Trombone bones
don't make a poem
Funny that you ask

I wonder why or what
made you cry
Now I have to ask

"The bones are
then laid bare
upon the Sands of Time
and sun bleached pure"

"We hang by threads
until we cut
the rope of life that binds"

Then the funeral proceeds
down the street
Clairenets , trumpets
and trombones

Life is a chance
a game of dice

Won't you roll the bones
with me

30,000 troops sent to the border
A massing for attack ?

Opening up places to concentrate people
Homeless , opposition , and those who exercise rights

When will the exterminators come
declaring that the righteous are fake ?

WHEN 98% of the people contain only 2.6% of wealth they've devised a plan to take out the rest

Birds of a feather flock together with Un , Putin and Jinping .

There are only victors and victims on the ****** skin
when it comes in the name of war

I closed my eyes
to the coolness
of the room
Drifted off in thought
and was gone too soon .

I'm looking for salvation
by the wounded hours of night

I'm thinking of a giant to the ****** of my plight

My pen lays as idle as the silence of the slain
As I've aged I wonder if I will ever write again

The thoughts go tango to a dance that subtlely denies

The words are rudely gathered then told they've been denied

Someone dared to ask me
if I lived in
a graveyard
of shattered dreams

After a moment of silence all I could say was , "Yes ,  so it is as well it seems."

The paper islands exists far out on an inky sea

The words have stowed away on the boat and sailed far away from me

She  was disprivilged
Left so dejected
Rejected from from her Earthly paradise

The rose fell off
but the brier whereon it grew remains

It was Leg-O-lass ,
we called him
one pocket *** ,
so skinny he
could hide behind
a nail .
And then there was
Dumbledork
He could ****
a cork
out of a bottle
of wine .
And ***** the Bobbit
and his family of
incestuous relations
Frito , another little chipper off the block.
Then Sam-so-unwise Gangrene , who dressed in disguise as the wobbling Idiot of Shire .
And as always Flpping and his cherry friend Huckleberry , who was looking at a 'Play Podiatrist' centerfold , a magazine full of pictures of naked hairy feet .

Mostly clear , 44° , 26% chance of rain

🙄    ***?

It was a song
A funeral song
Boom-Boom-Boom-pause-Boom-Boom

It wasn't for fun
but just in case
Their time on Earth
was nothing but debasing

This was no taut-song
Not for or because
of the masses
It was beating dead mules
with more than multiple lashes

All of the princes
and their King
bring pain , confusion
and suffering

Long not for the king
For he is a walking disaster

They are the hard of face and infirm of heart
Brazen is their gaze

They carry a shameless attitude standing firm in unyielding fields of maze

Even stubborn
in their proven guilt
They are fleshly grasping traitors

Like insubordinate children
with sardonic wiles
dedicated Chaos is their choice to savior

The riddle wrapped itself in cloaks of wit and crowns of understanding

The parable parallels the fables with skins and lofty feathers

The riddle was obscured
Left lacking in explanation

Meanwhile the parable remained hidden
Left for future days

The implications of gratitude are like the hot dusty desert winds
leaching out the moisture
dessicates within

Then when the roots run rock shallow the fortification begins

Their indications of agreements entered into
are but less than followed through

Meanwhile the mountains of probability will be forested thick in their nakedness of shame and agit with the flux of futility

Then the riddle will be left perplexed , lacking insight it will not be able to see the forest for the trees

Martha loved to be of  his service

Mary loved his presence

He loved both the same but his time was not unlimited

Who would Martha serve after his was gone

While Mary would carry him in her heart as time would spurry along

The office of Physical Death is next to the Office of Eternal Life .

It just takes a few steps and you are there .

Growing old
is nothing more than
the lengthening
of one's shadow
as it
stretches into
eternity and
is seen no more

When one is loved
A vine's entwined
It burns at both ends
Heat is the sign

From branch to vine
From branch to fruit
Hearts caught in the middle
Are soon turned to soot

An ill-built wall
of stone and brick words poorly joined , not motared but plastered with white wash and held together by precarious tension .

You will know who your spirtual self is , whether good or evil , by the actions of your heart .

You may think you are in control . That's the deception from the start .

You can tame your wild steed spirit with knowledge , understanding and wisdom .

Wisdom releases the intuitive wizard inside your mind than can tame the chaos that behind your eyes resides .

We are led by our own desires

Not inspired by God

The wish is father to the thought

Born from what's desired

If something can't go
on forever . . .
it won't .

It is wise to consider
the end before it actually comes upon you .

A hard knot must have a harder wedge

Accused of six string
love songs
mere melodies by the way
My fingers bleed just for you
The one string solos soar fretlessly up the neck of love
The lies of falsetto are bassless

Screaming , "What?"
. . . does no good .

