" On the ground! " was screamed at the man in flames  
the police were baffled at what could be done,
" get down on the ground !" was screamed yet again  

Their guns pointing as the man writhed in pain
why should they care it's not their Bro' or son
" on the ground! " was screamed at the man in flames,

I guess the policemen felt kinda lame
a burning man is no threat to anyone,  
" but, down on the ground! " was screamed yet again

Burning tendons stretched his hands up in vain
there was no way the burning man could run
" down on the ground " screamed at the man in flames,

Hands holding guns began to show the strain
as burning fats flared to outshine the sun
but, " down on the ground " was screamed yet again

Later their bosses played the old blame game
But the police were lost totally stunned,
" On the ground " was screamed at the man in flames
And " down on the ground " was screamed yet again.

Though the Oomegoolie bird was well endowed      
it made its nest among sharp cacti plants    
then caws out oomegoolies very loud,    
    
On return to his nest ***** and proud,    
to bill and coo to find then squeak, " I can't "    
tho' the Oomegoolie bird was well endowed...    
    
So he lived, celibate, not on a  cloud    
no Ma to confide, no sis, Pa, or aunt      
tho' he cawed out oomegoolies very loud,    
    
And no mate to mate that he could've wowed    
his world lacked even a sniff of talent      
tho' the Oomegoolie bird was well endowed,    
    
That's why you'll not see these flock like a crowd    
and twitchers sightings are now somewhat scant    
tho' he cawed oomegoolies very loud,    
    
Wrap him stiff, at last, in his spiky shroud    
There was no hope for this would be gallant,    
Tho' he cawed oomegoolies very loud    
The Oomegoolie bird was well endowed.

Water trickling down into the river:
from clouds God's Spirit, like a dove, descends,
as a voice proclaims, My Son the life-giver.

On the sable hair of our forgiver
droplets form, as Jesus’ baptism sends
water trickling down into the river.

Sunlit torrents pour down from upriver
their roaring origin, in stillness ends,
as a voice proclaims, My Son the life-giver.

The veil rips open, a golden sliver
illuminates – with bright yellow beam-ends–
water trickling down into the river.

Is it the cold Jordan makes me shiver
or do I feel a something that transcends
as a voice proclaims, My Son the life-giver?

I stand and watch from the bank downriver
this man who will make fishermen his friends.
Water trickling down into the river
as a voice proclaims, My Son the life-giver.

We flew over a highlands silver lake,
Dancing moonlight caressed its dark waters;
It mirrored visions I'll never forsake.

The Milky Way waltzed above you, awake,
Planets laughed at us; they knew our chances.
We flew over a highlands silver lake.

I followed the brightest star—your namesake.
Phantoms of my friends swam in the deep glass;
It mirrored visions I'll never forsake.

Self-preserving, I escaped like a snake,
Slithering past a wildfire, free at last:
We flew over a highlands silver lake.

Once I thought you were nothing but a rake,
Then you bewitched me with tales of heroes;
It mirrored visions I'll never forsake.

In the dead of night, we are an earthquake—
Am I mad or brave for coming with you?
We flew over a highlands silver lake,
It mirrored visions I'll never forsake.

Imprisoned clouds, waiting to fly,
Held back by a willowed, sandy bank:
The river, green and clear as an eye.
Its silent depths enticed us to pry.
Into the liquid dungeon we slank,
Imprisoned clouds, waiting to fly.

There we discovered we could scry,
And so greedily we drank
The river, green and clear as an eye.

Our brains ceased to electrify,
Souls fusing with those dank
Imprisoned clouds, waiting to fly.

Now bloated, white, we putrefy,
For we could not outflank
The river, green and clear as an eye.

Deliverer of fate we can’t defy,
But for our new life we thank
Imprisoned clouds, waiting to fly:
The river, green and clear as an eye.

Pride designed a precious bower
Granting each discarded scrap
The illusion of creative power

Whatever’s found he will devour
And shape to his mind’s map
Pride designed a precious bower

Now his lover he will shower
With refuse in a shiny wrap:
The illusion of creative power

Is she wooed by his false flower?
Will glamour be her trap?
Pride designed a precious bower

Or will her feelings remain dour?
Knowing he can only tap
The illusion of creative power

Leaving him to hunt and scour
The world for his stopgap
Pride designed a precious bower
The illusion of creative power