It's like a catch-22
you're ****** if you don't
and ****** if you do.
I don't want to be owned,
owned like a slave.
Told what to do think
and how to behave.

I tell you what,
while I do the prep work,
you stand at the door
and keep six
and  I'll put a match
to the spoon
and cook us up another fix.

Waiting for Mister Green
is like having
an extra hole in my head.
Some days living in this world
feels like I'd be better off dead.
Yes they'll loose the lions
in the Coliseum's ring,
but it's not over until it's over.
Or until you let the fat lady sing.


© 2013

It's like a catch-22
You ****** if you don't
Your ****** if you do
To be owned, own like a slave like a slave

I tell you what
I will do the prep work
You stand and keep six
And I'll take a match  to the spoon
And cook-up another fix

Waiting for mister green
Is like having an open hole in your head
Somedays living in this world
Feels like I'd be better off dead

Yes they'll loose the lions
Here in the Coliseums ring
But it's over until the Fat Lady sings

My wife has taken a trip to visit relatives
in another part of the country.
After a couple of days, here at home,
the cat is getting a little freaked-out.
Then my wife, who is away, is starting to get a little worried.
"Oh, she's okay I said". "She's been looking at me a little strange and she meows with some kind of accent".
I think she's saying, "Oh wait, there is something going on with my humans".
"I'm missing a human... godammit". "Someone has taken one of my humans! And my favorite one at that!"

I became
bored
so off  
to the
Dog Park
with my cat

I say
don't worry
he won't bite

And a Shepherd
herded my call

Looking across the waters as you stood upon the shore,
a warm feeling your only comfort.
Shadows of a distant past so long before.
memories now fresh of love undone,
the mingling of two hearts that beat as one.

Sights and sounds and vague imaginings
that passed so long ago, a time of love so seldom had
that few have come to know. Me, I was fine up until the time
that you gathered me aside, speaking of matters so far from thought, of how your mind and spirit fought.

Of how you cannot accept the time
although your heart has received a sign.
Why do you unplug my ears and open my eyes
if not selfishly to console your fears and subdue your sighs.

Were you tired of being lonely standing in spirit by the sea,
are you crying out for you only or are you calling out for me.
What purpose served in judging so quickly, so swiftly, so much.
Why make us within arms reach when you remain so out of touch.
You run at the sound of love's unfinished call,
then turn on your heel and unsure of you direction, you stall.

Hiding in your craft you paint to appease you muse,
the oils they dry so slow. Creating visions of what you choose,
still, not always of what you know. Ships and bluffs and the face of love, the canvas again and again will change.
Images of a sea so rough and a love determined to remain.

Paint me out of the picture, paint another man over me,
it will not change that it was me that stood aboard that ship
below the cliff that you stood upon.
Behind you, the rolling highlands of our beloved
Scotland, while below you the thickness of mist
hides that we list, and are going down.

Then waves crashing and men thrashing, don't you know that I have drowned. Your tears add to the vastness of the sea,
I know that although you cry for you, you also cry for me.
Paint dries faster than the tears you have shed,
for a heart cannot master a love that is not dead.

I wish that you had been spared the wait, knowing what it is to grieve. You felt you only standing at the gate though hand in hand with me. If I could have kissed you cheek to take away your pain, for I would do anything for you, even die again...

looking
across the waters
as you stood
upon the shore,

a warm feeling
your only comfort.

shadows of
a distant past
so long before.

memories
now fresh
of love undone,
the mingling
of two hearts
that beat as one.

sights
and sounds
and vague imaginings
that passed so long ago,

a time of love
so seldom had
that few have come to know.

me,
i was fine
up until the time
that you gathered me aside,
speaking of matters
so far from thought,

of how
your mind
amd spirit fought,

of how you cannot
accept the time
although you heart
has recieved a sign.

