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Brent Kincaid Dec 2018
When I was young
I thought I knew
All of the answers,
Red green and blue.
Some were a game
That I had to guess
Sometimes confused
Not just no or yes.
I chose to act like
I was all that aware
Knew what was fact
Nothing could scare.
Then came a moment of truth
That gave no credit for my youth.
I had to pay such a terrible price.
My habit was to scorn good advice.

I was the slave to lazy ways.
I chose to waste away my days
Always the child of constant fun
Until I flew to close to the sun.
And I could lift up my arms
And believed I could fly.
I was headed for heaven
Up there in the sky.

Now I am older, I can see,
After the crash to the earth,
Just what happened to me.
I am not an angel, not by birth.
I have to learn to accept
What I am and accordingly
Act like the human I am
And honor my destiny.
Too long I cherished a dream.
I am a child of the earth, too.
I fell in love with what I believed
Now I must do what people do.
I can still spread my wings wide
But it is to reach and embrace.
Let the winds stay in the sky
Unless they caress my face.

I was the slave to lazy ways.
I chose to waste away my days
Always the child of constant fun
Until I flew to close to the sun.
And I could lift up my arms
And believed I could fly.
I was headed for heaven
Up there in the sky.
Brent Kincaid Nov 2018
JESUS IS A FRIENDLY GUY

Jesus is a friendly guy.
Such a very friendly guy.
Lived two thousand years
Didn’t care for queers
And he has a painful tale
That brings us all to tears.

Jesus is a loving guy
Doesn’t even have to try;
That’s why he was born
To have his body torn
So it’s not a total loss
We get colored eggs on Easter morn.

Jesus is a groovy dude.
Don’t let this song get misconstrued
He’s god and he is man
We do everything we can
To beat and **** the fools
With anti-Jesus attitude.

Jesus was Caucasian man.
He was so much better than
Any Jewish kind of guy
That’s the reason why
The televangelists and stuff
You buy from them began.

Jesus needs your money now.
So sell your tractor and your plow.
Your preacher’s gonna show you how
To fill the check out while you bow.
You go to heaven with no doubt.
Jesus needs your money now.

Brent Kincaid
11/27/2018
It's a parody of what may be a YouTube parody song called JESUS IS MY FRIEND.
Brent Kincaid Oct 2018
In the fifties in the USA
It was sad, but at the time
It was a rock solid fact;
Flamboyance was a crime.
I had to wear a coat and tie
The uniform of every day
Behaving quite the normal guy
In every conceivable way.

To be a good Samaritan
And genuflect at the altar,
Wear the collar of a puritan,
And not shame your father
By being some kind of fool
Who goes against the will
Of a society that longs for
A conformity inducing pill.

I gazed longingly at clothes
Of fashionable panderers
With the color matching garb
That triggered the slanderers.
But more than their profession
I saw their ability to strut,
The fit, the material display,
The magnificence of the cut.

And I had trouble being
That kind of person they craved.
To me it was a boring ride
From birth, right to the grave.
I could not understand those
Who felt life was not for living.
What good were the gifts I saw
If I refused their very giving?

Not for me, even when young
To spend my time mud crawling.
I would rather spend my efforts
In verbal social brawling.
I rejected insulting phrases that
Proper people so often employ
And chose instead the descriptive
And openly proud ‘gay *******’.

I refused to let the common man
Who was afraid of his own crotch
Insist I be mute while he insisted
That I should stand and watch.
No, I would be who I was then
And reject their false packet
Of wearing the coat of social balm
Which I called The Straight Jacket.
Brent Kincaid Oct 2018
Ronnie couldn’t talk
And be rhymless at all.
He could barely walk,
I'm pretty sure he'd fall,
Unless he was rhyming.
He said to me, “You see
The thing is with me
It all has to do with timing.

The cadence when I walk
Become words I hear,
The beat when someone talks
Makes a poem in my ear,
Then the rhyming begins
And seems to make good sense.
The words like magic appear
Poetic possibilities immense.”

All of the time I knew him
It seemed to be the truth
He rhymed almost constantly
From his very verbal youth.
He was like a Hallmark card
Sometimes saying pithy things
That fit the moment exactly
And had that ***** ring.

But other times his utterances
Were acerbic and very witty.
When it came to sarcastic tilt
He was the Mayor of Snark City.
Or he could rhyme endearingly
And paint pictures with his words
Saying some of the nicest things
That were ever put into words.

Yes, he was Rhyming Ronnie,
A poem for any current thought.
You couldn’t stump him even once.
At least not that I ever caught.
Ryan was amazing for sure
And some found it rather vexing.
But oh boy in the internet age
It came in handy when texting!
Brent Kincaid Oct 2018
You brought gossamer ribbons
To hang down into our lives
And scented candles, all around
Dancing, flickering before our eyes.
You sang lovely melodies to us
That I never had heard before.
Somehow just being yourself seemed
That you were a master’s painting
Done by some ancient admired guy.
Sometimes you left me almost fainting.

You urged us to explore and seek
New vistas and scenes near our home
And celebrate the people and places
We would discover when we roamed.
You caused this old stick in the mud
To become a wider wandering soul.
I’m fairly certain that was your plan,
Your vision, your wish and your goal.

It worked, I changed and became
A new and different kind of person.
I dance and celebrate life today
Dancing in life's gossamer ribbons.
It’s almost like watching a movie
That has won all the best acclaim.
You’re gone now, but I still dance
But I admit it’s just not the same.
Brent Kincaid Oct 2018
These are voodoo days
When monsters have their way
With the good people alive
So the evil people can thrive.
This is a time when madness
Roams the land to pillage
And rename the boundaries
Of our fine global village.

Children once went to school
And we made sure they learned
What had happened to us all
When dissenting books were burned.
Then too many scary people
Got by with lying to us a lot.
They didn’t have us in mind,
And didn’t care what we thought.

So, their Halloween costumes seem
To only be visible to the eye
When you listen to their chants
Instead of just passing by.
If you listen closely to the words
And not just campaign speech,
You quickly see dictatorship
Is not far out of their reach.

When your friendly candidate
Starts sounding like a Mussolini
Standing up and calling them out
Does not make you a ******.
No, it makes you more of true
Patriot caring for your country
Than guys in expensive suits
Who only care about their money.
Brent Kincaid Oct 2018
Many are hamster-wheel humans
So punch-drunk from assuming
They know the way things work.
The wealthy urged them to elect jerks
To run this country into the ground
And turn it into the worst place around.
It’s a sad tale, a ***** of a story
Where those with guts, don’t get glory.

It’s a horror story, like in scary flicks
Where when men in suits get their kicks
Imprisoning brown people and kids
And laughing about the bad they did.
Afterward, they say others are to blame
But make no attempt to hide their game.
They put thousands in jail and charge them
And sing out loud their lying anthems.

They say fake news is the real McCoy
But, the real news they say is a ploy
Honest people want to stop the plunder
That, up ’til now, they kept hidden under.
But now it’s in the open meant to appease
Ignorant white people that are hard to please.
They want whites in power, think that’s nifty,
No wonder they elect only those who are shifty.

Too many quit learning in school, after ABC,
And they have no use for the land of the free.
They liked how it was in eighteen hundreds
With slaves, inhumanity to those they plundered.
They got up in arms when a black man won
And the class war was once again begun.
The very rich told lies to change the rules
People began to act openly like rapacious fools.
This is the country of which we were once proud.
It’s right now being destroyed by the elite crowd.
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