Like a drop of ink diffused in water,
A single idea might change everything.
It is for the reason we think and think and think,
That the finishing line seems to shrink and shrink and shrink.
Their trophies and our consolation prizes, we always link
To the faces of where it matters not if we stink.
We grope and grope, but never look;
Only offer our eyes to reference books,
Pay our lives to learn how they sit and smile and dress and cook,
When we could carve out crafts of our own on hippocampus walls to hook.
Charts and charts of sound waves go farther than needed into the ear,
But in this statistic, there are more of those which we are deaf to hear.
Then we wonder, perhaps they will listen if we talk our fear through beer.
What we cannot, we must preach, so in the morning it’ll all be clear.
Putting on several mouths, sincerity seldomly salivates in our tongues.
And all we ever scream about, we let clump and clog in our lungs.
Our voices, we swallow, then verbalize universal dung.
Is that easier than to allow our singularity be hung?
To possess such delicate bones under thick coats of flesh and skin,
One little sting, we crumble as if our framework isn't as fortified as tin.
But sometimes when too stung, we rigidify and our cutis turns lean.
Our pores, too open, that even what doesn't exist, we welcome in.
And so, we stick to our lifelong work of homemade bibles,
And add commandments every time we build stables,
Along with valuables from the places in people’s fables.
Only us can decide to make room for new tables.
A Day Of Thinking or
This Is The Way My Brain May Work On Any Given Day
Breakfast In Bed
No one in this world
Makes thinner toast,
Better toast, winner toast.
You do not boast.
How have you learned to slice
This near-transparent, indisputably crunchy piece of bliss!
What skill! And modest too!
No one can make such toast as you.
Going In To Thank
Going into different segments of the brain
I thank for life in any of the synapses.
Is there a gratitude partition
Or a separate, section - special one?
I don’t always feel it – just today.
It probably will go away.
I hope it leaves a record.
Deep, deep inside
I’m feeling tired of society.
It’s like, what I imagine to be
What they call depression.
It’s connected to reality; civilization.
There’s the problem -
It’s not me, it’s them!
I ought to put away the TV (I’ve no phone)
Things electronic, dailies, monthlies,
All things histrionic;
The destructive, scandalous and shocking;
All things not-to-be: illusory.
Noel Coward wrote “World Weary” –
A light, song for something serious.
Perhaps that’s it!
There still exist fall hues phantasmagorical:
Food tastes, sweet music, friends amusing, loyal,
Beauty, animals…and still I feel
Despite the goodness,
Deep, deep sadness at the mess.
A Day Of Thinking 10.28.2016
Circling Round Reality;
The church we visited
Today for pastor's round table
Was set like the scene
Of a Grant Wood painting.
The fields were stretched
For miles upon miles,
The view enhanced
By gently rolling hills.
The tin-roofed-and-sided church,
Once a barn, now renovated,
Sits in the middle of a farmers field.
A treasure once hidden, now found.
In that building we discussed
The move of God across
Our nation and our state,
Building unity amongst us,
Those who till the earth
And spread the seed,
Waiting for God to
Bring the increase.
For as the rain falls
Down from the sky,
It waters the earth
And causes our seed
To sprout and produce fruit.
So we must be patient now,
Being faithful farmers waiting
For the seed we've sown
To receive the nutrition
It needs to spring forth
And yield the harvest
We have always desired.
I was raised under shield and gun
Looked in my fathers eyes and grew under thumb
Theres awes for mah stalls
Hug and hold you in our paws
for the cause
we pause for this applause
I make friends
I get blown
I make friends
I go home
I make friends
and get shown
the Dark side
of the moon
I end my cigarrete
and grab my beer
Wander in horror
Its my self that I fear
Salty frozen pearls glimmer
in the passing, fading carlight
I keep rooted in the shadow
and stay running from mah fright.
It knocks in my head
it follows my steps
crucial loss of character
in need of a seraph
some sort of
some sort of
She had no reason and I wasn't going to ask.
Her body left as her thoughts I was removed from long ago.
The rides that we viewed from the pier the sunrise and passed drinks I was a phantom a shadow of the man who gave all to the page and nothing to her.
No magic holds more true than the waves crashing endless into the fading darkness shore .
I had stood long before and I would stand long after .
They all leave you empty as when you first met.
This was far from my last .
The page held more than a shallow hearts departure .
There's no regret in goodbye .
Just a change if scenery.
A bottle in the sand and my thoughts to themself
She left the room.
And left me together thinking I'd be torn apart.
But my thoughts are all that has ever been the whole of me .
And the silence played endless in perfection with the crashing tide.
Your passion remains where they leave just the same.
So sensuous is this piece of clothing,
Barely covering her bare essentials.
If she lets it fall to the ground,
Visible are her melons so round.
And what to say of her crevices,
Up & down both are so smooth,
Juice-filled they are the milk booth.