We used to have a larger group
Ten thousand head at best
Once we had the largest herd
Of Longhorn in the west

But, times got tough, we sold a few
There was the drought back in '11
I didn't know it got so bad
But, now....we're down to seven

Yep, seven steers and cows and calfs
Out standing in our field
There's not a lot of meat out there
It's really a poor yield

The Longhorns down in Texas
Took our football tickets back
They said that our best looking cow
Was like a blanket on a rack

We've done our best to make amends
We'll be on top once more, I'm sure
But, we have to keep the calfs all fed
Or else ....we're down to four

There's lots of land for them to graze
They'll grow big, I am assured
But, now I find it difficult
To call seven head...a herd

You mumblers and raspers
Of resp'rat'ry rattle:
Open your throats!
Forsake ye! the gaspers,
You quoters of cattle
And prattle of goats!

Or lay ye with horses
Whose tongue ne'er divorces
Those ivory choppers,
Those sibilant stoppers;
You lispers: beware,
Whether stallion or mare,
While you nibble your oats!

Stop your speech-stumbling!
Go suckle an udder
You dizzy, damp calfs!
Restrain your talk-tumbling,
And swallow your stutter
Nor utter foul laughs!

You outspoken nags
Mimic bolt-broken stags
As you bleed allegations
Down paths of my patience
And clatter your antlers;
What heavy-hoofed ranters
For no one's behalf!

12 Ways Of Looking At Constancy

I

I look into the sea of starry eyed witnesses
and I see one constant
face, you.

II

I was born of beating lungs,
like the spine of my favorite novel
which remains constant and pure to my every desire.

III

Falling, falling, falling.
looking up at the constancy that is the sun and the moon and the sky.

IV

4+4= a number
a number= 5,677
my numbers remain constant
and jumbled and forever confused.

V

I don’t understand why or who or where,
the nature of two and two together
the nature of knowing
the nature of my record player radiating Bob Dylan
the nature of remaining constant.

VI

In the spring I wear my rain boots,
with the socks pulled up to my knee.
In the summer I wear my hiking books
with the dirt and the blood and the sweat on my knees.
In the winter I wear fuzzy boots that keep my toes and
calfs and brain constantly warm. In the fall I get confused.
I sit and think and the weather doesn't remain constant.
I can wear whatever boots I want. I don’t like that.


VII

Oh you stupid people!
Why must you eat apple shaped hearts
and slur your words?
Do you not understand the necessity of constancy that
runs through your veins every second of every day?

VIII

I do not know what runs through your veins.
I know, I know of high strung men.
I know the sound of the pitter patter rain drops on my roof.
But of everything I know, I know it will all remain
constant.
Whilst I held my palms together to see the white marks appear,
I saw it.
one of a thousand constant shadows.

IX

Seven black shadows.
That is all it took
to see what really mattered right now.
Especially when the man of men
stood before me and told me to remain constant.

X

She picked up her glass slipper
She woke up from a single kiss
She fell in love with the monstrous looking man
She bit deeply into the apple
they constantly make me wish for more.
As if everything was truly this way.

XI

We fell in love.
You were constantly mine for a short period of time.

XII

It was night time all morning,
I wore my rain boots and I played in the sun
It was sunny all day
constantly sunny.
My willow tree provided the slightest bit of shade.

He had got on the train at New Street,
Found an empty carriage spare,
And settled down with the paper
With not one to disturb him there,
But the train pulled in at Sandwell
And the carriage door slid wide,
And in there walked a pair of heels
With a dimple and hips beside.

She sat on the seat across from him
And laid her bag on the seat,
Kicked her shoes on the floor, so he
Could see her pretty feet,
He tried to look at his paper but
The print got up and walked,
Up from her ankles to her calfs
And he found it hard to talk.

‘How do you do,’ was banal but
That’s all that came to mind,
She briefly looked from her knitting, and
He thought that her eyes were kind,
But never a word would pass those lips
She had the slightest pout,
And her needles clicked to the railway clack
As his mouth was drying out.

