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.

Love is not Just the saying of words
But the giving of one self
Love is caring
Love is daring
And most of All
Love is sharing

Love is not to live in fears
Love is not a matter of counting years
But making the years count

Love is
Telling, listening, understanding,
Respecting the truth and never pretending
True love does NOT have a happy ending!
True love does NOT have an ending!

Love.. some say it is blind
But I say
Love gives you a third eye
To make it easy for you to find
Who is worthy

My life
Like a lucid dream
I control the nightmares
And battle the screams
My wife is my comfort
My sweetie everything
My wife makes the terrors go
And the rock and roll I play for her
Bleeds.

We make a livin off of hard work
Not sleeping

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.

An assassin mentality
Has taken over the epoch's, scientists measure faith by
Weathering of muck
Hewn stone comes from bombing homes
Yet only scientifically has man
Measured their fate.
We open gates
To realms of the dead.
Kings run rampant
Queens say off with heads.
Politics like tricky ****
Create the rebirth of Nixon scandals.
Making words around the world
And wars they use to advance
Secretively they laugh
Behind the curtains of seance.
conjuring up tricks,
erroneous illusions.
Making boys to men
Armys to win
The masses of confusion.

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.

Plucked from the pack of fish
I grew some fin's
Swam to the place of mermaid's.

She wore it better than all the rest
She wore the crown, of forgetfulness
But then at that moment
She remembered
February's love
In mid September.

MUSIC IS DEAD-

Once a time there were Poet's who ryhmed
With guitar, voice, piano, drum, being as one
In song.

MUSIC IS DEAD-

Monterey pop festival, Woodstock, Newport pop festival,
Altamont, the list goes on.

MUSIC IS DEAD-

No more does music have meaning, protestors protested for reason's, now protesting what the administration sais is truth
While yet middle easterns, and our own citizens are seething.

MUSIC IS DEAD-

Lyrics that once changed the earth, now are a church, of fashion idols, teenie boppers, pinning bad against good, turning good Into to bad, cash makes younger ones happy, older musicians die off by the bags. Lady gaga speaks of materialism, with the kids, listens with it mom and dad, societies failure.

MUSIC IS DEAD-

Once something sacred, sacrosanct, has turned to global banks, making stage sets such as save the planet ( while many destroy it)

MUSIC IS DEAD-

Don't let it get in your head, you are still being fed, what the sixties spoke of CONTROL.

Don't sell your soul.

Music is dead.

The older we get
The more knowledge I obtain.
The older I get
The more in tune with myself I am.
The older I get
The more I place bets.
The more comes the debt
Though in aging we don't think of it.
The older we get
Our names are carved in stone
Gravestones soon enough
Though with my wife I'll make my home.
In my ripe years
My fears do
Dissapear.
In the years ahead
I look forward to me and her
Instead.
The older I get
The more satisfied I have become
Knowing I will be better
Tommorrow with my wife
My golden one.

I won't be superannuated
I keep up with the time's
Though phone's and rock
And roll go together now
On musical preference
A handful for a dime.

I won't be monotonous
I won't be humdrum,
I won't be dull, boring
I won't be my own
conundrum.

I will be a genre of
My own accord.

Take lessons from a dying man
Give thought to the living.

My sheets sing rock and roll
When the blanket covers over them. My blankets sing rhythm and blues, when the wife leaves. The sheets know its bad news. My telephone rings of longing for, when the door gets slammed in front of my face. The house crumbles down when erie silence is found. I miss my wife. Though it's only for 12 hours. I miss my wife. I miss her face.

My harsh self
Is always to harsh
On myself.
Who saves me from myself
My wife

I was looking in the mirror
My worst enemy I had seen,
It was me and it gave me fear

Wishing you well
Grandchild of six
You left young
You had no sight
But learned to have fun
Resting at six
I'll see you another sixteen plus,
My young grand baby
My young one.

Rock and roll flare
The eighties beers
The seventies hair
Bellbottom bringbacks
In the new?

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.

Old write of 2014


Sometimes life is utterly revolting and tiring;
With its boring obligations-
Life is strife.
I wish that I could take these moments
And throw them in a
Dumpster called 'Life.'
Perhaps I am a *****,
But I weep for worthless worries,
Hating that these soppy tears
As well are nothing.
That is why, at night I calmly
Lay down on the road of dreams,
And I watch the moon 'changing.
The moonbeams and their stars,
As they illuminate existence.
I wish that
Life was beautiful
Would brighten up as well.

The older I get
I think more wisdom comes.

Though I'm getting older
Seems I'm a bit more senile.

Getting the thumbs up
From the grand children,
With a pat on the back
From the elders
Who hold on
Barely living.

