The clock slows to a stop and stares
At my pencil, my paper, my thoughts
Waiting for something profound
But my abilities are lost

This haze is a metaphor
These words are a matador
And I am a bull trying to charge
But running only into the red

The crowd waits for my failure
But I am determined to put on a show
I will not be hoisted upon a mantel
For the viewers high and low

I will write these words
I will treat them as if the red
Were a target for my victory
And get inside their heads

I am a Taurus of the moment
There’s nothing stronger for you to see
I will move past my demise
And these thoughts will be set free

So I move into a stance
And I **** my head to the side
Get ready to charge into the red
Or so everyone thinks this time

My target is but one
It stands there with a smirk
I’ll charge it at the last second
And the crowds will see my worth

The clock slowly starts to count
And my thoughts are free again
And the matador is lying there
With no one to attend

So I put my pencil down
My victory is sweet
I close my pages and then my eyes
This bull is anything but weak

Brockman ©

The trees they are a blowin’
The songs are being sung
The smell of spring upon us
A taste of winter is almost gone

The sun it is a shinin’
A little warmer every day
The flowers they are a bloomin’
And the bees are out to play

The people they are a smilin’
It must be something in the rays
The cool breeze is almost finished
Taking the cold winter air away

The children they are a laughin’
The birds are surely chirpin’
The world is still as crazy
But is prayin’ and a hopin’

Enjoy a ray or two this evening
And the moonlight later on
Make love until you move no more
And repeat it on and on

Brockman ©