He’d bought some fruit in the Bullring
So he thought he’d have some there,
And at different times he offered her
An apple, peach or a pear,
But she shook her head so slightly and
Politely, in disdain,
As if the thought of a stranger’s fruit
From a man in a suit, might stain.

The train chuffed on through Wolverhampton
While he drank a Coke,
He knew that his time was limited
For she’d get off at Stoke,
He offered to put the window down
But she said it blew her hair,
Then he offered his name as Paul, but she
Was not inclined to share.

She crossed her legs and she hitched her skirt
Just slightly above her knees,
While his eyes looked up to the luggage rack,
Was this some sort of tease?
Her knitting needles were clicking away
Was she knitting some sort of sack?
It seemed like she was racing the train
Ahead of its clickety-clack.

The train went racing to Stafford,
In and out, but it passed so fast,
He said, ‘We’re almost at Stoke, that’s where
We’ll both get out, I guess?
There’s quite a nice little café
Down by the station in the square,
I’d like to buy you a coffee, if you want
I’ll shout you there.’

She stopped, and packed up her knitting
Tucked it carefully in her bag,
And said, ‘You must be Australian,
And coming here, so sad.
I’ve never been ‘shouted’ a drink before
But I think you’re rather nice,
I’ll let you know that you’re past first base
On your way to Paradise!’

David Lewis Paget

I tear my bones
To try and not
Hear the drones,
Drill in dot.

But soil so ill
Is where I tread.
Shriek when fill
Buddhist debts.

Behind the pillars
In cenotaphs,
Edge killers
Of my calfs

I bread bogged down.
So they would claim
The forest crown,
Clear my name.

Fear my ingrowns!
Alas, they rot,
Drink the drones,
Drill in dot.

Things That Don't Typically Evoke Poetry #5
4/28/2014

Fat giraffe.
You shouldn't feel like you're a social gaffe.
I mean, sure, you could use some definition on your bloated calfs.
They look like cankles.
But there's nothing wrong with that.
I bet you could still support me if I rode on your back.
Besides, I don't think eating too many leaves can give you a heart attack?
And if it does, then no worries.
At least you ate a lot and got to take the biggest best craps.
Fat giraffe.

Embracing the hope of an old fool
don't make much sense to the modern day.
how can you walk on streets
with soles of your bare feet
looking for ground on a paved way?

Do you not think much of the media?
Don't you know that their thoughts are hallowed ground?
Would you dare tear down all the golden calfs
to make room for God in the hearts of men?

Well keep your heart out of my hole.
keep your thoughts out of my school.
keep your art out of my show.

…you're a dying breed, you're a modern fool.

Well can I dare hold my arms out?
Can I dare speak love and for peace of all?
Or does all of this praise and my child-like faith
offend even the strongest of your ranks?

Would you ban my race from the radio
and take off all of my visage from your door?
Can you not take it when you can feel the grace
dripping from the words and coming through your walls?

I want my heart where you are
I'll put my art in your show
I'll put my thoughts in your school
I'm a dying breed, I'm a modern fool

I can't even begin to know where to start about life.
The depth of beauty and intricacy is this great big incredible- an infinite, infinite, infinite incredible. Sitting alone at home on my computer, trying to strike inspiration from one place or another, I always end up with a coffee in one hand contemplating how beautiful the wine glass to the left of my kneecap looks in the hue of light beaming in from the rainy grey bright- or I gaze outside and contemplate my warm protection from the cold and wet outside, wondering what would truly be better- this warmth? or the thrill of living and forced recognition of every step given by the airy forecast of the clouds wisping from my breath, breaching me from the shoe of my pants and the kneck of my shirt to caress the bare-skin of my spine and the calfs of my bony ankles?
and it's as if I have to choose, but I laugh when I realize they're both great big incredibles in themselves- the fluff of a book in my hand and a hot drink at my side as the floating water decides to come back to Earth- the melancholy of still-in-my-pajamas-and-this-is-one-of-only-two-days-off; the poetry of love and the poetry of loss and the poetry of all I desire to do but hold back- all of this brings me a comforting sadness. Life, life, life, life, life... thank you for loving me.