Turn your hands inside out . . . you , the magician
tricked me out .

A childhood playground
(swinging up and over the the bar) . . . a distance too far to accomplish . . . come toppling down bar to  ground . . .

So I lofted my dreams higher than possible , improvable saith the powers that be .

I turn over in my grave before I've been buried or depositioned

Yes I've sinned over and over and made my Jerusalem look like Heaven

Let no stone remain on top of another

Let no word
persuade another
unless it be
the truth

I leave the words
to be the pale wind combing through the limbs of bare trees lichened in hopeless desparation

. . . consummatum est .

I am not your autumn's  moon
I am not the winter's gloom
I am not the words uttered under your breath .
I am more than the disguised antagonist to your angst
I am more than the good luck you keep to yourself
I am the shadow to your depth
The zero to your worth
I am more than your curse

When Bablylon
conquered Jerusalem
they took everyone as slaves back Chaldea . Everyone except the
weak , the meek , and the Poet Freak .

I had
my seven bridges road

watered potholes full of river water and muddy toads

Black moccasins . . .
poison pastors
in disguise

******* on frozen popsicled lies

I had my reasons
that made the tires spin . . .
under
the southern stars
and cotton candy skies

I had my moments of love's respite
while I rearranged
the letters to the questions why

No matter how
it mattered
it doesn't anymore





I once drove
over seven bridges
on muddy roads . . .
in fog and moonlight
but I will no more

no not for you anymore

Only 7% of the world's total population of 109 to 119 billion people are alive right now .


Like the Smashing Pumpkins say , the killer in you
is the killer in me

Everyone
somehow , somewhere , someway

Is responsible for causing the death
of someone else

"You have severe arterial fibrillation . You need attention now or you may have a stroke and die ."
I said Doc , "I'm not afraid of dying . I'm afraid of living."

I was to catch her
in  the rye
Maybe maybe
say goodbye

Alex stood naked
cloaked in orange
singing shivers
in the rain

We all know
how the story goes
So it goes
So on it goes

El Bib the acronym
To be read
back and forth
from end to end

Huckleberries
the river flows
down wrong paths
Big Jim he knows

I was the phoney
in the rye
A clockwork orange
in disguise

Your life is a labyrinth . A single path of no return .

Your mind is a maze ,
it twists , dead ends
has to stop and begin
again

We were born with only time in hand
Handing out the days left to live

Question :
"What was the name of the ship that brought the Pilgrims to America ?"

1. S.S. Guppy

2. Queen's Merry

3. Love Boat

4. Satanic

5. April Showers

6. Maybe Flowers

7. Trump's Junk

I was handed
   a glass full of life
And begged to
   to partake

To drink up
   he drunk
To swallow
   and forget
the strife

Instead of
   sweet dreams
Swilling concepts
   sprung to life

The more swill
    I swallowed
The tighter
    the grasp
I would yield

The pressure
    so great
The glass shattered
    life spilled

The blood
    gushed
But it was
    a relief

Just a pain
    I could understand
Something real
    I could handle

While the interpretators are putting together
the interpolators
are extracting out

Then presage
dubulators
encliticly
compile  
their mistakes

The soothsayers
are cloud-mongers
diviners of the light
They go to bed
and rise again
like anyone who might

The sorcerers
possess broken shreds
flinging incantations
and drugs about
While the dreamers
examine the threads
of last night so they claim to find it out

So amusing
just abusive
Words are blessings
in disguise

Pierce right
through me
Words of violence
deceitfully

Vows are choking
Only to be broken
Leaving pleasures
to blame


Just like
the viloence
the silence comes
crashing down

So amusing
Just abusive
Words are blessings
in disguise

Being . . . Christian . . .

means . . .

being secure . . .

in sadness . . .

ìn pain . . .

without love . . .

beaten . . .

falsely accused . . .

lied to . . .

jailed . . .

and killed . . .

for a single
thought
in head

How much
worse then
for the rest
of the world

Winter is our reward
for the killing
of the
warmer days
For basting
in sunlight sauce
For holding
condensations
on the glasses
of the ways
Now we embrace
the cold
bare
naked in the trees
wet is their
slimy armour
dampened
by  dismay
by all
our needy greed

Bob saw the lightning
then he sat . . .
and wondered . . .
but there came no thunder

I was left to wonder
about the teaspoon
and the empty cup . . .

no tea . . . no thunder

and of course
all of my blunders
One lump or two . . .

I'll have two sweetners

I should have been writing a new poem but instead I got lost in the poetry of others . Their words compelled me to continue on .

