Love, transient as wind,
your fickle heart plays false.
Leaving bitter tears,
that stain trusting souls.

Leaving bitter tears,
filling an angry pool,
that stain trusting souls.
They then, shy from love.

Filling an angry pool,
with venomous hate.
They then shy from love,
missing out on life.

With a venomous hate,
eating away chances,
they then shy from love.
Left out in the cold.

Eating away chances,
leaving bitter tears.
Left out in the cold,
Love transient as wind.

Musty, salt smell, of a deserted home,
sitting by the seawall, viewing sand and foam,
assails the nostrils when you open the door.
See dust motes fly, spiders scurry on the floor.
Curtains hang as tattered rags and swaying,
in the breeze, through the cracks, like old flags waving.
As if wearily, signaling for a truce,
between the sea and the decay induced.
Sand comes down from ceiling beams as proof,
as to the storm worn holes, in the roof.
Of shingles blown off, during cold winter blasts,
sand trickles down, as if from an hour glass.
Time and the elements have dulled the shine,
of the woodwork and trim of knotty pine.
Cast iron water pipes, rusted out in places.
The claw foot tub, rest on it's Eagle braces.
Porcelain surface, chipped and cracked,
lath and plaster of the walls needing patched.

The little house sitting by the seawall,
that leans to the left and ready to fall.
Bulldozer sits ready, engine at idle,
to be let loose, push it into a pile.
Along with others like it in a row,
that once held town folks and saw children grow.
A new hotel made of metal and glass,
sterile exterior, no style nor class.
Will take their place, sitting by the sea wall.
Years ago, an oil spill caused the fall,
of this sleepy tourist town full of charm.
No one realized, the long arm of the harm.
They filtered the sand, skimmed off the water,
it was to late, the economy faltered.
Waiting out there, like vultures that scavenge,
was the Corporations, watching it happen.
When the town gasped, gave it's last dying breath,
in they did swoop, living off a towns death.

Towards the edge, of the pool
I, was running bare.
Not very brave.
There already, in the pool,
swam the others, as nature made.
All my skin was a showing,
such a scary, sight to see.
But the others, kept on cheering,
so that they, could get a peek.

Running bare, into the water,
never again, not on your life.
Running bare, into the water,
embarrassment, I won't survive.

I couldn't find, secluded water,
nor a floatie, wide enough.
I couldn't find, any shelter,
that would hide, all my stuff.
In the sunlight, they could see me,
splashing water, so to hide.
As my cheeks, were getting redder,
others swam, to be by my side.

Running bare, into the water,
never again, not on your life.
Running bare, into the water,
embarrassment, I won't survive.

With all the splashing, in the water,
they thought, I was drowning.
They all swam, out to help me,
just to find, me sitting there.
In just a few, inches of water,
with the sun, strong, beating down.
After the laughter had subsided,
I got a sunburn, lotion rub down.

Running bare, into the water,
never again, not on your life.
Running bare, into the water,
embarrassment, I won't survive.


Inspired by the song:
Running Bear, by Johnny Preston

Bees in a hive, making honey
United, in duty, for the colony.
Zestfully searching for hours,
Zig zagging among the flowers

Sunrise, their tunes they deploy,
Oscillating, their songs of joy.
Nesting and putting on a show,
Greeting the bees as they go

Speculations abound, on the news and Internet.
Doomsday prophecies, when the planets alignments set.
But I have my theories, that I will share with you,
might as well accept it, there's nothing you can do.
Twenty-twelve is coming, that is a simple fact.
Just sit back and read along, have yourself a laugh.

I believe on that day:

That the aliens that abducted Elvis,
to be their king, will bring him back to us.
Their ship will land on the White House Lawn,
a whole lotta shakin', will be goin' on.

I believe on that day:

Man will find chocolate is a miracle drug.
They'll melt it down and use it, as synthetic blood.
Saving the lives of thousands of women on the verge.
They will find that P.M.S., finally is cured.

I believe on this day:

Jerry Springer will announce his intent,
to run in the next election to be our President.
He has a sure fire way, to end all the wars,
let the leaders fight it out on his shows stage floor.

I believe on that day:

All manner of nonsense will ensue.
I don't think it is a day, that we will come to rue.
Bets in Vegas will still be laid,
our nest payday's we will still want paid.
The Earth will turn upon it's axis,
there will still be, death and taxes.
No.  2012, should not be feared.
But, I have my seat reserved, on the next ship outta here.