Why
do you
unplug my ears
and open my eyes

if not
selfishly
to console your fears
and subdue your sighs.

were
you tired
of being lonely
standing in spirit
by the sea,

are you
crying out
for you only
or are you
calling out for me.

what purpose served
in judging so quickly,
so swiftly,
so much.

why
make us
within arms reach
when you remain
so out of touch.

you run
at the sound
of love's
unfinished call,

then turn
on your heel
and unsure
of you direction,
you stall.

hiding
in your craft
you paint
to appease
you muse,

the oils
they dry so slow.

creating visions
of what you choose,
still,
not always
of what you know.

ships and bluffs
and the face of love,
the canvas
again and again will change,

images of
a sea so rough
and a love
determined to remain.

paint me
out of the picture,
paint another man over me,

it will not change
that it was me
that stood aboard
that ship
below the cliff
that you stood upon.

behind you
the rolling highlands
of our beloved scotland,

while below you
the thickness of mist
hides that we list,
and are going down.

then waves crashing
and men thrashing,
don't you know
that i have drowned.

your
tears add
to the
vastness
of the sea,

i know
that although
you cry for you,
you also cry for me.

paint dries faster
than the tears
you have shed,

for a heart
cannot master
a love
that is not dead.

i wish
that you had
been spared
the wait,

knowing what
it is to grieve.

you felt you only
standing at the gate
though hand in hand with me.

if
i could have
kissed you cheek
to take away your pain,

for i
would do
anything for you,
even die again...

looking
across the waters
as you stood
upon the shore,

a warm feeling
your only comfort.

shadows of
a distant past
so long before.

memories
now fresh
of love undone,
the mingling
of two hearts
that beat as one.

sights
and sounds
and vague imaginings
that passed so long ago,

a time of love
so seldom had
that few have come to know.

me,
i was fine
up to the time
that you gathered me aside,
speaking of matters
so far from thought,

of how
your mind
and spirit fought,

and how you cannot
accept the time
although your heart
has recieved a sign.

why
do you
unplug my ears
and open my eyes

if not
selfishly
to console your fears
and subdue your sighs.

were
you tired
of being lonly
standing in spirit
by the sea,

are you
crying out
for you only
or are you
calling out for me.

what purpose served
in judging so quickly,
so swiftly,
so much.

why
make us
within arms reach
when you remain
so out of touch.

you run
at the sound
of love's
unfinished call,

then turn
on your heel
and unsure
of your direction,
you stall.

hiding
in your craft
to appease your muse,

the oils
they dry so slow.

creating visions
of what you choose,
still,
not always
of what you know.

ships and bluffs
and the face of love,
the canvas
again and again will change.

images of
a sea so rough
and a love
determined to remain.

paint me
out of the picture,
paint another man over me,

it will not change
that it was me
that stood aboard
that ship
below the cliff
that you stood upon.

behind you
the rolling highlands
of our beloved scotland,

while below you
the thickness of mist
hides that we list
and are going down.

then waves crashing
and men thrashing,
don't you know
that i have drowned.

your
tears add
to the
vastness
of the sea,

i know
that although
you cry for you
you also cry for me.

paint dries faster
than the tears
you have shed,

for a heart
cannot master
a love
that is not dead.

i wish
that you had
been spared
the wait,

knowing what
it is to grieve.

you felt you only
standing at the gate
though hand in hand with me.

if
i could have
kissed your cheek
to take away your pain.

for i
would do
anything for you,
even die again...

© 2000
© 2000

No news is good news
Just as long as I am
Lying here with you
And though we're fools
Still I want just to hold you

In my mind
Are these green green fields
The fog is everywhere
And I'll always remember 'cause
You were there
You were there

Terracotta woman
My Celtic Queen
You work with clay
Giving form its birth
To shape this day
You have turned to the earth
Terracotta woman
My Celtic Queen

When I get home
I want to unplug the phone
Turn the lamp down low
Because no news is good news
Just as long as I am staying here with you
And though we are fools
Still I want just to hold you

no new is good news
just as long as I'm lying here with you,
and though we're fools,
still I went just to hold you.

in my mind are these rolling hills,
and these green green fields,
the fog is everywhere
and I'll always remember
because you were there.

terra-cotta woman
my celtic queen,
you work with clay
giving form its birth.
to shape this day
you have turned to the earth.
terra-cotta woman,
my celtic queen.

and when I get home,
I want to unplug the phone,
turn the lamp down low.
because no new is good news
just as long as I am staying here with you.
and though we're fools,
still I want to hold you.

terra-cotta woman
my celtic queen,
you work with clay
giving form its bearth.
to shape this day,
you have turned to the earth.
terra- cotta woman
my celtic queen.

