"harold" poems
and there…harold dreamt,
he dreamed of a boat,
one with a brown bottom,
and a rusty green rutter,
and it spun
and it spun,
the siem reap river,
of sunkissed toffee color,
he sailed on and on,
and stared at his brother,
he looked up above from the boat,
straight up at the hot steamy sun,
and his large white eyes,
stared up at a bird,
it was white and small,
with slender yellow legs,
that held a grace,
unlike any other
the crane flew in one circle above his head,
harold watched as it plummeted to the brown water below,
and at the last moment of its decent,
it shot up and across his horizon,
until it vanished
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC
I must steal Harold’s purple crayon
And build myself a brand-new town
No king or paper bag princess
It will be me who wears the crown.
I shall draw myself a forest
And begin the stories anew
Word of the Fair Queen’s fame will spread
And chaos will ensue.
In order to reach my kingdom
You must first prove your worth
I cannot be reached by sea or sky
You must travel over the earth.
Through the forest is your only hope
To gain such fortune and fame
Marry the Queen and rule the kingdom
If you can survive the game.
You must follow Little Red Riding Hood
As far and as fast as you can
Steer clear of Jack and his beanstalk
Do not trust the Ginger Bread Man.
Snow White’s cabin is to the north
Goldilocks lives to the west
Hansel and Gretel will offer you food
Beware, this is a test.
The Three Little Pigs are plagued
By the Big Bad Wolf of lore
But even he is nothing compared
To the curse Sleeping Beauty bore
**** n Boots and Robin Hood
Will save you just one time
Dare to steal the Goose’s Golden eggs
And you will be punished for your crime.
If you manage to defy the odds
And make it through alive
I shall take your hand and under our rule
The kingdom will grow and thrive.
You must understand it isn’t personal, darling
When I slip the poison into your canteen
I miss my game, and nobody can be
More powerful than the crooked fair Queen.
Aug 30, 2022
Aug 30, 2022 at 10:57 AM UTC
(athena)
the sweaty, jacked-up summer is approaching quick
fired from the mouth of april
like a bullet from a handgun
(aphrodite)
we are fast, beautiful
***** like gasoline on someone’s palm
***** like fences that hold gardens of shredded tires
***** like blood dried on the sidewalk in the shape of a
tightened fist
(athena)
***** sneakers and ***** hair
(aphrodite)
with shampoo that never got washed all the way out
(athena)
***** because of how we love
(aphrodite)
sharp-beautiful-longing!
(athena)
with our hands on other girls’ knees and thighs
like birds out of their cage
or the statue of liberty punching her light
into a sky that holds as much desire
as it holds stars
(aphrodite)
nameless-bursting-burning!
(athena)
rough and sweet and fresh from hell
crawling to emancipation
just wanting to love
just wanting to live
(aphrodite)
just wanting to move her hair out of her face
with our thumbs
(athena)
asking to be allowed to want
what we are not supposed to have
(aphrodite)
quivering
(athena)
hot and sweaty like little kids under the covers
with a flashlight reading
harold and the purple crayon
(aphrodite)
but there is no flashlight this time
(athena)
and no picture book
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 12:40 AM UTC
the glockenspiel of our daily raid of sewers in heaven
and our Jovian dwarves appalling the rapturous capacity of forever and ever.
the kooky jingle of our serpents, darning socks for the antichrist
and our elaborate rats. the simple maze of our condition
in the hell were at. the creaking gate to a twilight
and a lost chapter
marooned on an
island
of undead Librarians.
starving for brains
tardy with the
Harold
Robins
knife in red breast.
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 4:37 PM UTC
even teddy said i got the sickest tricks brah.
like my abilities source from some kinda legendary liquid
/ praise the lord /
monster energy should sponsor me.
a kickflip over the king’s *** hole
& a halfcab for the looky-loos.
i feel so tall when i climb that heap of asphalt trimmings
& see clear from the water tower to the bluffs.
gimme a good day, any day at the bluffs,
bottlerockets & girly birds.
her body brings a swarm of worms.
decomp,
said the f.b.i. men one by one with tweezers.
not quite the homecoming queen, still
wrapped in plastic.
look up.
see that great mess of wires, nest of powerlines and owl bones?
it crackles and croons its electro-spectral purr
all night and day.
new neck tat &
cody spends his paycheck on a crossbow.
we target practice on a bull skull.
wet cigarettes and turpentine-soaked socks for a good huff
in the dry of the roofline as it dumps.
there’s that little boy in a ghost mask again, tap-dancing
in puddles below the streetlamp,
& oversized shoes.
his grandmoms always be watchin’ from the window.
