I’m having a hippy drippy day
A great day to snuggle up inside
A drizzling rain and skies are gray.
I’ll call some friends to come and play.
I’ll cook up some muffins and popcorn
And chill off a gallon of cheap jug wine
Get out my guitar and my old ukulele
This day is going to work out just fine.

Rotten Ray and Pity Patty will come
The first to arrive as they always are.
Cokehead Bobby will ride with them
Because he never has a working car.
Dan will bring his Alice B. brownies
And whatever squeeze he has today.
Eldon Day will come since Dan’s here
As usual pretending he is not gay.

The music will start in right away
Four or five guitars and bongo drums.
There may be more instruments later
It depends on if Dial-A-Party comes.
While that is not a professional company,
It’s what we call it when we all meet
One calls another and soon we see
Small groups of people on the street.

Especially on rainy days, it turns out
We all love this kind of gathering
Depending on who is off that day
And how big a storm we’re weathering.
But joy and music is the rule of the day.
We laugh and get ****** and sing,
Some drizzily hippy drippy happy fun;
A gathering of close friends means everything.

Of course you know you are
One year older on this day.
But really, when you were younger
It was actually just one day away.
That’s why you don’t really feel
That you have gotten any older
And do not need anybody near
So you can cry on their shoulder.

Happy birthday, one day older
Happy birthday, one year too.
Cut the cake and share it baby.
Celebrate a year that is new.

You have no more hairs there
Upon your aging old head.
Everyone may be singing at you
But you are just one day ahead
Of who you were yesterday morn
When you woke up out of bed
And started on your daily journey
Following where fortune led.

Happy birthday, one day older
Happy birthday, one year too.
Cut the cake and share it baby.
Celebrate a year that is new.

But play along with tradition
And smile at the song and jokes.
Make a wish about tomorrow
As you blow out the candle smoke.
Though you’re only one day wiser
Things are more than they appear
Because the last time you did this
Was one amazing bygone year.

Happy birthday, one day older
Happy birthday, one year too.
Cut the cake and share it baby.
Celebrate a year that is new.

Naturist, skinny dipper
But never ****** waver;
Some of us are exhibitionists
A point I hope you savor.
I am into keeping clothing
Something more than minimal
But, I should not ever be
Thought of as a criminal.

After all, the same people
Who piously point to their Bible
Ignore that we are born ****
And every other word is libel.
It simply makes no sense
To impose laws on a poor sod
And then paint yourself with
Trappings of some ancient god.

I don’t take my clothes off
To discomfit you even a little
But your frothings-at-the-mouth
I regard as simply spittle.
I have never agreed with your
Mesopotamian mythology,
And I disagree with it all,
With no remorse or apology.

But bear this in mind, please
I resent you pushing on to me
A way of living that I feel
Is very uncomfortable to be.
I don’t ask you to be naked
If that is not right for you
But to tell me I must not
Is an offensive thing to do.

The idea that a tiniest bit
Of what is so honestly me
Is such a horrendous and
Disgusting thing for you to see
In a world of thongs and bikinis
And pushup padded wonder bras
Is a matter of gross hypocrisy
And to me, an ignoble cause.

The spirit watched quietly
No hand could it raise.
The spirit listened closely
As the faithful sing of praise.
After the worshipful leave
And go back to their home
The spirit wants to know
And sets itself to roam.

The spirit watches us
And hears us when we talk.
It carefully remembers when
Our words don’t match our walk.
The spirit never wants us
To leave the weak and poor
To starve in ignominy
And crawl across the floor.

The spirit is always there
When the rich pretend to be
The very essence of kindness
And unfettered generosity.
And when those same people
Lie and cheat and even steal
The spirit knows for certain
Their piety is nothing real.

The spirit uses gentle thoughts
Set in all our inner souls
To remind us of who we are
And of our intended roles.
But some prefer to ignore them,
The inner urging of their spirit,
And though they know better
They don’t seem to want to hear it.

If you are sitting in government
With fattened campaign coffers
And your pockets filled up
With all the bribes and offers
Just be aware that the gifts
You take with each breath
Are the direct cause of decay
And of your constituent’s death.

You’re selling off our birthright
And that never can be made right.
You choose money rather than fight
And you make of it a long night.

While the police ****** people
Who had no guns in their hands
You send tanks to small towns
And claim it’s all very grand,
Because in a police state
You can control our very fates
And slowly disassemble
The future of the United States.

Your kids are killing elephants
Along with rich kids in their band
While ours are shooting innocents
In a war-torn foreign lands.

The decisions are being made
By those who have the wealth
And that way there is less reason
For any kind of political stealth.
You can steal whatever you want
And use both hands at once
Then, laugh and call us names
Like uneducated, fool and dunce.

We’re starving while you fatten
We’ve no hatches left to batten.
From Los Angeles to Manhattan
You make speeches in garble-Latin.

You’re selling off our birthright
And that never can be made right.
You choose money rather than fight
And you make of it a long night.

He lives in fear
Some will discover
He lives in disguise
Like a spy undercover.
He lives in suspense,
Did he let something slip.
He lives in madness
Like a bad acid trip.

It’s a topsy-turvy world
Where lying is the stock-in-trade.
False approval from peers
Is the payment for deals he made.
The pats on his back
Are what he does the whole thing for.
The social approval gives
Gifts to him too grand to ignore.

He lives in fear
Some will discover
He lives in disguise
Like a spy undercover.