© copyright 2000

no news is good news
just as long as i am lying here with you,
and though we're fools
still i want just to hold you.

in my mind are these rolling hills
and these green, green fields,
the fog is everywhere
and i'll always remember
because you were there.

terra-cotta woman
my celtic queen,
you work with clay
giving form its birth,
to shape this day
you have turned to the earth,
terra-cotta woman
my celtic queen.

and when i get home
i want to unplug the phone,
turn the lamp down low,
because no news is good news
just as long as i am staying here with you
and though we're fools
still i want just to hold you.

© 2000

No news is good news
just as long as I am lying here with you
and although we are fools
still I want just to hold you.

In my mind are those rolling hills
and green green fields,
the fog is everywhere
and I will always remember
because you were there.

Terra-Cotta woman
my Celtic queen,
you work with clay
giving form its birth,
to shape this day
you have turned to the earth.

And when I get home
I want to unplug the phone,
and turn the lamp down low,
because no news is good news
just as long as I can stay here with you.
Terra-Cotta my Celtic Queen.

The best part of being dead is nothing.

Instead of showing you
A picture of my meal
I'll just describe it to you
So let your mouth water
With every word and be thankful
You're not going to bed hungry

If I could I would cast a spell
With a vocabulary beyond my reach
I would stack it layer upon layer
Deeper and deeper or higher and higher
Depending on the perspective you took
Rounding corner after corner
Finding what was lost and again losing what was found

Chipping away at a crooked alphabet
Making you sleepy-eyed while still wide awake
Casting aside any aspersions asinine or not
Planting new symbols hidden carefully  between the A B C's
Making troubles for those needing order and for those ordering their needs
Lifting our senses so high  knowing depression must follow
After the low you again start the climb only to crash again

I strive to paint a picture so abstract it loses all meaning
Viewed over and over with eyes that look for answers
I lead the proverbial horse to water finally to have it drink
Meanwhile touching a shadow on a cloudless day poking holes in its silhouette
Do I plant seeds in dust hoping to yield a blossom where none can grow
Are my arms stretched outward to embrace a loveless world
That spins so fast that my fingertips are set ablaze.

In
the
city
in the
sky,
Gothic
clouds
pelt
the
eye.

In
the
city
in the
sky,
we
have
supper
by
five.

In
the
city
in
the
sky
we stay
out
late
at night
when
the need
feels
great
and
the
time
is right.

In
the
city
in
the sky
there
is no
gnashing
at the
bit,
you
step
up
and
fill
your
plate,
you
feel
so
good
just as
you
should,
it is
your
natural
state.

In
the
city
in the
sky,
death
is
no more
and
religion
has
been
shown
the door.

In
the
city
in
the
sky,
there
is peace
and
brotherhood
and love
reigns
all,
just
as it
should.

© 2013

not entitled
broadly speaking
not speaking of broads
of course not
you silly goose
flying south
out of or in order
i will take greasy fries
on the side

c look at me

ever have an itch you  can't scratch
hen's teeth
rare


ba-bye

Sometimes I feel like a canary in a coal mine and it's a concern,
Putting "fragile" on your Amazon Box will make a case for return
Holding my favorite fiddleheads while standing in the ferns
Last bullet in the chamber and it's your Russian turn
Give me my country's flag and I'll watch it burn

I call and I respond and I'm going to go on long and slow
The best part of living daily is you have some control.
Taking up peoples advice can drive you solo,
They each have to sing their song and they'll start before you know
No permission,the band's rolling me over, not going with the flow.

A fraction of the time a fraction of the now,
Give your head a shake before it begins to pound.  
The whole world is crashing he sang  "It's coming down"
Sometimes second guessing myself can be a raging hound,
If I lose my senses I'll will miss hearing all that sound.

I'm pretty cool when it comes to no dice,
Not once did I say your best won't suffice.
It's like ordering-in Pizza, do you want your slice,
No business working hard, no food for the rats and mice
If you want to crucify someone, make sure it's not the Christ.

