SCHISMS.

I woke up with Lennon on my brain,
I read the news in the usual way,
Turbulence and schisms over isms,
Society's  deep divisive chasms,
Why are we all such lemmings?
Bigotry and phobias ever forming--
Imagine a world of informal religions,
Only peace and tolerance in our visions,
For churches, we revere the universe,
Star trekking our young deserve,
Imagine our brave new Planet Earth,
In a century's time, what would it be worth?
All children learning together beautifully,
None taught hatred or hostility,

Imagine no schisms over isms today,
I woke up with Lennon on my brain.

I can't tell if
You're there or
not

But I imagine
That you're still
around

Now
Imagine, Jean du Scatmân
Xanax, give me more, man
Only the great scatting of John can give
Now you can live
Wearing tight-pants for the nation
**** irritation;
Stitch the jeans right
The kakis are white
How many kids did you ****?
Entire stomachs, hungry still
Burp during the call
Elephantiasis, in the ball?
Save us from the reds
The ******* is now Dead

Folds, fur, creases and greases on your clothes
Have you had a nice breakfast?
No, no, it doesn't seem so.
You've had a bad day since you've risen from your bed.
Your hands are shaking and don't even notice it,
Probably because of the nicotine hidden in the left pocket of your jacket.
Ahh! Shut up! You were thinking! It's annoying!
Get out! Get out! I need to go to my mind palace!
Also, if you think that I'm a psychopath,
I'm just a high-functioning sociopath.
With your number! -smiles-

Oh, John Watson? You've got a limp from your last war from Afghanistan.
Your hand stays steady when you're suspicious or feel like you're being threatened.
Hmm, you like the battlefield, don't you, John?
Ahh, you can be my colleague! Come on, John!
Wait, what? Who are you?
The name's Sherlock Holmes and I live on 221B Baker Street.
And, I'm a consulting detective who uses,
*The Science of Deductions

poems
are
boems
are
doems
are
boo

crippity
creepity
zappity
zoo
­
poems
are
woems
and
shilly misham

fippity
bippity
wippity
bam

iMac
I can
I done

I always spit the pun

Iraq
Iran
I run

All the way to the cinnamon bun

Fifty years ago this week
Sgt. Pepper he began to speak
Hidden deep just like a motley fool
Inside four boys from Liverpool

It took four lads as inspiration
to bring hope to a crying nation
After November's assassination
They grabbed us...we held on

John, Paul, George and Ringo
on Ed's Sunday Show
We sat back and watched them go
They grabbed us...we held on

They came and held the hand
Of a still in mourning land
A little skiffle band
They grabbed us...we held on

We were brought back from the dark side
We were on a rock and roll ride
With four young lads from Mersey Side
They grabbed us...we held on

They grabbed our hearts and souls
They expanded musics goals
They all had different roles
they grabbed us...we held on

In times...things were changing
The band was re-arranging
No more tours were staging
They grabbed us...we held on

Soon, they all went on their way
McCartney sang "Another Day"
John, he had a lot to say
George and Ringo...just played on

John was shot at decades start
It shocked the world and broke apart
Those who held him in our heart
The Beatles were no more

George died too, all things must pass
He always had a silent class
The parts aren't greater than the mass
The Beatles were no more

Is there anyone out in the land
Who will come and take us by the hand
I hope that you will understand
They grabbed us...we held on

.
"Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter"
John Keats, Ode On A Grecian Urn.

.
I'm never sure how I should take his silence,
It's not by choice, that much I know.
For he is a piper painted on porcelain,
Left to inspire a dreamer in an Ode.

His immortal canopy never sheds a leaf,
But offers no shade - frozen in time -
And as it was written, he never came to life and played
His fair maiden her melodious rhyme.

It sits on his lips as they chip and crack;
A dry mouth, a pipe for melodies made.
Sadly for the piper, I don't share Keats' hope
As he said of his maiden, 'She cannot fade'.

This brave boy's riff will remain dormant,
Haunting and quiet - laid on porcelain,
As I can't help this overwhelming jealousy
Of the notes he'll never play trapped within.

How they reel through my mind but leave nothing -
Not a sound or a ripple of waves,
Whereas mine float a while and decay with little grace,
The dotted-quavers left fading on staves.

I'm never sure how I should take his silence,
It's not by choice, that much I know.
Yet I envy more than words his lifetime in a moment,
In a world in which I wait and watch things grow.

And I said:

When you push her down,
I'll make sure she'll fall on me.
When you break her heart,
I'll make sure I will fix it all.
When you make her cry,
I'll make sure I'll wipe her tears.
When you leave her alone,
I'll make sure I am by her side.
And if you abandon her for good,
I'll take her in forever.
But you need to remember
That even if your actions destroy her
And I am the one who is always fixing her,
Her eyes will always be on you.
Her heart will always be with you.
And her mind
Will always be filled with thoughts of you.


It will never be me.