[whispers] she’s teaching him magic.
lucky unit 19: where our young dead damsel once dolled
herself up, you see
men and headlights would roll thru thrice nightly,
maybe more.
& i remember her punch red lips &
big whicker hat; while she weeded and watered her garden of begonias.
the sheriff’s deputy, hart? hicks? hogan? well he loved her a bunch.
stole her clothes in the middle of the night,
& sat beside the river sobbing into clumped fists
of bra and blouse.
i bought ******* from that guy once or twice.
harold? howard?
guess who showed his face today?
josiah, from unit 08.
since the incident with molly’s beagle, he’s been rarely seen.
took a bee line straight for the mailbox.
a package. a prize. a decoder ring/secret map sweepstakes
to be seen and deciphered.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 1:44 AM UTC
I swallowed her and now
She lives inside me or I live
Through her, we are alive.
I’m her friend, her teenage
And fantasies, a sixty year old-
Hair and books she ever read
Long distance phone calls
And delight matched our
Love for Sujata, Mr And Mrs Iyer
And I sat on her couch on my
Despised vacations sketching
Letters to Milena, Quabbani
And we spoke of her brothers,
Generations and cafes I went.
I’m Delhi, Bangalore and
Endless conversations-
She never met and she’s my
Lost Malayalam, postcards and
A world so familiar, a childhood.
Hold your breath and relax
I’m going to stay and listen
Till you are out of stories and
I repeat, remind and you smile.
I’ll get you melodies and 60s
Harold Robbins and Nutan,
Your weirdness and aloofness.
You don’t grow old with me
I’ll live, I promise as your fonts
Visit places you walked and
Write to you all, deep- blue
Letters, deep- blue-letters.
You are my first high-heels
Strawberry fields and music system
I’ll recite you a love story
Picture him as our classic heroes
And giggle as girls sixteen and
Seventeen. You swallowed me
And I live through you, we’re alive.
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 12:25 PM UTC
Charlie Chaplin, set the pace
Buster Keaton, old stone face
Groucho and the brothers Marx
Margaret Dumont for some sparks
Harold Lloyd, The Brothers Ritz
Did I mention Zazu Pitts?
Stan and Ollie, Keystone Cops
Chases that just wouldn't stop
The Stooges, Larry, Curly, Moe
and then theres Shemp and Curly Joe
Bing and Bob, and Dean and Jerry
Two could sing, while two made merry
Bud and Lou and who's on first?
Harry Langdon and Charlie Chase
I think who is on first base
Mabel Normand and Mack Swain
Always tied before the train
Pie fights, slapstick in black and white
This was when we laughed all night
Mack Sennet, Roach, and Our Gang
Spanky and Alfalfa sang
Words were twisted, spun and turned
People splashed and others burned
Remember back to days of yore
To when they had you on the floor
Rembember Baby Rose Marie
She started at the age of three
Many more could make the list
For many I know that I missed
Make 'em laugh and take a pie
Get sprayed with seltzer in the eye
Go and watch their films again
So comedy will always reign
Thank you to the funny folk
Who taught us how to take a joke....