See that hill
Across the way
In the winter
You would slide
And you would play
Letting the snow
Get in your face
You would be
Moving to the groove
Setting the pace
I did have fun watching
On the gleaming banks
From the snowy sidelines
My bones being old
Yes, I'll watch you
And yes, we will know
Just what coasting is

Along side the old railroad track
A harsh breeze keep an eagle suspended
While the wind whistles
Through the massive power lines
The Fundy water red with clay
Although I've never been
I'm sure it's comparable to
The great Muddy Mississippi
Always seems to be an osprey in the air
and gulls and geese at low tide
Feeding to the delight of hikers
Come see us someday where there is
No politics in play
Just fresh air and clean visuals
Refreshing to say the least
Like a mushroom high

We are what we think,             are we not what we see, 
  hanging-tight to that which is thought        to be known.
   Remember the span of time before a       Christmas when it is
     spend, spend, spent.    Now home, cooking, but not happily.
      How many, hopeless, long for the clean-up and swallow
        quick, choosing a later *******-of-the-mind
           rather than a mastication in the now.

The happy full of bliss, fooling self and others, 
  the sad grief hidden.                     Grieving a earlier time when all
    felt good only all being false memory.  Nostalgia. Vagueness,
      holding a bad hand, bluffing in dark glasses.  Chips all-in                                      

The trees that fill the Amazon toppling,     animals and humans
  scatter like roaches missing the boat.           Wishing to the last,
    to conquer the earth. Hoping to be the longest living the life
      of riley, imagining a greatness, a false feeling, a well meaning,
        fooling dream.

The motel rented, a mattress, home to blood-******* ticks,
  hitch-hiking home to invest in an I who believe to be blessed to
    travel. Who's the sucker? Who is the free-bird hanging in the air?
      God clothes in love sublime, feeding those bits of spirit eaten
        with chop sticks and plum sauce, the meal sliding down the
          Cross to be met with intestinal fortitude. (if only)
            Wits in terminal tumultuous slavery.
            
I am Blue, I am not so new, I am the 'egg-man', I am me, I am you
striving to come-together over what to do.       I offer to the poor
   deciding who is worthy and them do I bless with coinage or
     paper taking no receipt for taxing relief. Taking no time or
       courage to meet that one God put in my path, in my face.

No time is the right time. No time hung on the pale-blue wall.
  No time clung to the wrist. No time on the bed-side table.
    No time in the machine that queues robotically.
      Compressed time, an eternal 'now' passed over, missed.
        A sad time in want of a glad time. A bad time's visitation in a
          hallow human shell. Cold. Cold and lonely in Winter's dark.

A home-run hit clear out of Fenway Park, bouncing off the
  windshield of the car you had earlier parked. Looted life, stolen
    goods? Goods!        What good are goods if they be more weight
      that  can be carried.

Parading down the narrow street twilling a baton,
  knee action bending, a goose-stepping military follows.
    For the love of a
     God I live in, free me from this charade. Hold up that Holy day,
       when all creation lay at my feet. Dominion missed,
         an ego with a twisting, a devil in those mathematical details.
           Pressed hard in the cranium, controlling a baton, stared upon
             by shivering parents and children rushing,
               gathering candies thrown from floats
          
Insects who would have one day rule the world become food for
animals with a human mind and a weaken soul. Feasting. Recipe's
   abound, bugs for breakfast, bugs for lunch, Haggis eaten in dark
    Wintery five o'clock nights. Insects prepared in the most curious
      ways.

Cockroaches, bedbugs and me.

You have left and
I will watch as you walk away
Watch you become so small until you are
A speck on the horizon

Then I'll turn my thoughts to something new
Or some old thing that I thought I had let rest long ago
Either way I will distract myself and not call it 'waiting'
What do I have to 'wait' for anyway, maybe just a new day

A day that has no scent of you
With a nightfall that will bring peaceful rest
A rest with no dreams of my loss
No dreams of what was once something that I called mine

Plastic toy soldiers will now guard my bruised heart
They will guard against any intruder that might want to distract
Me from my wallowing in self pity
Creating my pain from frame to frame in a comic book life

A cosmic tale of a fish that I call a whale
A boat that I float in a sea of stars that shoot a movie
Of a sad sad man who doesn't understand
And if he did he wouldn't change a thing

I should have said Yes but I said No
And now I tell myself  it doesn't really matter
A lie I will tell the world to save some face
To sooth my broken ego that masquerades as my heart

Driving on this electric highway,
it shoots to be the
monkey on the back.
White, green, in a bottle or a machine.
Foul breath screams out
words that I hold dear.

