they say bow down, peons
bow down to the golden cow
to the holy, the sacred one
unending loyalty avow

raised high on four shoulders
in processions for all to see
celebrate and cheer as it passes
with streamers thrown in a spree

send up fireworks in its honor
its resplendent glory extol
croon hosannas and hallelujahs
hand over your very soul

it's the be all and the end all
that's what they'd have you believe
that it deserves all attention and laurels
of course they'd never deceive

make no misstep, follow along
like lemmings to the sea
don't think for yourselves
now and then bending a knee

if someone says "I love that cow"
say it louder and repeat
that golden idol so worshipped
give the most exalted seat

place it on a pedestal
encrusted with precious jewels
that's what they believe it's worth
those fawning, sycophant fools

Opera's something I can take or leave
some I don't really much like
perhaps were I multi-lingual
they'd be more apt my fancy to strike

some I don't really much like
if I knew just what they were saying
they'd be more apt my fancy to strike
I wouldn't mind going and paying

if I knew just what they were saying
opera would speak more to my soul
I wouldn't mind going and paying
its beauty I then would extol

opera would speak more to my soul
if the story I could unweave
its beauty I then would extol
And opera I could take, not leave

No more the elephant
Will there be
When they have
Taken all their ivory.

This giant who is big and strong
Who will leave no legacy
Like many more such as the dinosaur
Who are now just history.

So you and I can only try
To show how we abhor
The treatment of these giants
Who soon will be no more.

We know man's greed
Will not stop at killing these
The dolphins and the whales
Rhinos then the Forrest trees.

The earth is good with all its green
And all its infinite features
But what good will all this be
Without these mighty creatures.?

No more the elephent
Will there be
When they have taken
All their ivory

And destroyed their legacy.

Morning falls
from a budding
   cherry tree;

   the colour
of nightsong’s
waning blossom
   comes to be
       an echo
   only heard
   by the wind

Soundless remnants
   of an intimate
twilight odyssey
   tarry thickly,
drifting lightly
through the landscape
      of dawn

   The hushed echo
   wields the silent
         reverie
      of the night,
   gently rippling
   the rivers that run
   through the heart

The poignant taste
of passionfruit lingers
in the sensory traces
      of a warm
   passing breeze;

      penetrating
   the lonely chill
   of a naked night's
      work of art

                ~


           Jesse