We go into sabotage

When there's no cabotage
One day were going to be whacked by others in camouflage.

Or some internal/external force. The age is up, no time left for remorse. There is the road to sweet and flavored penitence, or there is another path, a more bloodshed innocence.

No more remembrance in the near dearest future, though our acts won't come together, were *******, we've knifed back open our own
Sutures.

The newspaper heralds in what the public denies, the paper with its war photos, Tell's truth that can't lie. Though broadcasting puts out, only what they are told, their not fooling me, I'm not dumb

Just old.

Take the time
Give a gift
Bust a ryth
Drive the whammy
To the charitable side.
Wam wammer hammer
Into her rise.
Remember sweet 21
Honey buns? Remember
Timely 27 fun young gun.
Me and my wife
Prowled the world and the sun
We had a grandson,
Time of our beloved.

Hush little baby don't say a word

Tommys gonna rock you a rockers verse,

Strum once, then twice again.

I'll rock all night, melody no end.

If that melody don't spread to the roof,

Tommy's going to play it again for you.

So close your eyes dear,
Please don't peek,

Tommy's going to show you

What endearment means.

If that endearment doesn't bust through the door

Tommy's going to play it more and more.

Jam so loud that my strings will bust,

Tommy's going to love you melodious.

We make our hero's as God's

When in fact, those hero's aren't God's at all

Those hero's are a heighth and depth on

Which we wish to reach.

We can become those hero's we go after.

We can become the hero we seek.

So that the hero's we once chased

Can now chase us, and its us to them who will teach!

Take a number, hey pick a chair. Choose the way. You get up
There. Stardom slams, the youngest of heirs. Stardom slay's,
Hey stardom betrays. Stardoms a nail making your coffin
With the grave.

Find an instrument
Pick up a tune
Strum, drum, get out of the few.
Be the one
The only
Be the man or woman you were meant to be. Be a musician, or be a tree. Be a punker, or weird hippy. Be a ****, with the cool new kicks. Listen to the stones, zeppelin, mc hammer. Or styx. Pick up an instrument, make your own chord. Don't let life go by so easy. You are the guitar.

I left myself for a brief good few hours
Whether it was the mescaline, or the quaaludes
All I know is my now wife, smelled as tropical beaches and
Fresh picked flower's.

Life's not a cakewalk. There are trial's, tribulations.
Downtimes, agitations. Sweet lovin or imitations.
Life's not a cakewalk, life's a seed so let it grow.
Life is a plea of something bigger than us
Let life's seed flourish and grow.

I can't forget my uncle
Old rod the dodge'
Always came off so easy,
His beer in hand, fishing rod.
Always wanted the big fish
Always wanted the 'catch'
Just to see him one more time
I would to show him my
Respect.

I held my wife's hand
The year was '86
Reagan was the president
We jammed.
To the rolling stones and styx.
We made love just below the stars,
The stages were all jumping.
Locking chest to chest
A bird in nest
Making eggs from something pumping.
My heart.
It created the shell, that our children have broken from
My kids are growing older
My poetry is silence mum's.
But now no more mum's the word
I'll rock it out on paper.
Getting older I look at the past
And go back to a time I savor.
86, the year of flicks
And times magazine.
86' wish you didint go quick,
At least I met my dream.
She made love to me
Under the stars we made.
Created kids from our birdie shell's.
Now I'm relaxed, retired.
Payed. Now I savor you
86', reminiscing the good old days.

A man doesn't make the wife
And the wife doesn't make who the man is,
The year's of learning everything about eachother and the love in between those years, are the things that make a couple who they come to be. Who they are

She is gentle
She's the pencil, that writes Good love upon this stained physique, she's rock and rolls momma, body not ending with any comma's, the wife of my ending age. The girl I
Remember, at 21, showing a young boy what it means to be
A man, to let go of rage.
She's my main stage.

They called him rebel
He talked the talk and walked the walk.
He was a man of his people
He sold what he taught.
He taught what he learned
He grew up with nothing.
Became friends with politicians
He found out their crookedness,
That's not up for his discussion.
He joined whimsy luncheons
No more time-cards or punch ins
He came out of nothing .
Something made something.
Now he lost all
Because he gave nothing.
Now he lost all
Now he's gaining something.
He's seeing himself.
He's learning his way's.
He's trying to be the man of the people again,
By taking his past self away.

Magnitude of apple eyed kids
Trying to recreate the music on which I grew up with
Love them for it.
But nobody
Nobody can recreate
The music of my generation
Ta ta talking about my generation.

She's fly, she's fine, she's mine, all mine
She's hip, she rips, the guitar
In her death grip. She's fly,
She's fine, she's cool, girl of mine.
She's tall, to the wall, I make sweet
Love to her birdie call, married now
For many days, more to come I've paved the way. Thinking
Of renewing our vows, I'll strum the acoustic for her
At the wedding, with my speakers loud.

