The trick or treater stood before me
Dressed like someone from a story
He was looking good but really gory
I knew just who he was

The blood looked real and really icky
I knew the kid, his name was Mickey
The dried blood it looked really sticky
He never said a word

Zombie like, he stood there staring
It was a fantastic costume he was wearing
I'm sure that most kids he was scaring
He held his bag up high

I reached behind to give him candy
The treats were close, I had them handy
I gave him chocolate, a bar called "Dandy"
He smiled and walked away

I watched him leave and said "good haunting"
I hope he gets all that he's wanting
He looked at me, like I was taunting
He didn't understand

Each year he goes out trick or treating
One year poor Mickey took a beating
While he was standing, and his candy eating
He's never been the same

He's 24 and no one cares
It's not the same if he's not there
He always comes and stands and stares
Mickey is our favourite ghoul

Turkey hunting with his pappy
The dogs let loose into the marsh
Birds flew out, and guns went off
The end result was rather harsh
Willie Joe jumped first at nothing
Shot at turkeys in the air
First shot missed, but hit a target
He'd shot Jim Joseph in the ear

Time to call the Country Preacher
A service needed to be done
The end result was up to Jesus
At the wrong end of a country gun

Jolene was all set for college
Had a baby on the way
One quick fling in the hay with Joseph
There was nothing left for her to say
Joseph stood and did deny it
Said that Jolene told a lie
Jolene's daddy got his shotgun
And with no wedding, Joseph'd die

Time to call the Country Preacher
A service needed to be done
The end result was up to Jesus
At the wrong end of a country gun

The wedding went off without trouble
Both families were there in force
Jolene's dad had brought his shotgun
The best man was old Joseph's horse
The moonshine flowed like holy water
There was no jar that wasn't filled
And through it all, poor pregnant Jolene
Wondered who would end up killed

Time to call the Country Preacher
A service needed to be done
The end result was up to Jesus
At the wrong end of a country gun

The preacher preached and people listened
Amened here and there throughout
A few well placed hallelujahs
Praise the lord was heard no doubt
All dressed in black with eyes just shining
He couldn't have done smiled more
For who in town knew that the preacher
Owned the gun and ammo store?

Time to call the Country Preacher
A service needed to be done
The end result was up to Jesus
And the preacher would refill the gun.

Don't you wish that Christmas
Was a Currier and Ives scene
Where the snow was falling softly
In the woods of evergreen
Where horses pulled the sleighs
Through the village and the fields
Where the children played at snowballs
With just scarves to act as shields
A time of innocence gone by
Where Christmas was serene
Where the world was fairly limited
And not shown on a screen
A time where people had some class
And Christmas was a day
For families to just spend some time
Not compare how much they paid
A painting showing everyone
Out skating on the lake
While carol singers sang their songs
To see  the joy that they could make
I would love to have a Christmas
Like an old time Christmas card
But today, it would be difficult
It could be done, but would be hard
A Child's Christmas in Wales we'd read
And we'd follow it with more
We'd sing songs to our hearts delight
And we'd open up the door
for Christmas is for sharing
Not for self fulfilling greed
A Currier and Ives type Christmas
Might be just the thing we need
This year, I'll watch no movies
About Christmas elves and such
I'll make each treat we eat at home
And by the fire, stand a crutch
I'll volunteer and feed the poor
And I'll go to church as well
Wait....who am I kidding
Well, it was a nice thought....What The Hell!!

Merry Christmas

sitting under the star lit sky
watching the world go by
wondering why the moon
only comes out at night.
could it be that it is afraid
of the sun and the light
or maybe just shy
either way it's just an orb
circling round the sky
suspended by our tears
hanging by a thread
of real strong emotions
only letting the air
come between it and sky.
what I would give to be up there
alive and carefree
glowing in the night
like a big round moon
or even shine like a star.

lie to me
that you love me
and you care..
wipe my tears when I cry
most times you're the cause
hold me,don't scold me.
Breathe me in don't let me go.
carry me in your arms
go all the way and back.

Everyday am losing myself
sinking in your warm embrace
yearning for a bond beyond words
follow me to the ends of the earth
only if you love me back.

In the rain i feel alone
forlorn and unloved
yearning for your embrace
your cold lips on my hand.
the warmth of your touch
on my sensitive skin.
the smooth caress of your
featherlight touch.
sleep eludes me
your face invades my mind
and I long for a walk in the rain
to clear my head of you
to feel your presence with me.
In the rain am alone with you.

How just is justice?

little children are orphaned
Mothers lose their little ones
a jury is asked to give verdict.
Prove
beyond reasonable doubt.
Not even a hint of uncertainty.
An aggressive defense,
the guilty made a victim ;
Framing, hearsay, lies.
the snake will stoop so low
Perjury without a fear.
Taking away mercy.
Laughing at the easy win
Mocking the legal system.
At most ten years,
mayhaps less for good
Behavior, a pat on the back.

and spun until the ground came to meet me
bringing the smell of midnight dew and
soft earth like the embrace
I craved.

There were no flowers
just our faces pressed against each other
fingers entwined with blades of grass
I fell inlove
letting gravity hold me there as I refused to fight the spinning in my head
I was so alone that night

but the stars still twinkled
but the moon still shone
but my lips still brushed against
something important --

come find me
and I’ll show you where we’ll fall in love

Step one,
choose your topic.
Likely yourself.
Because what greater
subject could there be?
None
surely.

Step two,
choose an image.
Find something
that can serve
as a metaphor
for you.
Find the rain forest
for instance.
Or perhaps a pond
frozen over in winter.

Yes,
these should serve nicely.

Step three,
place yourself
somewhere in the midst of these things.
Let you be
the trunks of the trees
supporting the lush, green canopy.
You, poor, tired,
supporting the thick boughs
that are the real life
meters
and
meters
and
meters
above you.
Or is your face
the ice of the pond.
All that people ever notice
is how much you can take
before you break.
But there is so much more
just beneath the surface.
So much
teeming with life.
No one knows
how deep you go.
No one will know
until the ice thaws
     (which is unlikely to happen anytime soon.
          but the metaphor was never meant to extend that far.)

Step four,
write yourself in
to the piece
in such a way that no one else
will be able to identify you.
     (Unless they're **** cunning.)
Perhaps disguise your identity
within the purpose of the piece
or the flowing imagery
seeping through the spacious cracks
in your technique.
Riddle the work
with subtle ins and outs
and minute complexities
that vex the reader
away from your intentions.

Nicely done.

Step five,
ruminate.
contemplate
your reflection
as it appears
in your monitor.
Not the image of your face
bouncing off the glass
but the snapshot
of your thoughts
so opaquely back-lit.
Remind yourself
that this is for you
and no one else.
Proofread.
This is just for you
and no one else.
Revise.
This is just for you
and no one else.
Justify
this is just for you.

Step six,
post to a public forum.

*Check back in an hour.

is it your destiny,
to be read
aloud to many
listened and dissected
in unison
leading our
thoughts as one
every crevice examined -
an anchor to gravity

or should you
just be looked at,
at face value
appreciated
for who you truly are
the sound,
flow and rhyme
of your verse

I believe to fully
appreciate you,
you should be
read in many different ways
to see your genuine value
that is often unique to all

though truthfully,
you really are
just the mutterings
of a poet wandering
room to room
in your mansion