Mar 5, 2013
Mar 5, 2013 at 11:03 PM UTC
More than just mounds of muscle galore
A curiosity where one must experience in explore
A body composition from before to present
The use of weights in repetitions
These are the forces in bodybuilding’s condition
Bodybuilding is about construct
It is all about proportion if one decides to compete
You must be committed and not take shortcuts known as cheat
Yet one’s physique must be complete from the shoulders to the feet
Lifting heavy weights is like Hercules in a feat
Intensity will play being the determination all the way
However, one must understand how much intensity their body can take
Yet you must have good health conditions in exercise before attempting any heavy training you decide to make
Bodybuilding means having a goal and what you want to achieve
Never listen to anyone about enhancing drugs, as it is a deception for you to be deceived
Bodybuilding is about bringing and contouring all the muscles together
Being a true destined Bodybuilder like no other
The mystique will be one’s desired physique
I have met Bodybuilding champs in their day such as Arnold Schwarzenegger, Serge Nubret, Harold Poole, Leon Brown, Flex Wheeler, Kevin Levrone, Mike Ashley and many others
They had assurance and confidential in being determined to win
Mr. Schwarzenegger became the top ranking Mr. Olympia
Mr. Olympia being the highest honor throughout Bodybuilding
Those Bodybuilding champions mentioned had their plan from their beginning from when
The new breed of Bodybuilders are following in their footsteps and making their mark
Bodybuilders in general are thinking from their own fitness from then
They put determination in making it a can
Bodybuilding is truly about how your body can respond to certain exercises and how it can be shaped
The training principles come together in how they are relate
So you now know how Bodybuilding functions
A masterpiece constructed from sculptor with a posing stand
The array of applause under the spotlight
A determination in the Bodybuilder become the step out pose
The thinking of revelation I suppose
But Bodybuilding is about the flex and not become perplexed.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 6:02 PM UTC
Good old Gregory Goose was Gladder than any Gander could be and not Just because Nelson the Ninja Snail had said he was "JUST-DUCKY" ! This was a Very Special morning for Gregory Goose, in Fact it was yesterdays Super Special situation that made His Delight so DELICIOUS. The comment by Nelson the Ninja Snail, had simply added to His Glory! Gregory's Special Situation Had been the Unexpected Announcement that HE was to be Named "TEAM-CAPTAIN" for the Annual "Hog Wallow and Here's Mud in Your eye" CONTEST ! ! "Oh the delight" He thought, "I am to be Captain, after waiting all these years". "ME" he exclaimed ! "Captain of the South Forty Blocks"...... "W O W ' ! ! At the most convenient time of the day, Harold Hippo, Candy Cow, Curtis Chipmunk, Marvin Monkey, Beatrice Bovine and Larry Lynx decided to make a Personal call on Good Old *GREGORY GOOSE . Keep in mind Now, That Harold, Candy, Curtis, Marvin, Beatrice and Larry we're the *INSIDE, of the "INNER-CIRCLE". JUST ASK THEM !! They were on the INSIDE ! ! Well, when Gregory Goose heard the Knock at the door, He opened it with a Great Big Grin, That ONLY Gregory could Give! Before Him stood the "J U D G E S " of All Contests and Efforts. *Gregory was Beside Himself ! ! Instead of Seeing a group of Smiles and Handshakes, He saw Staring Eyes, Necks that had been stiffened AND *Gnashing of Teeth. Beatrice Bovine was the First to Speak, "Gregory, it has been brought to our attention that you had a conversation with Nelson the Ninja Snail,, and YOU didn't Rebuke his statement of being called "JUST-DUCKY". "As a result of this, *WE decided YOU "Cannot Be" CAPTAIN of the Hog Wallow and Mud in Your Eye Contest, PERIOD ! ! Gregory Simply smiled, Looked Straight into their Eyes, Quietly said "BYE", Softly Closed the door.... Turned Grinning, Knelt to his Knees, PRAYING, Thanking GOD, for the FACT,, That he, Gregory, He was Made just a *LITTLE BIT PECULIAR ! !
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 3:19 AM UTC
Derk! The Harold angels sing.
The muffin is my savior. Jesus lies.
Pacific Islands. The screaming of fires.
Rulers. Words. Meters. Feet.
The magnetic field is the only field.
If I could trust baseball, I would.
But cereals, Vonnegut, lies.
-ectomy. The ubiquitous suffix.
Suffixes make the world hell.
-ism, -itis, -like, -tude, cease
your
silly
constructions!
Constructions
are
power
I will smash
bye bye now
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 6:51 PM UTC
Thinking about the end of the World
should not keep you sleepless at night.
If predicted correctly, you’ll never get credit-
So what does it pay to be right?
To wrongly predict the end of the World
will make you the **** of derision.
As Harold Camping found out
To his shock and dismay
when reality triumphed his vision.
We know not the day or the hour my friends
when Gabriel’s trumpet might blast.