Pride in who he is
A distant world he cannot see.
An Everest to climb
That threatens his mortality.
He has to lie constantly
Or forget himself accidentally.
Telling the truth will
Remove his sense of morality.

He lives in suspense,
Did he let something slip.
He lives in madness
Like a bad acid trip.

He doesn’t trust feelings
They make of him a criminal.
His relationship with pride
And self-esteem is minimal.
That others can be free
Can never apply to someone like him.
He hears there is liberation
But his own chances are very slim.

He lives in fear
Some will discover
He lives in disguise
Like a spy undercover.
He lives in suspense,
Did he let something slip.
He lives in madness
Like a bad acid trip.

Apple core, Baltimore
Some people know the score
They know very well what
This little verse is for.
I don’t have a clue, you see.
It is totally a cypher to me.
It’s a snappy verse, obviously,
But is nothing more than poesy.

Icky wicky bother and blame
Practical jokes are bad games.
Ask me once I’ll say my name;
Every time it will be the same.

It’s a kind of little kid rhyme
That lost its meaning over time.
Parsley sage rosemary and thyme
Kept up with the chronological climb.
But the other is one of those things
Like popsicles and onion rings
That living in the USA brings
But leave me standing in the wings.

Bumpy jumpy, bouncing around
Trying to stay on solid ground
Is chancy at best, I have found.
Its reasoning is not that sound.

Olly olly oxen free is another
The invention of someone or other
To help kids call in their brothers
When the game is curtailed by mother,
Or someone decides it’s done,
Or maybe just no longer fun,
And those hiding one by one
Can come in home on the run.

Icky wicky bother and blame
Practical jokes are bad games.
Ask me once I’ll say my name;
Every time it will be the same.

Pinch you owe me a coke
Is another sadly unfunny joke
Created by some sadistic bloke
That should have got his nose broke
But turned into a game that’s used
Whenever people become amused
By saying the same word the other used.
I don’t like games that leave me contused.

Icky wicky bother and blame
Practical jokes are bad games.
Ask me once I’ll say my name;
Every time it will be the same.
Bumpy jumpy, bouncing around
Trying to stay on solid ground
Is chancy at best, I have found.
Its reasoning is not that sound.

I truly fail to understand
Why it’s gotten out of hand.
It seems so very odd
There are so many God
Is supposed to have ordained
Some aren’t even trained.
There is an absolute dearth
Of an actual true rebirth
In the revivifying blood of Jesus.
It’s almost like allergic sneezes.

Pastures full of pastors.
Priests and beasts.
Defectors and rectors.
Pickers and vicars.
Bleachers full of preachers.
Clerics and hysterics.
Papal delegates and celibates.
Televangelists and Adventists
And hostile Pentecostals.

We are becoming overrun
With an ecumenical kind of fun
In which before we can holler
Another puts on a backward collar
And starts tell us what to do.
When the rebirthing is through
They are on their park soapbox
And ******* about our Xbox;
Telling us what we should watch
And the coffee in our coffee klatch
Is unGodly because Jesus never drank it.
Makes me want to grab and spank it
Before it multiplies. Jerks, those guys.

Pastures full of pastors.
Priests and beasts.
Defectors and rectors.
Pickers and vicars.
Bleachers full of preachers.
Clerics and hysterics.
Papal delegates and celibates.
Televangelists and Adventists
And hostile Pentecostals.

As a bisexual, I fear
Few will want you to be proud.
They will bend your ear
Saying things to you out loud
That would be better left
Totally, embarrassingly unsaid
Instead of rattling around
Inside the cathedral of your head.

Too many try to make it
Seem like a kind of venal crime
To want to make love with
Someone of your own kind
And maybe with the same
Gender with which you were born.
To some it is very biblical
And subjects you to public scorn.

Finding someone ****
With the same plumbing as you
It not only delightful
It can be a dream come true.
It feels correctly natural
And works like the other way
Even though people scorn
And use words like ‘***’ and ‘gay’
Or ‘******’ and even taco
Whatever that might end up meaning.
The important thing to me
Bisexuality is so powerfully appealing.

So, those who dislike me
And feel so righteously zealous
That bisexuality is wrong
Are very possibly just jealous.
Or maybe just uptight
Living by someone’s else’s rules;
Not what they’ve learned
And therefore are bigoted fools.

She was stark naked
I could see her ****
And her boyfriend had
Quite the **** on him.
His meat should have
Made him quite proud
And the lady’s ****
For crying out loud
Were perky and prominent
And quite nice to see.
Both of them seemed
To be pointing at me.

And I seemed to be
Eagerly pointing back.
They both very obviously
Aware of that one fact.
She smiled openly
And the guy broadly winked.
I started asking myself
“Do you think? He did wink!”
So, I winked and smiled
And let them see my bone
And hoped this meant I
Would not be alone.

I hoped they’d invite me
To sit on their beach towel
To slather sunscreen on them
Like a human mortar trowel.
There are not many things
There are few better for me
Than hot mixed couples
Into some fun bisexuality.
I have games for both kinds
And genders of human beings
All based on the stimulus
Of what I’m feeling and seeing.

Generally a single man
Is not lucky at this scene
A common concept that I
Always found to be quite mean.
I understand about jealousy,
An emotion foreign to me
So, I usually keep my distance
And behave circumspectly.
But when I get the go-ahead
I never hesitate very long.
How could something this good
Be considered bad or wrong?