Box Elder arms brace for the wrath of the December wintertide monster , naked and forlorn the defenseless struggle onward , Rock bass shine like polished silver in sluggish , crystalline waters
Lakesongs and velvet moss with dancing Birch motion , Crows begin to quote each note verbatim with rehearsed , telltale emotion
Creek rocks command the jetty , foundation and cattle harbors
Morning brooks continuously speak of a hidden , silent struggle* ...

I know there is a place in life
For all things great and wise,
But many people mistake certain
Things that are not of that guise.*
A practiced profession a vague recollection
A violent war, a hit and miss game,
People looking for others that they
Have even hurt or ruined to blame,
This is what has become and what became,
We are the "example" of purity.
Our hands soaked with blood,
A hateful flag waved in your face,
An obscene way to show "mature" grace,
This is what made America great,
To go forth, destroy, pillage, use plague,
To steal from the tribes on all counts,
Our excuse and our reasoning? Based on fear.
Showing nothing but "needed" destruction
And savagery, a form of selfish "non-villainy"
Practice an "innocent" thing called slavery,
Blame the blacks for selling them to our
***** filthy tainted "pure" white hands.
This is for what the southern flag really stands.

I need a midnight walk,
With foggy air,
Rock and roll,
And cigarettes.
I was so young.
I don't know why
I did any of those things.
Something about wanting to feel something.
Anything.
But looking back,
I had never felt anything more beautiful.
I need a ride from a stranger,
I need the hope of an out,
Street lights,
Cracked lips and tears,
Anything to feel alive again.

He sees his reflection while shaving in the mirror
She sees hers in a pool of tears
He reflects back on the here and now
Her on the forgotten years

Prepares his day with suit and tie
She gets the kids ready for school
This is how it is, he never questions why
She's found out old is nothing new

When did the pull of pressure replace the tug of love
And marriage bliss up and pack it in
At what point in life do you say I've had enough
When all that's left is the remember when

Chasing deadlines and deals again he's working late
Alone she puts the kids to bed
He'll get home exhausted with little left to say
How long can she go on is anybody's guess

He never feels providing for family is a crime
Her heart is under lock and key
Maybe if he'd stop for a moment he would find
That a husband and father is all his family needs

When did the pull of pressure replace the tug of love
And marriage bliss up and pack it in
At what point in life do you say I've had enough
When all that's left is the remember when

With eyes, like owls - great horned or a night cat's
his arms, tree branched, heavy laden, strong
with legs, sturdy pillars for mountains climbed
hair of silken silver brushed upon my skin
his essence, forged by nights and wildfire pines
his reddened lips, softly melting into mine.

If you ever travel under rain dotted blue
stop at the ten mile haat.

Sellers there are not smart
buyers don't ever bargain
strange is their dealing art
both parties feel having gained.

Small is all they have
except the smiles on the face
the little the garden has saved
is sold to fetch happiness.

There's no haggling on price
never mind if you don't buy
no price is needed to be nice
peace is just an easy try.

Small men with not much of need
who easily make you their part
an island that lies far from greed
enchants you wins your heart.

And it's not a story that I make
I happen to be there once a while
return with a bag of big take
from the village haat at ten mile.

(So few realize the power of words
or is it my ability with words that confounds?
I am a talented man
even so a Pretender
I'll bring you over to my side
until you suss it out for yourself
that my side
is the last place you want to be)

Seven short stanzas for you to get lost in
you could breeze through in two minutes
you could get lost in my thoughts, spend half the day
lofty as they are, I laid them out just for you
swinging the bulky mallet of my cynical opinions
I'm sure to thump your cranium at least once or twice
before you find that word that stands a fortress
between what you've read and who you've been
when you'll take your own ****** mallet
and tear it down

What will you find when the veil has been torn?
more sneaky words
misguided snarky sentiments
you're fascinated by my judgment of divinity
though those words are fragile, practically meaningless
you see something much more sinister
the Pretender cannot deal in sincerity
nets for brutal fishermen casting lines to men

The Pretender can't play by the rules
he doesn't have to
he notices the list of "weak" words is almost as long as the list of "strong" words
somehow he isn't bothered
knowing full well that his purpose has been accomplished

The abstraction is bad/cliche
the Pretender should be showing
as opposed to telling
I'm telling you
it's a lost cause

You saw 37 lines with only 5 stanzas
I'm *******

Scared?

I have a sense of wonderment
That's changed over the years
From what it was to where it went
No longer is it clear

From the dreams of a child
Into adult reality
From the beyond to the here and now
Knee deep in where life's taken me

Where once I used to stand in awe
Are now puddles of cement
As it cures I wonder where
Went my sense of wonderment

Losing track of what I had
And what I dared to dream
I often wonder when my wonderment
Decided to walk out on me