With kindness and patience so live this life
You will not be ashamed of your past.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 8:24 AM UTC
She was a friend of Amber Clark
You know, you've met her before
She's the girl who listens secretly
To Bach behind the door
The Closet Classic ******
Who wears shirts of the Ramones
But listens to Rachmaninov
whenever she's alone
Jennifer McSweeney
known by all upon the street
She had kind words for everyone
She liked everyone she'd meet
She ate meals at Giannis
Knew the Pawnbroker, Old Cy
She listened to the bluesman
Whenever she came by
Like all the folks upon the street
Jennifer was dark
Not gothic, but you could say grey
She was set to make her mark
She was going to be famous
Her face upon the Silver Screen
She was going to be a movie star
Like The Truck Stop Beauty Queen
Jennifer loved movies
Not the ones that can be found
At the local dvd store
She liked the movies without sound
Her little quirk was that she
Liked the movies from the start
They told tales in black and white
These were strong in Jenni's heart
Buster Keaton, Harold Lloyd
Fatty Arbuckle, and more
Zasu Pitts, Charlie Chase
They struck her to her core
L and H, The Keystone Kops
She loved to see them grapplin'
But none of these compared to her
deep love for Charlie Chaplin
The Cineplex would show a film
They would host a special week
When silent movies were the shows
When nobody did speak
Jennifer would take the time
To watch each film they showed
She was so happy when the week came round
She positively glowed
The kids she knew, all thought her odd
Because of what she liked
But, when the silent week was here
Jennifer was psyched
One year she went to the next town
To get a small tattoo
It was all done up in black and grey
It was what she had to do
Like other girls who have been inked
It was in the same place
But, it was little, very non descript
Of her favorite actors face
She told few friends about it
And though she never did get violent
If you laughed at her tattoo
Like Chaplin, she'd be silent
She kept it to herself most times
Her little bit of ink
As she aged she'd show it more
For the cost of just one drink
She would take them to her bedroom
And by the light of her small lamp
She would show her tattoo proudly
Chaplin....her little ***** stamp
It's the thing that she is known for
She's the girls with Charlie's face
Where others all have Chinese Words
She has Chaplin in this place
She is known for loving movies
In black and white, and though it's camp
She gives a whole new meaning to
Having a ***** stamp.
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 12:00 AM UTC
We lined the ridge of Senlac hill
The shield wall stood five men deep
In the autumn chill
The came at us on horse and foot
But we were the men of the Sussex weald
Men who would not yealed
Our shields now hacked and broken
Bodies bloodied bruised and sore
But we the housecarles of the English King
Would stand and fight the war
Prince William came with his aray the English crown to take
But we the men of Sussex
Would many French bones break
Alas our shield wall has broken
Kentish men on the right have charged
They sought to cut the Norman line
And so the men of Kent did die
The French now archers did deploy
With bitter arows fired high
Harold, our king, our leige Lord
Took an arrow in his eye
We gathered round his body
We men of the Sussex Weald
Our king was dead, the battle lost
But Sussex men don't yeald
The shield wall now in disaray
Large gaps now opened up
Brave men now die before the spear
From the broadswords vicious cut
And so we died on Senlac ridge
But there were no wounds in our backs
We died for England's glory
Cut down by spear and axe
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 6:55 PM UTC
**** the Religious Right
**** Those That Condemn Others*
**** The Republicans
**** The Democrats
**** The Government Having Too Much Say In Our Lives*
**** Paying Taxes
**** The Gas Company
**** The Water Company
**** The Electric Company
**** Cars
**** Car Payments
**** Being Late On Payments
**** Bills All Together
**** Not Getting Benefits For Being Early On Payments
**** My Need To Capitalize Every Word
**** PETA
**** People That Mistreat Animals
**** Vegetarians
**** Carnivores
**** Omnivores, What You Can't Choose A Side?!?!?
**** Going To College Just To Work At McDonalds
**** White Collar Getting Paid More Than Blue Collar
**** Having A Collar
**** The People That Reproduce Too **** Much
**** Those That Think There's No Future In Children
**** Commercialism*
**** Never Running Out Of Things To ****
**** People That Say They Have No Friends But They're Always Too Busy To Do Anything Cuz They're Already Hanging Out With Someone Else
**** Anyone Who Likes This Poem
**** Anyone Who Doesn’t Like This Poem
**** 6,000 Channels On TV And Nothing Is Ever On
**** The Summer Sun
**** Global Warming*
**** Flat Pop
**** Hot Coffee That Gets Cold
**** Pets Dying
**** Death
**** Wasting Life*
**** People That Talk To Much
**** People That Cuss
**** People That Have A Problem With Cussing
**** Fox News
**** Anyone That Lives Their Life Strictly By A Book (especially you Harold And The Purple Crayon people out there)
**** Laugh Tracks Telling Me When To Laugh
**** Everything That You Stand For
**** Everything That You Are
**** Everything That You're Not
**** Finishing This Poem, I'm Gonna Go Eat
**** Anything That I Forgot To **** In This POEM
Jun 11, 2011
Jun 11, 2011 at 9:01 PM UTC
flying laser concept
shooting down airplane
flashlights for cops
getting dissacsciative
instantly distroying
dazers on your car
weird sound things
warning warning
hit the brakes
it's not a deer
good ****
have you ever seen him?