Though the more senile I get
The stronger I fight.
The grayer the hair
The wisdom takes flight.
And off to a rocker
One day i shall be.

If a man seduces one
Than what does that make him?
What does it take him?
To give all he has left
Just to find his old self back

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.

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

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-

For better
Or for worse
In a chapel
Or a church
When pictures
Of our wedding rehearse
Lights camera and action
So many people
The room swollen and the crowd
We dash to the doorway
Our kids are yelling loud.
The vows
Forever to be
In our golden years.
The golden years are
Here to stay, harmony
exhilaration pedal to the metal.

Why marvel at materialism
It only lasts a while,
Why marvel at the apparent,
Apparent comes and goes
Out of style.

Why be awed by what's seen
It's only something temporal,
Why be wooed by physical strings
What's unseen has more credentials.

Why eyeball the papers only in writing,
Why not see the things more clearly with an
Insight sometimes frightening. Why only acknowledge
The things that you perceive, perception is a myth
When the door knocks reality.

In your spine are
Private collection's
Of poetry rhymes
Tingling with word perfection's.

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,

Jamming on the three stringed binge
Beer and loud shock
To hit the grin
Stoning down
With Hendrix sound
Pow to the highest chord!

Prattle in the diplomacies straddle
But all I hear is babble
Outside on the big lawn!

Ever since I was younger
All I ever heard from each politician was!
( I CAN make your land great again)
Well

It's been fifty plus years and I noticed something?
Over the last fifty years just in
My lifetime..

THINGS WENT TO HELL!

So for the upcoming hopeful voters

Vote for who you will
But still
Daily

Another soldiers being killed

Also,
Our land Will not once be great again.
Take it from mother earth
She's cursed in the dim.

Cloning elephant's and clicking her heels
She was somewhere as a fantasy
When I was younger:
She was here for a purpose

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

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.

We own nothing
But what's given to us. We only own our own actions.
We don't own
We only borrow
And return to the universe
What's rightfully his.

Words can be silenced
Only for a lifetime
But my words will live on,
And my ghost won't be gone
Until night til the dawn,
My poetry will spill
Like ripened wine.
I'm everlasting
To everlasting.
My body may be passing
But my eternity is forever,
Like a perennial rosebud
My locution hangs with the
Good that's to come,
And hushed I shall not be.

Reverberation hit's the auditorium
Wailing notes and key's, guitar, piano
Chord's splash sound to the crowd
Leaving traces of burnt trails
Like the neighborhood crematorium.

Girdle, gurgled amplified effect's
Some do it for the love, other's for a check,
Fifty musician's. One stage to be the attention
Microphone's and xylophone tones rock out
To jam overtaking, to rock and blues ripping.

Major shifts in the industry
Rocker's turning crocks
And crocks turning rocker jocks.
All about the cash, they string on the set
No more rock and roll
Its dying,I'm getting old
Bookies on clients place their bet's.
New hottop shot caller's
Benz roller's
With girlfriend mallers.
No real rock and roll hardly left
Rock and roll's dead.
Rock and roll left the building!

Rocking
And
Rolling
Soothing
And molding
Strings
Like
Boeing's
Lifting up
Taking me
Far
Into the
Crowd.
Rocking loud

What's the musician without the music.
What's the music without the musician
What's the noise
Without its invention

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.

Make way make way
Rocking down
Stage 08.
Take the crowd
Click the string
Down she blows
The guitar sings.
Hendrix style
Johnny winters edge
Kiss wailing
Rocking the dead.

Credit is due where the credit is due
The storm's are changing as the sun burst comes through
And the winter's seem hazy when you aren't my muse
I just wanted to say my wife, that I love you

Being golden
We think were young
Pretending to be 16
Under the sun
Skin gets baggy
Eyes sink
Lessons learned
Now my turn
To dive deep into life
It's just begun

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

I have to take a plane
Further out west. To Seattle, high city, mountain dressed.
I have to take a plane
Jam out the western peaks,
This southern guitar will reverberate the club's
Jam session 101.
E. Spruce street,
A cocked back string for me
Is going to be the Wests loaded gun.

I'll gladly deposit my cool laid back love
Inside my wifeys heart
She's the best that's come
She's the delicacy of life.
She takes care of my wear and tear
And protected me under her life.
The younger generation hasn't learned yet
Its not about what you can take
But what we can give--
Not being selfish
Just being in the moment with our husband's and wives
Is something we shouldn't miss.
That hug and kiss
That tomorrow may never come
Ill cherish it now
Before to late
I may be growing
But **** not dumb.

Tyrant I was at birth
With his guitar
Hand on string
Sending a curse.

Her maquillage so delightful
Her waves of thought insightful
Her bloomage eyes rightful
Her all to me, the serene hope.