when that woman who struck your eye
one day pirouettes
around the lettuce to the red ripe tomatoes
several spectators their carts
separate your
purchase  from your desire
a big woman loading potatoes
and carrots her steel cage overflowing with chickens
*** pies and saggy ****\donuts and little debbies chocolate
sugar pills
and then the two year old in her mother's shadow
wary of the tall signs declaring bargain
harbors amid the frenzy
of all the selections offered freely
fears to loose the hem of the plaid skirt
her mother threw on carelessly showing her
pale thighs
thinking of
a dinner she prepared
for a tall guy handsome and young
a lifetime ago (she thinks where
is he now)
as crisp as new
as the asparugus arranged in rows
before she got married
and your desire
a new aisle has gone
to the flour sacks and sugar yeast powdery
wares aisle number three
and your imagination flows from the staples you came to
make the hunger again refrain from
idling your days nights your everything
to her ankles how they are so feminine
and how cat like quick her long red nails
flick the gravy in a packet to the bottom
of her basket she
concentrates on only one task
which pancake mix to buy
and your ego flips and sizzles like that sacrificial first
crepe the dogs fight over
your mind a mess you follow now
unconcious
your cart wobbling
always seem to get the noisiest one
unbalanced one wheel wobbling
back and forth
unsure of itself
as she lingers near
the cake mixes hoping she takes the strawberry one
and cream cheese frosting in a can
pretend you do that you are interested perusing studying
the shake and bake varieties BBQ and Classic ******* the boxes
one  eye on her choicest picks
while all the time preoccupied with
calves  and the back of her knee  her green cape
her eyes her red nails long fingers
the way she shops
like a goddess near her
tenderness a gourmet's dream
the choicest cut of market new
still the people nod and push through
most not heeding you
on a supermarket quest a game to win
puzzle stacks of cereal on special
arranged like pyramids
almost mid-aisle
careful you return to
reality and just miss toppling the Raisin Bran
monument
she has turned the corner
aisle four now
her with the calfs and that hollow  
back of a leg behind her petite knee
a sash
gay green in perfect contrast
draped over her bare shoulders
to her auburn hair
her legs longer
and more agile and god
you have bad thoughts
imagining
wait you say, thinking to your sotted self
this cart is empty it may be obvious my aims
so you gather two bags of instant grits
one box of starch you will throw out
and salt enough to last you to eternity
faster now walk push the loud wobbly out of balance cart
the box of starch bouncing among the torn grits pouring
now a path Hansel and Gretel would be proud of
you turn the corner your heart sank when she had
gotten out of sight
and faster now your urge is known trying to think of an
opening line
what brings you here   hell no
are you a Sagitarius  *** you fumble
again she is in your sight and her neck as she looks up to select
paper towels from the top shelf
is like a bird one of those egrets long svelte white
her chin a perfect cliff
and she has this way
you can only dream of
then
**** she spies you looks sly smiling
think of something to say idiot
fast take that bottom lip out from between your teeth
look confident give her back some of that I don't care
attitude be debonair
which you suddenly ponder is hard to do in here
in aisle four when
her green eyes are burning holes
like lasers in your cheeks your nose
wipe the wetness off your lips
you look into your cart
spying the half empty grits and the trail you left behind
but now is not the time to stutter or worry or defer
it's now or never
and you trip
over your two left feet
and push as you fall down
your cart
takes flight
annoying wheel calling
into her side
as you die
she laughs and says in angel's purr
I saw you there when I came in
I wondered were you ever going to catch up
and suddenly the speaker loud screamed in a dark
omniscient voice clean up on aisle four
on your knees now looking up
the embarrasment a price tag flashing
red  
as any apple cheeks
all that came out your mouth was
so sorry Madam
so you bellied up
a chance you manly took
took her hand and gently kissed it
thinking how by god
have I been blessed
and the story did not end there
you both had grits for dinner
and strawberry cake with cream cheese icing
and you can find your way back to aisle four
to reminisce every time you need to smile
just follow that trail of grits