Star wars kid?
The good 'ol days.
Before there was any kind of like...
I bet he's huge.
There he is.
**** can happen.
Expandable pole.
Destructive laser.
All talk, no walk.
Death rays.
Forget my blowtorch.
Let there be fire.
Let it rain.
Targeting him.
That's stupid.
**** this spider.
Did he?
Huge ******* spider.
Brightest spotlight ever.
Can't escape it.
Pretty good shot.
It's gonna die.
Choke it out.
Go to the end.
Sad.
**** a dog.
Hot in here.
People like motherhood.
Is that a ferret?
Don't drip on me.
Pennies on the floor.
Are you jealous?
I had a bad case.
Gotta get rockin'.
Something we both like.
Look at Harold.
I might be goin' down.
I've been goin' down.
People do the work.
Enable it.
Consume battery.
Bring it to a nine.
Should be easy.
Catchy and fitted.
Going viral.
Pyramid scheme.
I'm on the top.
The fastest.
The most accurate.
A community project.
It's a contest.
Easter eggs.
Enable fun times.
Enable opportunities.
Making it happen.
Shocking update.
It's getting there.
Few more sips.
Wooowww Wowww Wow.
Got 'em.
Sad day.
Pack up everything.
Say hi.
Bring her chocolate.
They like attention.
That **** ferret.
Sorry I got somber.
We got to be heroes.
Might be a good idea.
Nice seeing you.
Goodbye.
Au revoise.
Hard to say goodbye.
Concept of sleep.
Three all nighters.
One more thing.
Sweet dreams.
Bye.
Thanks.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
Harolds rootbeer was warm but he was out of ice.
Josh said they never had any to begin with.
Harold searched the freezer desperately.
"I'm so ******* thirsty!"
Josh took out some popsicles and dropped them in Harold's glass.
"Problem solved!"
Jul 10, 2010
Jul 10, 2010 at 1:34 PM UTC
*He tapped me on the shoulder
Before he had to go
Said I'll be your Guardian Angel
I just wanted you to know
He said he knows no one who went
That came back and then complained
So he guessed the place was pretty nice
And was sure he'd want to stay
He knew he'd see my grandma
Who had went three years before
She'd been waiting for him patiently
To walk him through God's door
Then he asked us not to worry
Said he knows what is in store
He was pleased with the life he lived
And knew God would show him more
Spent his last three weeks with family
Where he said his sweet goodbyes
My final memory of this man
Was the brave ending to his life
He would give to me this passion
But to the world he gave much more
The life he lived was one of love
He was the gift I most adored*
In Memory
Sgt. Harold Addison Yates
My Grandfather
Carl Joseph Roberts
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 5:12 AM UTC
Old Harold lived on the second floor
In a darkened room with an old locked door.
My cousins and I used to tease him there,
And he’d chase us out, give us a scare.
I didn’t know exactly who he was,
“He’s a mean old man,” said my favorite cos’.
“Grandma let him live here after Grandpa died.
She doesn’t even like him and we don’t know why.”
When he was out we would take a peek.
Around the ocher walls and his bed we’d sneak.
There was nothing but an iron bunk
And a glass-front chest filled with lots of junk.
One day Old Harold must have complained
About our pestering…we really were pains!
But no parent’s lecture could keep us away.
And Grandma’s yelling at him not to stay.
Old Uncle Harold disappeared for years.
We would make up stories for littler ears.
But one day my father had news of him.
He lived with “a harlot” and his checks she’d skim.
I was old enough to know what it meant
And asked Dad why uncle Harold seemed bent.
“He was gassed in the War in a field at Verdun.”
Dad told me in a tone that left me stunned;
“And was then sent around to pick up the dead.
With the gas and the horror, his mind just went.”
Now I recalled all the times we had teased
And agonized him when we should have pleased.
But now it was too late to apologize,
He was so lost, he wouldn’t recognize
His grown tormentors, when he hardly
Knew my father, the kindly mentor,
Who visited him every week,
Who paid for anything to make him last,
And reminded him of better times past;
Telling him of the time he caught a butterfly
And brought it to show the girls and guys.