Holding up a candle
by its burning wick,
while a sea breeze
slaps me with a salty sting.

Fumbling through an atmosphere
joined tongue and groove,
from the first breath to the last
the artichoke heart pumps out the beat.

One foot in front of the other,
another swing and the pinata breaks,
raining down lies to be gathered up
and taken home
to be stretched out and hung
alongside the truths.

driving on an electric highway,
it shoots to be the
monkey on the back.
white, green in a bottle or a machine.
foul breath creams
out words that i hold dear.

holding up a candle
by its burning wick
while a sea breeze slaps me
with a salty sting.

fumbling through an atmosphere
joined tongue and groove,
from the first breath to the last,
the artichoke heart pumps out a beat.

one foot in front of the other,
another swing, the pinata breaks,
raining down lies to be gathered up
and taken home,
to be stretched out and hung
along side of the truths.

© 2005

Silos breaching the skyline,
Large ****** of the landscape.
The smells of the barnyard are pungent..
Although not unpleasant, really, rather pleasant.

These old farms all along this winding road,
They've stood tall for a century or two.
Their clap board  and stone attest to a time
When what was built was built to last.

The pictures taken don't quite take in the charm,
The nobility, the steadfastness, the breath of a solid life
People seem as scarce as hens teeth, not a soul to be seen.
Just horses lambs cows and cats and dogs.

I feel so lonely
after the setting sun.
Just like some lead
in a spagetti western,
holed up above the saloon,
feeling those four walls
are keeping me from running free.

I have to slam the door
'cause I'm going down
to see what I can see.

I like  a little here and I like a little there,
I ain't no smooth operator and swag's just another tag
to try and get the young ones 'cause usually the older knows better.

without
any money
I won't
get too far,

but I'm
on  a tab
all night,

drinking my gin
from a mason jar

you might think
it's kinda funny,

the way I rock my boat,

but you can have yours
and I'll have mine,

I won't be made
out to be a scapegoat,

if you cross my path
I'll give you a sign,

I"ll put my
pedal to the medal
and watch me unwind.

if you be sleeping
under the bridge
it's not that I don't care,

it's just bridge is
a whole another game

and you won't see me there.

maybe I can't
hold a candle to you
in some respects,

the way
you sway
in and out
and along the line,

I'll be
topping it up
with premium,

putting it to the test,

this dream I dream,
this dream I find.



irving2014

Sliding through the cracks
Screaming monkey on my back
Nowhere to go nothing to do
Sitting in a bucket of crying some blues
When a love is nothing just some fact
You pass that crossroad and you can't turn back
In the hutch a bottle of gin just a way to hide
Doesn't fix the problem just dulls the inside
Climbing out the well dripping from the dunk
I tire and rest a bit no breeze to blow the funk

Sliding through the cracks
Screaming monkey on my back
Nowhere to go nothing to do
Sitting in a bucket of crying blue sky
When a love is nothing just some fact
You pass that crossroad and you can't turn back
In the hutch a bottle of gin just a way to hide
Doesn't fix the problem just dulls the inside
Climbing out the well dripping from the dunk
I tire and rest a bit no breeze to blow the funk

I cross the line
I do it every time

Shallow water
Angus Beef are slaughtered

I pass the time
And all I see is Art

If you said 'yes'
well that's a start

Not swearing on my life, bad mojo, Hoodoo, strange Voodoo's
Not suggesting there are people twisting the thumbscrews
Pleasant people, pleasant thoughts, no unwilling Cards playing 3D checkers.  Did you know there are byrd's they call, woodpeckers?

That cursing curse taking hard-earned dollars out of my purse.
And what is worse...  finally carried off in a Hearse. I best marry a nurse, wait now, I did marry a nurse but she ditched that job.
Stressed-out she followed her heart and took education to work with preschoolers until the course took her off course

Teaching the children not so well, pushing ideas, propagandizing thin-privilege.  Children, it's okay to be that... that rhymes with you know what, it rhymes with fat. She left that stuff leaving her student debt and you can bet she'll pay in off in record time.

