What if I had music coming from my tears would the speed they flowed increase my fears

Breaking out of the ritual & routine, what is to become, is yet to be seen

Some only know the ringing while others receive future symphonies into their ears

Is it going out or is it coming in ,receiving is pleasure while formation is pain

Tapping toes,passing time, routine melody's running around my mind melancholy muses hidden for years

A living link brought out in rhyme ,emotions are not a crime ones loss is anothers gain

whether the verse began as terse or left us enthralled,a vibe is delving into our souls

No language as a barrier when the music is the carrier,harmony as a role leaves little to explain

Simple vibrations outward gyrations making their way through our mind,inward bliss becoming one of our goals

Possibly imitating nature ,woodwinds finding their way back to the forest,birds

beckoning with their beaks new ,notes nice language for our brain

Sampling simplicity with a mellow tone,then all encompassing sounds making their rounds ,bringing beauty into our homes

Chants to chorus, raps to rhythms doling out the dirges that eventually encompass our souls. R.C.

Everything I have to say
I say it with a nasel twang
Mixed up with a Southern draw
Cause that's the way that I talk ya'll

Slow at walking in my gait  
To make a friend won't hesitate
A stranger I have never met
By the grace of God, Southern Bred

The food I eat I like it fried
If it ain't grits it's gravy on the side
My elders get a sir or ma'am
I tend to lend a helping hand

I'll listen to your point of view
Then go do what I want to
All apart of who I am
By the grace of God, Southern Bred

Early morning in the fields
Toil and sweat until it yields
Like my dad and his dad too
It's just what we're born to do

Praising God with every breath
Thanking him for all I have
All you see is like I've said
By the grace of God, Southern Bred

the cicada's have begun to emerge
after seventeen long years as a dormant miner

they arise, pushing through seveteen years of dust
and compounded muclch, breaking out into a brave new world

and for seventy two hours, if they are lucky
they seek to mate, to consumate  to extend their species

some become garish decorations on truck windscreens
some become exhibits in a small boys jam jar zoo
some become waylaid and sing their cacophonial opus
on barren concrete patio's
some become Sunday dinners to peckish nestlings

some succeed gloriously, then die happy
some don't...succeed...and die wondering

but apparently seventeen years ago...
a lot succeded...
if the booming base opera being performed
is a gauge of the primeval drive of the cicada

it is summer eve in the burbs
and the living is..... noisy....

Simple symbols start with fingers ,acknowledging that O for O.K.


Standing on flat ground we are still revolving ,spinning ,spinning around



Always coming to a point,a new sign to align ,even when hidden by smoke


Trains of thought, traveling tracks or trails to elsewhere always  with no bounds


Throwing spears,hurling javelins,cursors for the mystery they invoke


Ways to go ,directions to follow ,up down ,singing out with the sounds


Mimes mimicking leave us spellbound,trains crossing ,always outbound not to revoke



Round eyes noting rings encompassing other planets ,far away with all it endows


Going out ,coming in, enter,or exit following as a guide .always a way to simply take a walk


Path for a task, forward or reverse or four way to parallel or perfection  in neat rows


Taken in stride unknowingly we abide ,even ideas follow in line,off center we balk


Beacon as a guide,taken to heart our claim to fame is how we follow the aim

see the arrow with a mind that is not narrow and maybe realize the way it flows

R.C.