years
And Much Later People would rush up
And Say "Do you Still play" remembering
the Harmonies Echoed, Between the Buildings
And drifting up the street, I have no Idea Who

Ten Thousand Passed by in the rain and the sun
But the song played on and never was Done
Kinda like Alice"s Resturant, they waited
To see if I remembered it all 20 minutes long.

Of all the Music, the one that paid the best
Was Arlo's Song, Time to strike a Match
And Light the ****....

I often go to McDonalds, For a Large
Coffee with 2 shots of esspresso....
It's the Poor Man's Starbucks...
Sipping on that the words Start to Flow
And sentences Later I am not Word Stuck

Caffienated Consonants lead to Poems
A Jolt of Java lets those wild words Roam
Its like Cappuccino  with out the Foam
Bottom of the cup so its the end of the Poem

In earlier times a Daughter was born
Who carried the welts of a belt
An oath of no children
By the Mother was sworn

Ten years went by
An she agreed to one
But you must never
Lay a hand on my son

The man felt afronted
By the Oath on his head
But agreed to the terms
His wife had said...

The son was born on
A hot august Morn
But the oath on his head
Was the Mans Scorn

As the Boy grew older
All of 8 years old he
Was told his mother ill
Her Failed sight ner seen

The Boy Had to help
The mother to cook
Taught by her
From recipe books

The Man owned a factory
Where each day he must be
After school his time
Was never free

He must clean
The factory floor
And haul the Rubish
Out the door

By 9 he was working
with 16 ft boards
To help make the slats
That paid for our Board

When ever the boy talked
Of what he had learned
He was ridiculed by the father
And vicously Spurned

He was called
Insane and stupid
Told he belonged in a
Mental institution

He was told
He was a slacker
That nothing he
Did was ever right

The Spite and the Hatred
built Day upon Day
His father argued
With all that he'd say

By 12 the Boy had
Longshoremans
Syndrome, from the
weight of the work

As his spine was growing
It bent the spine as it formed
The Raging went on day after day
The abuse heaped on the head of the Boy

When Finally he left
With his back to the door
For 2 years they never
Heard from the Son

Till he missed
Them and called
2 minutes it took till
The father started again

The son slammed
Down the phone in tears
And wasn't heard from
For another year

Through all of this from 5 years old
He'd been ***** by an older boy
And Held it all within Him
Afraid of his Father he never had told

All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack

A vast Land, dotted with thoughts and Ideas,
Scripted in Hand, Penned with Altruist Zeal.
Paragraphs Written in Hills, and in Valleys,
Taking a Path through Drama and Passion.
Leading you through Dark City Alleys...
To Scenes of Crime and Dark Actions,
Cowered in Fear, Shadows Causing Reactions.
You feel your Skin Crawl at the Draw of a Knife,
Shocked at the Sight of a Passing Life.
You Cling to the Arms of the One you Love,
The Feelings between You from Heaven above.
The Pleasure you feel at the Touch of your Lips,
As the Wind ***** the Sails of a Yar and sleek Ship.
True love Flares up at the setting sun,
And Finally the Poems End has Come.....JMF 1/12/15

The Ham is Roasting, and Revelers are Toasting,
To New Years and Old, as the soft Music is Playing,
Party goers Adorned with Finery and Pressed Suits
Glide over the Dance floor to Violins, Cello's and Flutes
Soft Waltzes to Dance,  Leads to Romance
Perfume Scent doing what its Meant...
Champagne toasts, Amid Soft Holiday lights
All Lead to Holiday Delights in the Night
Soft Lips so Red it Alarms, create Alluring Charms
The Mistle Toe Hung can't Be missed, When it leads to a Kiss
Soft Shoulders so Magic, as you glide across the Floor
A tender Kiss on her Neck, she's Breathless and Wanting more.
You feel so light on this Magical night, as you Grab her Wrap,
And hold the door, Snuggled up warm on the ride Home
And a soft and Tender Kiss at the Door...and, ends this Poem...
.........................................................­............................JMF 12/24/14

I once knew a Child,
that liked to Laugh at,
the on going antics...
of the "Cat in the Hat"
He liked to eat Jam
he was a picky eater
never would he eat
"Green Eggs and Ham"
He wishes for things
he could do like
"Horton hears a Who"
That boy now Grown
writes his own poems,
He knows with a cinch
it began with "The Grinch"
and Thanks Dr. Suess
who put his pen to use,
and made him a poet.
He Knows it..............JMF/2/20/15

Political Planners...
Much like 4 lb. sledge hammers
That crush the skulls of*
Cows brought to Slaughter
Carve up the political landscape
As the HOWL!
Of the entity for the
Condition of Humanity
Bares angst within the Night
In search of the Light
In utter Darkness

They were only the Patsy's
Hung out to dry
For another's Fraud and Profit
Having evolved from
Kneeling to Prophets, into
Kneeling to Profits
Prophets foretold of old
But Now are Sold in Paperback

Lost are the Days...
And,Wandering is the Night

All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack

With the Season So Gay, only Days Away,
Just the smile of a friend would do.
But to someone, who searched for a smile a while
It seems these days that true Friends are few.

The Bankers are Busy Compounding with intrest
And Bakers So Busy with Fudge and Sugar cookies
The stores are mobbed by Shoppers who feel Robbed
If they miss the Black Friday Deal for a big screen TV

But to Some's wish for a touch of a friend, there is none
In the Hustle and Bustel brought on by this season
Amidst all the glee and Well trimmed Lighted trees,
Lone Souls search for a spot of love they will never see

Their cards go unanswered and gifts are untouched
No Music of laughter this Holiday Comes
No Wish for the Hottest thing, just the touch of a friend
Is on their wish list, but not under the tree in the End
Because there's no way to present, all that's meant
When the wish Due is the simple touch of a friend
Though this wish is small, Merry Christmas to All...JMF 12/20/14

Illusions are both perceptions and deceptions.........
We allow ourselves to believe them
..........to escape problems
We wend our way thru a care free day
And consume the .........perfect love
And all that we are capable  of,
Emerged in Fantsy, we create reality,
To insure our denyability and
Preserve our culpability,
In the hopes that the perception
Or deception, avails the....ILLUSIONS.....       JMF 1/7/115

Oodles of Noodles and Broth
For not many Pennies Cost



All the Work here is licensed under the Name
®SilverSilkenTongue and the © Property of J.Flack

Irish Immigrants found
when they stepped
Onto the Ground,
Their Pockets full of
Donnegal Potatoes.
The Dirt beneath their Nails
Was a Mark of how they'd Failed
Famine and Starving brought them
But the Slurs of the Dublin Micks
From those who Looked Down on them
Determined them to Show off their Pride
Some, teamsters worked horses and Frieght
Some nimble fingers Stitched Linen and Lace
Some Irish tenors the Rage of the Stage
Some with a Swing were the Sting of the Ring
Bringing down Boxers Seasoned Sparring
Fiddlers fiddled and coleens were maids
And through it all Heads held High
Shined the Gleem of Irish Pride