Cheap rugs all over the place, cheap rugs all over the place
Cheap rugs in time and space... I bought new sneakers, they're the type you lace. Two-faced discovered to me a disgrace only they too are part of he human-race, causing peoples to be displaced.

The Curse, it might be the first, probably not... praying the bad luck is the last. I want to leave this place, leave real fast. Move on through to that other side. Morrison had his faults leaving a lot in the vaults. Now he's free, the tub scene in the Morrison movie I don't buy, I could tell you why but that borders gossip and a lot of people would flip (out). Not 'fly'.

So, what's it all about, it's not the wordsmithing that I flout
Just me avoiding 'the' gout, getting sick, I'm having my doubt
I'll be taking another route, no matter how many people may pout
Reading tea leaves, drinking green tea, the cup holding posies, showing me I'm free, not only to survive, it's to 'I' am that I thrive

addicted
to caffeine
and nicotine

a childhood
full of wonder
and pain

senseless
education
stained with lies

better
drugs
downtown

take
that chance
feed the need

let us go
for drinks

and talk
about other times
when we were friends
and how you made me feel

I lost a beloved friend a few years back...
The big 'C' got him, thankfully it took him fast.
He died around this time four years passed,
it truly feels like yesterday that his spirit was here,
blessing the ground we both walked upon.

He was a real funny ****, always with the quips.
He'd send me texts and call them e-quips.

Once while shopping at The Great Canadian Tire Store,
we bantered about how it came to pass that the black culture in the western world used slang terms to denigrate the white. Calling them ****** and *******. The latter referring to the slave master's whip braking the speed of sound on the back of a family man stopped from even a pleasure of a good read.

My friend said to me "*******": I prefer "saltines". To our surprise we had come to understand the term '******' derived when white 'John's' would cruse black neighbourhoods to solicit prostitutes.

They would signal they were prospective clients by honking their horns. For they feared leaving their vehicles under an assumed threat of physical violence.

These days I feel I am channeling my dear friend. For me, it's always with the quips and puns and non sequiturs. Some end up as titles for this work I produce. Like, for an example: Are Plastic Surgeons Recyclable.

Although you may not, I just have to laugh at my self. Some say my jokes aren't funny, they are an irritation. To which I state, that is the optimal effect, my true aim.

                                      Pat Two

At his funeral, his brother delivered his eulogy. Telling the childhood story of the family pet, a housecat had gone to the basement and Dave stood at the top of the stairs coaxing "Here Kitty kitty, come here kitty".
His father says, "Call him louder", and without missing a beat or changing his tone or volume Dave says "Here louder louder, come here kitty".

We shared puns and jokes that in this day-and-age, some would deem offensive. To be honest about the matter, some were. But... to qualify, maybe to justify. The jokes were always in jest, never meant to harm. It could be me, in the attempt to excuse poor behavior. Perhaps it's so, that is to say I don't know for sure. I've yet to make up my mind.

                                         Part Three

The point being, for I have strayed and I digress. The love I have for my friend still lives on and perhaps will never end. If it is David that I channel, so be it! I feel blessed.

Although I have, I never had to say good-bye to my dear friend Dave. For he never really left. He lives on in the hearts and minds of his chosen friends. And will continue to long after the day of my demise.

For the life of me, as I sit in the corner on a crooked chair, flanked by a lamp and a potted plant on an end-table. The end of this year approaches quickly and I wonder to myself, when will I again meet-up with my old friend.


end

You boarded that train
Bound for nowhere
That day at the station
You were looking kind of frail
I warned you that this would happen
When you burned all your bridges
Now you hang your head with shame
The price of the ticket was all you had
Your duffel bag full of canned goods
And a jar of peanut butter
It's hard to call your life a journey
When it feels like you've hit a dead end

You boarded that train
Bound for nowhere
That day at the station
You were looking kind of frail
I warned you that this would happen
After you burned all those bridges
Now you hang your head in shame
The price of the ticket was all you had
Your Duffel bag full of canned goods
And a jar of peanut butter
It's hard to call your life a journey
When it feels like a dead end

If we don't walk alone
And we get to give and feel love
Does it makes it all worthwhile
We plan ahead and have some input
Thinking we're in control
We think we're enlightened
That it's all okay
And try to wear a smile
Our dreams don't die
The people around us do
And we just wait like the other shoe
We hit the ground running
And it's a funny thing
The only time we pause
Is when something
Wakes us up
And let's us know
That we give a ****
This thing we do
This being Human
The big denial
The fudged balance sheet
The final breakdown
None to discreet
We can only begin the best we can
We can only end with our head up
Having been a small help perhaps
To our brothers and sisters
As we draw one last sip
From the loving cup.