My feet are wide because I like to walk bare foot :)
My calfs are wide and round because they are strong :)
My thighs are touching because they're in love. They are thick because they can carry me and nearly anything I want them to, including other people :).
My **** is big because I like it soft :)
My hips aren't wide because they carry me well the way they are :)
My stomach isn't flat because it's perfect the way it is and needs alot of love :)
My ***** are everywhere because they take up alot of space :)
My arms aren't trained because they can perform very detailed tasks :)
My back needs alot of energy because it's service is to carry me :)
My hands are scarred because they have enabled me to work hard :)
My nose is wide because it's devoted to it's job. It can pick out, register and remember anyone I know. :)
My hair seems thin because it grows very long, so long in fact that other people sit on it :) :)

i watch
with quiet intensity
as he, my man,
planes smooth as piece of lumber

because of the heat
he is shirt less and wears
shorts and work boots...
he is unaware of my scrutiny

long smooth strokes,
from one end of the board
to the other, create a swaying motion,
through his tanned torso
a flexing in his hips and
thighs and bunch of his
taut calfs....
but it is the rhythm and
curving of the long muscles
of his back that....has  me
entranced, and in need
of either a cold shower
or a fast and ***** session
in the bedroom.....

i choose the latter...and make my need known...

Sometimes
life seems like a series of repairs
A broken binding
a fractured wrist
a cracked heart.
My repair kit is always open.
From spare screws needed on touring days
where the sun beats down
a headache my eyes can't hide from
To ratchet straps teasing my hands into frustration
by their inablity to work right.
To the blind faith I hand away my love with
that usually leaves my lips smarting and my heart fractured
just a little bit more.
Repairs **** sometimes.
They **** even more then when things completely shatter.
When things break
there is peace in knowing you cannot do anything to fix it.
Broken bits fall to memory
new things, ideas, materials are assembled
and you are given a fresh start.
In contrast a recurring problem, a repair
is draining on the mind and soul, a constant ache on ones psyche.
A blackhole for my lightheartedness
A wormhole my happiness falls into.
Repairs **** sometimes.
And as I sit here
a ***** driver in one hand, a needle in the other and a airbag of frustration
expanding in my chest
I ponder the worth my projects of "improvement" hold.
How many times do I attempt to fix something that has already failed
countless times before?
When the straps slip no matter how many times I tighten them?
When my board bites my calfs no matter the stiched support I give it?
When my pulse trips despite the words spoken to end it..
Repairs **** sometimes.
And if I ever come across something I cannot fix
I will break it.
Just so I will never have to look at the problem again.

When a loved one leaves this habitat,
It is the time to really be sad
Because it is the truth,
That he left his corpse, that he left this world
So, he left all of us alone, in this ill ground.

He was the one most closest to me,
One to be called as a perfect flower
He was a fragile flower opening to the warmth of spring
But now born asleep.

No, he has not left us till now
He is still beneath me, still with eyes set on me,
He is still running with the breeze with bloom
Still chattering with birds, still roaring with clouds,
Still playing with cubs and calfs,
He is still present everywhere around me,
From rivers to mountains.

He will always with me as a part of this nature,
As a part of my life.

i want to dig out optimism
from the brown marrow
constructing these bones.

strip the faith and belief
from light and dark flesh.

maybe then,
the dirt my feet sink into
wouldn't stretch deeper
around ankles and calfs

until i'm submerged
from the waist up,
neck up.

body buried
thanks to naive hope.