A Tuesday morning
Gunsmoke, a hot cup of Joe.
The TV turned on animal planet
Switch back to gunsmoke.
Cartoons come on once a while
For the grandkids that play their jokes
Eggs, waffles, pancakes.
Butter syrup with the toast.
A good tasting yolk from the eggs
And a good yolked family

A poets
Words can spread
Like butter on a slithered knife-
What do we protect?
Hymns, other versions of mystery, misery lonely dreams, stealing
Copy writes. I'm a knight in a fight for my life.
Writing to touch the stony surface, the up above is perfect,And I'm loud enough to break the fortune teller's lying hand,
Just because I'm almost sixty doesn't meet my demands,
Though,
What is demand? And what is fate?
I have found well-planned Gray hairs,
Spanning my poematic plate,

Maybe the reason I can't sleep is that
The problems of my country have kept me
Up to a countless pendulum.
Or maybe my own .
Maybe the reason I haven't slept since
9 am is the fact I work hard for a little.
Little isn't enough to make ends.
Maybe, maybe.
Maybe won't put me back in resting sleep,
Maybe a write will.

There once was a rocker
His name was the doctor
He played like no other
He learned from his dad
He jammed down for his mother,
He stringed like a crazy man
He joined the military
He rocked out troops
And even foreign lands.
He in the middle of the fighting would bring
His guitar to the war,for the princes and kings.
He was shot with his 1964 guitar strung about his shoulder.
The middle easterners buried him, where there's water flowing
From boulders, he never gets older he continues to play peace
Loving tunes from beyond the grave.
You can still hear him wailing, that 12 stringed guitar
Throughout all 50 states.
They stopped the war, directly after his death.
Because his sound he strung, was beautifully hung
Upon the flag he sung.
'War no more' rock and roll's doctor addressed.

1-The tragedy of life is not that it ends so soon, but that we wait so long to begin it.
For men.

2-***: Pass My Shotgun
For women

Happy new year poet fantasizers
Happy new year poet writers!
Happy new years to those who know no years.
Never get old, throw away the old mirrors!
Happy new years,
Poet's and poetesses.
Let your writes be rocking invites
For hugs and poetic kisses.

Rocker and roller
Sold the guitar
For a pencil
And paper.
Rock and
Rollin'
Hard labor I strum I stroll my strings are folding

We make symbols into meanings
Meaning into symbol's. We stand tall and crumble
We bow to be humbled, though pride stretches our necks.
A newer time, Gen-x. The grown and young both deserve respect though greed and balance and checks make wrecks out of the world we call our own . selfishness leave out the door, pick up
A letter, type a novel, or call on a phone.
Your loved ones await you. The time to be humble is now

To the levy
It broke a flood
Down the draft
Of brotherhood
Slip the mic, ****
In the gut. Drive them mad rock and roll dad.
To the levy Jam the strings
Play and do your musical thing.
Ring the guitars, screech the whammer
Just call me kid Rock and rollin wammer jammer

Don't own nothing you can't claim
Don't claim nothing you can't own.
Claim yourself- it'll be you that
You own!

Merry Christmas to
All and to all a goodnight
On the other side of the world
Treat your family tonight right.
Treat them right daily. Enjoy
Your family gathering.
Put aside past mistakes, anger, and fallacy!
And enjoy anothers company around the dinner table.
Merry christmas from Tom! And rock and roll on.

Living poetry
Poetry living
Going to make
This Christmas
Just like
Thanksgiving.
Goodies baked,
Guitar jammin'
Being the ship
Of my house
The captain.

To stand out as an artist
You got to stand different.
Or your just the same
As others.

Lock em stock em
Rock
Reload.
Lock em
Stock em
Wam my soul.
Lock em knock em
Between the strings I fold.
Rock em stock em
Rock and roll.

Trying to tip toe silently across the floor of the bed.
While my wife sleeps in a state of euphoria
I sing to her
With the acoustic words,
Wake up please wake
Satisfying Gloria.

Anthropomorphic birds and bees
Are leaving places
To distant seas.
The seas are whimpering
To become its natural self
But mankind killed it
It's gone to hell.
The snails drag
To sands of filth, and plastic bags
Fill ***** shelves.
Out my window I think
The only natural beauty left
Is my organic yard.

I took an oath to my wife
I will keep that oath
Til the day I die
When she is sad
Or when we die
I'll still be the
Good husband
At her side.

Take the time
To notice the finer smaller things in life
The smallest things are equal to the largest scales.

Crystal clear are all your fear's
When the lightbulb goes out.

Dim and dark you walk the spark
Where the poets travel in dusky
Parks.