How he wanted to let it fly away,
But when the boys had killed it anyway.
He cried and was called a coward then,
And as my father spoke and wept again.
Old Uncle Harold died alone
In a sterile, cold-floored nursing home.
None but Dad came to grieve
And I, only an hour away, shunned
the feeling and just felt numb,
Until Dad called and told me the story
Of Harold’s death and only then
Could I say, “I’m sorry!” to his ghost.
I should have said it long ago; the one who
Maddened him least repented the most.
If I could say “Sorry” for the times we made him shout.
I realised he’d just have yelled, “Get the hell out!”
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 11:00 AM UTC
Like the way a speaker prepares his toast. Each yearning sensibility, their bold autumnal stamen cast lines into the horizon of our lives. That when we were younger we even thought, that aeroplanes would land just where we stood in front of our homes in our neighborhood. And if unfurled, as our oil riggers kept us off the benches so we must only had whispers of our doings. Then Harold Sev and Linda Wevven brought to us our cars, our toys, our wives...cooking and cleaning and children. This was not the narrow passage of peak four.
Because of this we have learned many wonderfully-suited professions of our tertiary friends: radio captain, Saharan Field Marshall, dairy operator at a dromedary farm.
Why in this short-timed, often-rainy parody of existence due countries set embargos upon one another so that two men who cannot afford even the drink they carry, so long as they handle the glass properly, and we concern ourselves with things as trivial as this.
You stay everyone! This America is stupendous.
Or then drink from my hands and say, "America Finding the Curious Even More Curiouser.'" Where with two plates two bowls, two forks, two spoons, two glasses, and thrice the knives of a charcuterie.
So with your bold hand baskets, and Model-Ts, go show us how you fffffffffffffffffffff
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 4:42 AM UTC
Fast-walking past Timpsons',
I hear Attic Dithyrambs
In eternal rhythmic voyage
The Adjectives of Ancients
Crowd my senses, deliciously:
Artless and cretinly, everyone turns away
Quite leisurely into the bus station,
And I alone walk among these
Uninquiring minds
I will shell out for an unruled real faux leather notebook
Uncle Harold, you don't know what Poetry means;
otherwise, you might have got me a quaint old anthology
dense and esoteric, with Spender and Ezra,
for my twenty-third
And not the Readers' Digest Word Power Dictionary you sent off for with coupons:
sure, I know what quixotic means
and how to spell weird, and conceited,
but name two ways they apply to me? How will I confront
the unremitting suffering of my existence
with a list of Celebrity Anagrams?
True? or False? Poetry is Dead,
and with it, the bespirited core of commonman:
I will submit my first volume as a .pdf
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 1:09 PM UTC
4am sunday morning they broke into song
unable to contain their smiles
they cast aside the spent wine
and took their ribald song to the streets
with a fanfare of sound and light
like jesters of old
they painted smiles on the frowning old men
and placed rainbows over the bridges between
the carpets of the mighty and the halls of fable
by 5am they had made it all
the way in to the center of town
where a roadblock of uniforms thought to make sense
out of tealeaves and mint cookies
as the jesters just dance around their confusions
between their orders and
what the truth of the heart tells em is the song
and then we see the ugly show a pretty eye to the cause
as it marches in through the double dawn
one dawn for the sun
the other for the hearts of the lonely
and a secret one for me and her
in our lounge chairs by the top of the spike hill
kissing our sweet hearts to eachother
by 10am all but the most die-hard had fallen to dreaming sweetly
neath the juniper trees
while thouse few who clung to awakened hearts
sang softly and sweetly
of summer nights and fresh loves
unearthed from the ashes of the desperate pasts
all things made anew from all the things made old
by sunday evening
we had all danced all the dances
and kissed all the kisses till even the heat of passion couldn't fade
held eachothers hands
and smiled sweetly like memory's saying fare thee well till morrow
i would be crazy if it weren't for your hand in mine
here in the tropical sundown
sunday night so deep
and the only one left dancing is old harold
he's doing the charleston with the moon's echo on the waves of the sea
don't think he's ever been so happy
and as i drift off to sleep
with her in my arms
i know that i don't need to explain to anyone
that we are all jesters looking for a
song to dance to at 4am in the tropics
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 6:40 AM UTC