Soft warm waves rocking slowly against my calfs.
Soothing my pale and cracked lips, sweet and cool.
And where were you when I offered off sips
Of this magical liquid-
Where were you?
Were you sleeping in your bed
or
Were you resting in her head?
Does it matter?
I suppose not.

Harsh, icy waves stabbing my thighs. Neck. Head.
Choking my lungs, salting my lips, pulling me lower and lower still.
And where were you?
No chance to pull you down with me,
But you do what you gotta do-
Lips blue, eyes red.

You did, you left me for dead.
Where were you?

can walk can
be elegant
***
can be truth
as the maker
meant it
ankles calfs
in hose
like nooses
around my neck
strong
forbidding
so gorgeous
I can't bear to touch
walking in the end
to meet me

A broken cup
an unfulfilled dream
Lunar butterflies in a ladies eyes
Tulips beauty undefined
an oiseau taking to wing

Golden Calfs tinkling of dew drops
A way to live
a way to lie
The rain falls low
and the wind rides high

I stand in the mirror wearing nothing but light blue boxer briefs
I step closer to look at my face
    my hair is brown on the sides with blond highlights mixed in a quiff
    it appears natural but I in fact dyed it with peroxide
    the skin under my eyes sags with a faint purple tint
    my eyes sit light brown, almost olive, but not quite
    my cheekbones are noticeable and my jawline is fairly defined
    but my skin is sprinkled with my teenage-pizza acne
    I guess it just adds to that boyish look or whatever
I step back to look at my sun stained chest
   my birthmark lies to the left about an inch from my belly button
   the birthmark looks like a mask and
   it is only about the size of my fingernail
   my chest sits rather fit with a faint outline of abs from intermittently  
    working out in the gym.
      two defined
   lines that disappear into the tight waistband of my Calvin's
I slide off those and now stand ****-naked
    my eyes follow the lines as they fade away into a
    a trimmed area of short hairs
    with a centerpiece only a few have seen  
    on my thigh sit a chaotic line of red streaks where my anger flows
    but as I turn my body to show the mirror my side I find the red
    streaks fading to brown. a sign of change
I turn all the way around to see my backside
    it's quite a bit fairer than the rest of my skin. not flat like most guys
    but not quite round like many girls. it kinda jiggles a bit unless I flex
    it, but I find doing so quite strange
I feel my calfs
     they have gained some mass and no longer resemble twigs
     this is probably due to those early morning five-mile runs
     my legs grew longer too but I don't believe by much
I put my underwear on and turn off the lights

I stand in the mirror wearing nothing but light blue boxer briefs
I step closer to look at my face
    my hair is brown on the sides with blond highlights mixed in a quiff
    it appears natural but I in fact dyed it with peroxide
    the skin under my eyes sags with a faint purple tint
    my eyes sit light brown, almost olive, but not quite
    my cheekbones are noticeable and my jawline is fairly defined
    but my skin is sprinkled with my teenage-pizza acne
    I guess it just adds to that boyish look or whatever
I step back to look at my sun stained chest
   my birthmark lies to the left about an inch from my belly button
   the birthmark looks like a mask and
   it is only about the size of my fingernail
   my chest sits rather fit with a faint outline of abs from intermittently  
    working out in the gym.
      two defined
   lines that disappear into the tight waistband of my Calvin's
I slide off those and now stand naked but not ashamed
    my eyes follow the lines as they fade away into a
    clean cut lawn of hair with a centerpiece only a few have seen  
    on my thigh sit a chaotic line of red streaks where my anger flows
    but as I turn my body to show the mirror my side I find the red
    streaks fading to brown. a sign of change
I turn all the way around to see my backside
    it's quite a bit fairer than the rest of my skin. not flat like most guys
    but not quite round like many girls. it kinda jiggles a bit unless I flex
    it, but I find doing so quite strange
I feel my calfs
     they have gained some mass and no longer resemble twigs
     this is probably due to those early morning five-mile runs
     my legs grew longer too but I don't believe by much
I put my underwear on and turn off the lights