Crystal clear are all your tears
When your writes are not noticed
Well my focus is here.

Play the cards,
Overtaking the deck
Flip the hand.
Place the bet,
Hand the buck
To make another
A gambler's chance
A lost bets wither.

Today is the hour and time of the poet and poetess mind
Make the poet shine and let their line be the time
On the watch hands sublime. Today is the hour and time
Get inside a poet's mind. Rock and roll for the poets own.
Today is the hour
And time!

We writers are unorthodox, we writers write! We're not trapped, hidden, or stuck in some box.

We writers make history with weapons as words, or words as weapons!

We writers can create or change the times, because it is we who foresee the madness of crazy and dying.

We writers have family, or no family, were miserable, in love! Or were happy..

We writers note, record, register, list, inscribe, sign, scribble, scrawl, and pencil.

We writers are not mythical creations, we create the good and bad in history,

Just by the mark of a quill or pencil!

I didint want to be
A rocker originally. The Rock and roll
Lifestyle chose me

Lawyers crack down, with a thousand plus hours on studying criminal's-
The paradox of this study, half of the lawyer's and judges are criminal's-

Dead or alive?
Can I choose both sides, or sway
The fences darkened edge.
Do I have to be living
To end up dead
Or am I already a beat up ripe
Corpse?

Do I have to
Have my heart burst into pain
To be alive again?
No need to be alive when I'm already dead with my sweet
Though my sweet is a treat of the utmost beauty
Shes my captivator my Suzie.
My honey buns and cutie.
Rock and rolling I will jam for her
Because it's moving.
And a fine wine to end up the last part of the night
As we caress eachother off
To the room.
Door's shut!
No knocking please.

Shadows moving to my door,
Pleasure seeking at my wife's
Feet, I explode into many
Different pieces, the kitchens
Taken by me with her sweets.
Strawberry goodin's
Apple pie loving.
Rock and rock on the record
Player, track number seven.
Kashmir, stairway to heaven.
Boogie with stu
Zeppelin to contend with.
Melody sound's
Loud we yelp out.
It's privacy
No knocking,
Keep the neighbors far-
And out, southern
Soulfood after the sweet
Devotion, the nights almost
Over, like a clover I'm lucky
In her promotion.

A smiling face for a happy wife
A happy living for a smiling wife
A smiling home
With a cutting knife
To cut the meat, for the fire
A stove in the kitchen
Christmas ham prepared soon
For me and her's attire.

A catch of ocean perch
A poll to dip the water
A tide around the bin lurks
A fire for the ****
The fish heads to slaughter.
Beans, rice, watermelon
Cold beer ! Ice!
Talkive relatives
A night well spent

The world  is much
Ado about nothing.



Much ado about
Something.

Frustrating it
Seems when love is
The key
Ingredient to get by in our one life on earth
Until the next.



When will we learn?

Sound and color match the human mind in the moon's scope of vision, wife in the kitchen, head buzzed by the choice and happiness of my family and the days couldn't get any better.

Being grateful for the things to come and the things I have.
Being grateful for the good or the bad.
Being grateful, for all taught by my mom and dad.
Being grateful, happy or sad.
Being grateful,
For all the things great to come.

Homemade wine, cherry pie, the earth below my feet, my wife with me to meet .
A bottled glass to sleep, in her arm's I'll keep.
Round and round we go
Dancing throughout the night's air.
Sensual satisfaction, to touch the moon we dare

Open, honest, raw. Jolly to be spread, music in head's of children in cement halls.
Beer drinkers will brawl, puke will fill cold stalls.
Christmas season comes, some make it a joke. Some light cigarettes, some make recompense, some kiss under the mistletoe, some lights will shine, while the season of the divine comes and goes, as in this coming season means a new season. For me of rock n roll.

A cherry pie, homemade by my wife. An apple pie, cut, opened, sliced.
An oven with a turkey, croutons sprinkled on western fresh lettuce, oven mitts, salad dressing, the works.
Lemon lime juice- squirted on the meat.
After meal deserts. Garlic bread, the tastes, butter smothered, my wife's lips covered, in icing from handmade cakes.
A little chill outside, the old fireplace burning. Wood hot the fire heated. Love making at midnight. Passion yearning.

Lost another friend due to his uncaring way's. In other word's the voice was unheard when
He gurgled in alcohol, a man gone, his mind lost. A dad lost, someone's son lost. For what cost?
A liver shot,
A wife lost,
His goods
Bought.
His home sold
His life was gold
Now it's dirt
Looking at his family
Beyond the dirt.
Yes I'm hurt
A little bit mad
He sold himself
For a glass bottle
And a paper bag.
Some say sad, he could have changed.
While everyone else sips on their expensive
Chardonnay. So will we fix, and turn our way's
Or sink in deep in sleep side shade.