I stole a piece of gold my love,
And stored it safe in ores,
I stole the dawn that glows above,
To paint the stars of lore.

Beneath the ore; the starry night,
We lay there quiet and sore,
Treasure that was so bright at sight,
Remains dispersed ashore.

Regrets like pieces may align,
In puzzling boards of fate,
Your hands will scramble all of mine -
For that - a day shall wait.

In the forest late one summer day,
between the trees and prams,
a sweet girl whistled a small tune
that made the rabbits dance.

They danced and hopped and frinked about
and it was all quite nice
until the Wankerschmacken came
and brought a plague of Braifs.

The Braifs, they danced and frinked as well
and grew and grew in size
until they grew to twelve feet tall
much to the girl’s surprise.

The Wankerschmacken watched with glee,
with joyous hate and hunger,
the rabbits, the girl, they were confused
as they stared down the Schmacken’s flanger.
The flanger was his mouth, of course,
filled with teeth like daggers,
and the beast lunged after the poor girl
who through the forest yaggered.

She yaggered and ran and over a root
she suddenly fell and cried;
The Wankerschmacken took his chance
and this is how she died:

The monster opened its flanger large,
its throat was charcoal black;
A blue tongue stretched and grabbed the girl
and hurled her into its depths.

She fell for an eternity,
she seemed to fall for years;
And in its stomach she cried and cried
and drowned in her own tears.

A century has come and gone
since this cold-blooded ****
but if you put your ear to the woods
you can hear the Schmacken still.

It snores and roars deep in its sleep;
Can you smell its rotten breath?
but once you do it is too late –

You will die a vicious death.

For my love I have a plan
So much to do - oh man
This plan so grand
For so long I have planned -
Now to spill
Oh, what a thrill!

So much to do
And all for you
My love, I don’t mind
But oh time I’m not sure I can find
Ah, oh well!
All shall be swell!
After all, it is for you that I fell.

First I must clean the house;
I must sweep the downstairs,
My anxiety I must dowse
Oh but who cares

I must sweep the porch and walkway,
Tell him, “Come, go this way!”
No dust at his feet
Take him inside and from the heat

I must clean the table,
Oh I hope I am able
Make sure on my feet I’m not unstable
Oh my dizzy spells
Are tiny hells

I must clean the placemats,
Shoo away the pesky cats
Little things get their fur everywhere
Oh but who gives a care

I must clear the clutter from the piano,
Think of my friend the soprano
She’s a good singer
But slow to answer her ringer

Then I must decorate;
Oh this house no one shall hate
Besides I, I suppose
Oh, I think I’ll give him a rose!

I must put the carpetes on the piano,
Nevermind the soprano
What a voice
On the carpetes I can put flowers or candles
With no handles
Oh what a choice!

I must place the smooth stones and flowers in the walkway,
Make them say, “Hey, come this way!”
Inviting him in
Oh, his heart I did win
This is a celebration of my love
Just for my Love

I must place the stool by the door,
Place his card on it and oh not the floor
Hope he likes it and keeps it
Hope he knows I am of wit

I must put the ribbon downstairs,
I don’t know if he cares
But I certainly do
Oh Love, I do this all for you

Next I must cook and bake;
I must make the steak,
Get the recipe from my stepdad
Oh I sure hope he’s glad
I can make this myself
And have a picture on the shelf

I must make the mashed potatoes,
No, I won’t touch the tomatoes
Those are for next week
Not my dinner to cook
I’m not that weak
I can be a good cook

I must bake the brownies,
They say you can smell them for counties
I hope they taste sweet
And not like feet

Finally I must get myself ready;
I must shower, clean my hair and body,
So I’m not still plastered with sweat
Oh and I bet
You’ll just look so good
Just like I know you would

I must wear something nice,
No, it will not be of high price
If it were I would leave it hanging
Like the photographs overhanging
In my room
Where roses bloom

I must do something with my hair,
Not that anyone would care
None but I
Still I try

I must put my lotion on,
This cracked flesh it must go upon
To heal me
Of this eczema I wish to be free

After all that;
I will give my arm a pat
An indication for him to take it
This great planning a display of my wit
I shall walk him to the door
Read him the card then read no more

Escort him inside
The dogs both aside
Have him pick a seat
While ready is the potatoes and tender meat
To be served
I supposed I would be observed
As I bring him a plate
Oh this is so great!

Ask him if he would like a drink
Once poured, our glasses will clink
A sign of good fortune and luck
And as I gaze into those eyes, I am lovestruck

We shall dine
Oh this heart of mine
Beating loudly in its cage
As tonight I have taken center stage
And brought all the light just for my Love

After we dine,
After I gaze into those eyes divine,
I bring out dessert
It won’t be too hot, so it won’t hurt

Once dessert is through
I’ll look to you
And ask what you would like to do

A movie, perhaps?
Seated side by side, a blanket on our laps
My hand in yours
Holding me, this ensures
My mind may wander
Oh the things that silently ponder
Whilst I am by your side.

- Jay M
January 30th, 2020

So once there was a kindly boy
Concerned with art and life.
His wit and pen were sharper
Than his mother's butcher knife.
                
His kindness wasn't well received
By those he called his peer
Who roughed him up and called him names,
That caused him pain severe.
                
But he did not respond in kind.
He let the insults slide.
That's not to say he would forget.
Payback would be supplied.
                
Our boy was quite ingenious.
He planned reprisal well.
He kept his focus to himself;
A silent tolling knell
                
These guys had pretty girlfriends
But their ardour was amiss.
They didn't know that knowledge could
Contribute to their bliss.
                
By studying the art of love
(And all of the mechanics)
He paired this with some scarlet ink,
Producing co-dynamics.
                
He worked his project long and hard
(The irony forgiven)
Until he had a missive that
Resembled  passion's heaven.
                
He wrote of carnal fervency
And zealous jungle love.
He wrote of things that people don't
Admit they're thinking of.
                
The guys weren't really much for words;
His poetry dismissing.
The women were and when they read,
They knew what they were missing.
                
It wasn't long before the girls
Were seeking greener grass.
The guys were left exposed as if
A pheasant under glass.
                
He sees them now quite often at
The Chick-fil-A drive through.
It causes him to think about
The Karma we accrue.
                *
Life has it's way of straightening
Imbalance it would seem
And he was getting luckier
Than they could ever dream.
                                      rc

As I’m standing at the balcony
While the city is asleep,
I’m the part of cosmos’ alchemy,
Facing meaning of the deep.

I’m not lonely in such atmosphere,
No need longing for the speech
As I feel all struggles disappear
While my mind is getting rich.
~
Oh the nighttime
Oh the light moon
Can’t forget you
Felt the wind blew
Made that vibe due
~