I'm going to go through with it
This just has to be done
It's all going to stop
Chasing our tail around
For The ****** Dollar
It's all the same in the end

Passionate and proud
At the burst of a cloud
Rain falls in whispers
All today and into the night

When the wild are on the verge
Of some kind of taming
Who cares who you are blaming
How much does it matter that some are unaccountable

Not that you can get away with ****** and wars

When it's time to take your artwork
And put it in a frame
The picture is yours
It's the painter who takes the claim

When it's time to die
What's in it for the stars
Maybe a big wake and
Miles of lined up long electric cars

The mountain's shadow
Keeps the place cool in the summer
Not 'till the volcano spews it's guts
Will you lay down and burn
Or vaporize just in time

It's over with the death of the Star
'What is and was will be  bleaker and bleaker
A place you'd turn your head away from

When we have this chance to change into living without borders
What does that mean a shot of the The New World Order
An evocation of imaginations of and for the somewhat rich and the richer  
A full and complete Police State, militia walk the street, Their bidding done

No way to travel but by foot
And the odd old bicycle  
Horse and mules being bred
To save the soles on your leather boots

All the waters contaminated all the crops hollow not fit for an animal

We go this way or we go that
Who will drag us down or
Who will bring us up
Vibrational  influences could save us all

We can't keep trying to tell ourselves that the Government
Has our best interests at heart because they don't
If there is war among the classes it's a way to distract us
But it needs to be done and I'm bringing my 'A' game

A fierce Blue-Jay
blowing in the branches,
the wind and rain and icy snow all around.
The second day above freezing,
a break in the sub-zero cold.

But the house is warm
and I am having a smoke
on the doorstep.
Blowing the wisps into the wind.

I see God everywhere, and
if He wants to have me on
the condition that I have sinned
and am a sinner.
Well, I am long past the mark
of only one lone sin.

The Devil, he takes the lead
when I am in the drink,
or in a bout of confusion.
And I know for a fact that
some won't capitalize his Title
on the count of, they say..
"It's giving the devil his due"

I sit in the relative quiet of the kitchen
The rain plays a shuffle on the window pane
I hear the chugging rhythm
Of the sump pump in the basement
The pills I take no longer work
Coffee long gone from any habitual routine
A cup in the morning is all I will allow myself
The clock on the wall, not digital becomes a metronome
Jazz or Classical is all I will listen to as I prepare for bed
If when I sleep it is incomplete and broken and I awake
My tears roll down my cheek to pool in my ears
Another morning and I rise feeling tired and bitter
Sweet sweet slumber why can't I surrender to your wholesome rest
I pray I don't tear someone another
When I leave my home to face the world
Day after day divided by dark, I remain edgy and short tempered
Not suffering fools or the intelligent  gladly
In need of some kind of medication, a pill to curb my sarcasm
Some therapy to wipe away the insipid drudgery in facing Day after Day after Day after Day.

When it's bad
it's really bad.
I Sometimes wish
that I were out to sea,
the rocking of the ship
to comfort me.

The days they crawl by
with me waiting on night fall.

I sit in the relative quiet
of the kitchen and listen...
soft rain on the window,
the sump pump
in the basement
beating out a
chugging rhythm.

The clock, not digital,
becomes a metronome
ticking and tocking,
just hanging there
on the wall.

The pills I was taking,
they no longer work.
I drink absolutely no coffee
after my morning's cups
fearing the caffeine
will stay in my system
when it is once again
time to shut my lids
to try and drift away.

When what little sleep
I am granted is interrupted
by my mind saying;
am I sleeping,
am I dreaming?
Then I become conscious again
and I fight back tears
that slide down my temples
pooling in my ears.