In disgusted fall
leaves rusty and dirt brown too
Reminds me of you

Disciples , Disciples , Disciples . . .
Everyone becomes one
Everyone denies the fact
We all run around
with some kind
of a monkey on our backs
Just like all of the
Marys , Bobs and even all the Sues
we crave to belong
just like they will to do
They gather in the forest
Cutting down the trees
Decorate them in gold and silver tinsel and many colored lights
Then turn them on and worship them in their celebrations far into the night
Is it a made to form idol
of wooden dreams desired
That is tossed out back in the alleys
Or burned up in the raging fires
Man makes the idols
God made the hands that do

Word pressed being
burnt in bone
Barking words
seeking home

Irrepressible
strength of force
Heart denying
none of course

Always ,
. . . kept a fire
burning in my heart . . .

Even though
in years
we grew apart . . .

Never could
just let
it go . . . let it be . . .
so now you know

We would dance
coming
in and out of view

You'd cling
to me . . .
I'd hold
onto you

Neither one
cared or
knew better . . .
what
were  we
to do ?

(Chorus)
So we
just kept
dancing . . .
dancing . . .
dancing . . .
the night
away . . .
holding onto dreams
we made up
along the way)

(meanwhile
dancing all the
night away)

(Music) . . . .

Sometimes there was
no better way . . .
not until the sun
chases the night away

so we
kept on dancing ,
dancing . . .
until
we were out of view


(Chorus)
So now
there is
no other way

Stepping back
is impossible
you say

So I'm dreaming
I'm dancing ,  
dancing
all  
the night away

(No better way
til the sun
comes streaming in)

I'll be dancing
the night away

So I put my trust
in the hands
of man

Relied upon
the knowledge
he possessed

Testing the strength
of his flesh
I put the truth to rest


For what can grow
in the disidents
garden of desert ?

Void of living water . . .
only rock and sand and chert


Certainly not the truth
as it is claimed
raising their rights
to just desserts


Oh , the failings
of feeble man
Whose thirst is etched
on bone

Written with
diamond tipped desires
across their ******* of stone

For what
springs forth
from the wells of hearts ?

Torrents
of premeditated will

The defiling overreaching reasons
are passions fit to ****


Serpentine sin
denudes
the wicked heart

It twists its coils
around the truth ,

Bites !
then as soon arrived
it surly fast departs .


The heart
deceives the sightless mind
planting seeds of doubt

Producing moldy
grains of lies
decayed
within - without

How can one be
true of heart
when everything
falls apart

There are no women in Heaven
No moon , stars or Seven Elevens
There are no men in Heaven
No gays or lesbians
Just resurrections

Their mouths
are drooping prophets

Who've left their
salad days

Now speak in smooth
stone words

that will never
come to be

For the days
of war , famine
and pestilence

leaves one sitting
on the fence

and death
Will surely fall
to the bereft

without a course
of recompence

You stand there
as astonished

You didn't believe
the speech

When out fell the
smooth stones

of ultimate defeat

He's a feminist ****
or least
he said he wants to be
Wearing rubber latex shorts
with a matching vest  
holes cut out for his flabby breast
He has his whip
he cracks their ***
and they jump
before he blasts

The rich narcissistic aunt visited today . Dominated the conversation so no one could speak . Ate up all the candy she brought over and then stood up to leave . Then she noticed me hiding behind the chair and in a demanding tone she asked me "What are you going to grow up to be boy ?"
I emerged from behind the chair and said ,

"Disappointed !"

I found out a long time ago
The woman you want
you can't have
Now that I'm older
the women who were Killers
are now just fillers
that I don't want .

He was playing
soft shoe piano
Softly hitting
major blows
on minor keys
of sadness
His glass of scotch
and ice
sweating
on a coaster
overflows
dripping
on the floor
He was
a fountain
gushing
trickles
of gloom
He'd look up
and howl
at the
******
supermoon
The ******
of the ivory
keys
bowed
to the rapture
that captured
dissonace
on the edge
that growled
like a bear

No one listens
when you talk
in black and white
Only when
you color
the conversation
can you get them
to think twice
Black or White
they fight back
Turn to color
sweeten truth
Make it smell better
they hear only
what they want
Their minds
have become
untouchable
There is only
Silence
now
in the black
and white

And I don't know
if I can do it

once steps were so fast and secure . . .
now as hollow as the footsteps to the shadow of heels

All those beautiful colors . . . blend to white water . . . falling apogee . . . the crashing culmination of what dreamt to me

It's all situationalship ,
being in or out
down or up
in love or not
Like a metronome
we swing back and forth
from love to hate
But like a swing
is there a point
we don't enjoy the motion ?
And what is that pause ,
that force ,
when induced
makes us
turn our backs and swing back again
One must ask and answer
what becomes of us
once the motion stops
as we turn
to walk away