silly me for falling for his charm, there was no substance in it
silly me for falling for his charm, there was no substance in it
the smooth lines roped me in, I am but a fool
the smooth lines roped me in, I am but a fool
I am but a fool, silly me for falling for his charm
there was no substance in it, the smooth lines roped me in

after a time the clouds clear, all is visible to the eye
after a time the clouds clear, all is visible to the eye
the heart has no common sense, awakening from the dream
the heart has no common sense ,awakening from the dream
the heart has no common sense, after a time the clouds clear
awakening from the dream, all is visible to the eye

can't dwell on something untrue, too right
can't dwell on something untrue, too right
no love match ever eventuated, nothing was meant
no love match ever eventuated, nothing was meant
nothing was meant, can't dwell on something untrue
no love match ever eventuated, too right

the heart has no common sense, nothing was meant
silly me for falling for his charm, too right
can't dwell on something untrue, the smooth lines roped me in
no love match ever eventuated, awakening from the dream
I am but a fool, there was no substance in it
after a time the clouds clear, all is visible to the eye

When Crow was white he decided the sun was too white.
He decided it glared much too whitely.
He decided to attack it and defeat it.

He got his strength up flush and in full glitter.
He clawed and fluffed his rage up.
He aimed his beak direct at the sun's centre.

He laughed himself to the centre of himself

And attacked.

At his battle cry trees grew suddenly old,
Shadows flattened.

But the sun brightened—
It brightened, and Crow returned charred black.

He opened his mouth but what came out was charred black.

"Up there," he managed,
"Where white is black and black is white, I won."

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

WARNING:  Horror*...Readers might find this poem offensive or distressing.
_____________­_


1)
I know
once I was just like you
I was young and furious too
the world was too much
everyone made you feel
so hopeless, you think you could ****
I know exactly
how you feel

Like the time
my parents kept on and on
about responsibility
I had to look after my things,
that made me mad

And then I decided
I must assure them
I would grow up to be responsible
make them feel confident
I must put them at ease
so I did

And the police asked me
if I knew where they'd gone
and I showed the cops my perplexity:
“They were always 
responsible
in everything -
 how could they
just go away 
and leave me like this?”

The police and lawyers searched the house
and they found the will -
my parents had left everything to me
and had put my siblings
neat in order
stretched out on the dining table
in the basement kitchen


2
Like the time
then at work
the colleagues went on
about responsibility
and they conspired:
I was irresponsible;
they were conscientious;
I was a freeloader
Ah, the judges in one's world

the judges of one's soul

and one day
they found a worker in a bad state
dead and lying naked in the clichéd
pool of blood –
in the toilet, of all places -
with the words: *“How irresponsible”
on the floor

Everyone was in a state -
I moved inter-state
I was going places


3)
Dear, oh dear

don't cry

Darling, oh darl

don't bleed

There was a time when I married
(everyone finds it's a mistake;
they either **** their partner
or, to continue living,
they **** their own spirit)
but I was determined to grow
my body and spirit -
can we not get conventional? -
so I had minced pie for a time
and no one could bring
my wife back home
you see
wifey got
too comfy
and see she had this thing
(after respectability)
about responsibility
the role of husband and father and
parent and homeowner, mow the lawn
service the loan
and all that crap –
I quite believe she was going mad;
maybe she walked away into the woods
Was that responsible of her?

Dear, oh dear

don't cry

Darling, oh darl

don't bleed


4)
I moved into the woods
built a little cabin, below the rocks
and covered by the trees;
yet I had visitors
who had come astray into the wilderness

Someone wanting space for the night:
“Is there enough room in your cabin?”
“Why,” I said, “there’s plenty all round”
I was vegetarian
but the destitute offered themselves to me -
the religious might say:
God fed me 
even in the wilderness! Ha!

A wandering woman one evening,
she offered love in return
for shelter that night
She let me lick, taste her flesh
“Bite me,” she said
offering a foretaste in our foreplay
Why would they not leave me? –
these wanderers, the intruding world

No, I had not come in like Thoreau
or the Unabomber – but maybe
like the misanthrope Timon of Athens...
afraid of my own hate; but the innocent
seemed to be drawn in as to a...an...abattoir



5)
And now here we are -
I have come into your space, your cell;
gates and doors
yield to my fingers, if you must know
(always good with my hands,
good with my teeth)

And we are here
each against one's wall -
and each wants to know
who is responsible
for this mess
Who made all this?
Who was insane to give us all this?
It was a mad God

or a meaningless universe – 

either way, there is no responsibility
You and I are agreed

Here we are
each against one's wall
considering who will eat who...
*Make your move; I am famished

It can be determination
but if it leads to manipulation,
It is already exploitation.

It can be coincidental
but if it becomes incidental,
It is no longer accidental.

It can be impressive
but if it forces people to be submissive,
It is being oppressive.

It can be thoughtful
but if it is just going to be playful,
It is then not purposeful.

It can be everything
but if it is not leading to something,
It is eventually nothing.

''We should not speak
In turns.'', she said.
''Kiss me.''*

© 2014 J.S.P.

Homesick in my own home because home isn't a place,
It's the feeling of belonging and those who make me feel so live so far away.

Homesick in my own town where I was born and raised,
Homesick for the people that I love, for the people I wish had stayed.

Her** poems are always
Sweet

Her poems are always
Have depth in meaning

Her poems are always
Inspiring

Her poems are always
Reflect the reality

Her poems are always
Lovely

My Godmother I can say
In hello poetry

Her support is extra ordinary

Because of Her I am still writing

She was one of my inspirations

so I tried again
to train my parrot,
this time more emphatically:
"Why don't you just
say what I say?
What, they never taught you
Repetition at Parrot School?"

and my parrot said:
*"What, they never taught you
Thinking at Human School?"