Morning comes
and I pray that I
get through the day
without ripping someone
a new one.
Another day on edge, edgy,
distant in a strange but familiar way.

My face wearing my angst,
my back, hunched.
My eyes darting to the left,
to the right, up then down.

I feel so ****** tired
and I fear what will come
in the remains of the day.

Learning to live with things
as they are is taking more time
than I ever thought I had.

Didn't think of it for you
Hardly  in line with me
Took me to the brink
Everyday is one to live
The less you think the more you give
I found a way out, it's on the inside
I tire  blown-out, lets hope the donut ride
A pound of flesh beats some metaverse
I found the thrill, no blueberry hill
Perhaps a matter of a Will
Can't catch it, bury it with the hatchet
Maybe an old movie, True Grit
Freedom hides in words

Fill the basin
To half full
Cram the dishes
Into the white soapy
Bubbles and very hot water

Too hot for hands
And dish clothes
Wait, write a poem

Have a cup of coffee
And pat myself on the back
For doing three things
All in the same bunch of moments

What can be said
You dig in
Oh, water's still too hot

Pour myself
Another coffee
Contemplate the state
Of the unkempt Kitchen floor

Dishes dishes dishes
stopping me from getting
too big for my britches

Morning noon or night
piles of dishes
in plain sight

I needed a dishwasher
to help me be free
Turns out the dishwasher
has to be me

Pots pans measuring cups
pizza plates  into the suds
Extra moisturizer rubber gloves
dishes are not one of my favorite loves

At the barroom playing darts
it's all fun and games until
someone loses an eye

Sitting in the executive boardroom
it's all fun and games until
someone loosens a tie

Scribble lines on paper,
call them borders.
Then walls
to protect their things
and their women.

The Earth belongs to everyone
or it belongs to no one at all.
Then the Sea, it belongs to everyone
or it belongs to no one at all.

The Air  it belongs to everyone
or it belongs to no one at all.
Who gives the right
to pollute the Waters,
When they belong to everyone
or they belong  to no one at all.

And the Sun, does it belong to everyone
or is it the Sun belongs to no one at all.
They put their names on the Stars
that they can see.
But the Stars belong to everyone
or they belong to no one at all.

Went to the doctor today.

I told him that I have a twin brother.
I said I call him my womb-mate.

He said, I see.

You have an inflamed pun-disorder.

I said Thanks Doc, please give me something four it.

If I ever get my feet back on the ground,
I'm going to buy me a bottle and head on in to town.
I'm going to find me a girl that treats me kind,
one that pays some attention to what's on my mind.

Dollars to donuts, we'll feel real good,
anything and everything will go down just as it should.
No more thistles and thorns, no more raging thunderstorms.
No more boot heels on the ground, no more horrendous hissing sound.

We'll bring to the table just what we've got,
we'll spend when we are able and stay home when we're not.
We'll kick up our heels to those Celtic reels,
forgetting how it feels to be scrounging our meals.

Those will be the days that we'll choose to recall,
I know this is a phase and better times will put an end to it all.
Dollars to donuts, these hard times will pass,
dollars to donuts, these hard times won't last.

Wine?
You ask.

Cork or
Twist top?
Bag or Box?

Can I have a beer?

An army of frogs looked on,
Their tongues darting, throats bulging.

Belching out frog speak, they were
Wishing for kisses or at least a licking.


When you do the right thing,
You always do wrong by someone.

Not an insect in sight you see,
Frogs are their plight.

And I, well, I sell their legs
To dozens of eateries.

My fine mesh net scoops up the officers,
Their eyes, tearing up, their troops follow suit.

I'm counting my way back to town.
I got a **** load of frogs.. a **** load of legs.

I asked a friend who always walked barefoot on city streets:
What do you do when you step on a piece of glass.
She looked me in the eye while the words came rolling off her tongue:  

"I take it out... dummy"

I saw her beauty and heard her free sweet voice when we stood so close. Over time I grew very fond of her and then she broke my heart. I saw her gentle sway when she turned her back to me and walked away.

Ears ringing, endless tinnitus, droning the word 'dummy'.

I'm done with cute