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Puff the magic dragon
Lives by the sea
We know him from our childhoods
Living down in Hona Lee

Little Jackie Paper
He loved that dragon puff
But, he's grown up  and he's moved away
He's too old for all that stuff

What happened to the dragon?
What is Puff doing these days?
Few children come to visit him
He's still swimming between the bays

Puff is writing stories
Of his time so long ago
He uses a computer now
For his writing was so slow

Little Jackie Paper
Is a doctor in Duluth
He doesn't think of Puff at all
He won't accept the truth

His imagination
Disappeared as Jackie grew
Puff was not a living thing
As far as Jackie knew

Puff is making money
But, longs for old pursuits
Like sealing wax and other things
And kids in rubber boots

Jackie came to visit
He brought his family to the beach
Puff was there in hiding
And he stayed just out of reach

Jackies son, he saw him
told his dad of dragon Puff
Jackie said, it isn't real
"Of this talk I've had enough"

Puff the magic dragon
heard this and he did cry
He missed his Jackie Paper
He never said good bye

Jackies son kept wanting
To see the dragon by the shore
So, Jackie took him down again
To find the dragon friend once more

Puff, he saw them coming
And he made his way on out
And to his little Jackie Paper
Puff, gave out a shout

He shot fire from his nostrils
He splashed water with his tail
He even showed Jackies young boy
How he could harness wind and sail

Puff the magic dragon
still lives by the sea
One day Jackie will notice him
And his mind will then be free

A child's imagination
Must be nurtured as they grow
Harness it as they grow up
Maybe they'll put on a show

Never, tell your children
to stop playing around
Play along and you will see
Puff is there still to be found

Puff, the magic dragon
Lives by the sea
He still frollicks in the autumn mist
In a land called Hona Lee
Guns,
Long, steel guns,
Pointed from the war ships
In the name of the war god.
Straight, shining, polished guns,
Clambered over with jackies in white blouses,
Glory of tan faces, tousled hair, white teeth,
Laughing lithe jackies in white blouses,
Sitting on the guns singing war songs, war chanties.

Shovels,
Broad, iron shovels,
Scooping out oblong vaults,
Loosening turf and leveling sod.

     I ask you
     To witness--
     The shovel is brother to the gun.
cel May 2013
Looking out
Around
There is a generation
Not the one with angelheaded hipsters
That were laid infamously famous
But truly a generation that is its own

Cold, calculating, as they, we, must
Be now that there is everything
There is everything here but right now
As we are surrounded by the everything that
Makes up our filled lives, we concentrate on
The nothing.
So we, they, them, I all must be cold, calculating
Networking, meeting, greeting, cheering,
Pleading for work in the everything that is
Nothing.

And as I look out, through the window
Into our generation, my generation
There is a warmness
A kindness once
unfamiliar to coldness and calculating
Where despite distance, time, values, reasons
Nothing
everything
Bonds are made

Is it this cold networking, greeting, meeting that
Allows for the kindness that kindles the fire
That keeps our cheeks warm and glowing
A soft pink in the dead of night
As we stand by kegs, cups, tables, cops, cars, bars,
By girls vomiting on their own volition or not
By boys raising hell as their families admonish but
Their cultures praise

We, Them, I, They, Us, can not know
What we, them, I, They Us are doing
Just as others didn’t know what they
Were doing, and meaning and becoming maryters for
On a clear fall day, when there wasn’t a cloud in the sky
Yet turbulence filled the air, the nation and the world.

They, We, I, Us, Them, do not even
Consider their meaning as they ponder
Fake lives on interposed mediums
Or if they are Jackies,
Or Marilyns or
Audreys

Or if laying down somewhere
just as warm as it is cold
As they touch souls with others
Means anything more than nothing
If they can hold on as they try to let go
When an entire world begs them not to

But the teenage desire to rebel is strong
And the pull of the vast of emotions is stronger
And as we seem to be losing
In clusters
The We.
I.
Us.
They. Them
The fire never dims, and the warm pink glow never flickers
Off our cheeks
And the mix of cold calculations and
Pleasant beatitudes
Combine, like a nights plans
In a gin bucket

And the thought of importance, rarely is thought
Of aside from the few
The brave
Maybe a Marine, but mostly
Those who wish to cure things, change other things
Create things, build things, code things
Things Things Things Things.
T-H-I-N-G-S
For a future of nothing and everything
Everything and nothing
t m h Apr 2012
i remember the way you used to laugh
and i doubt that he finds that important
paper between our teeth
we love on LSD and oh,
our love was so simple
ive found mistakes
and fixed them
dont you remember when,
i used to pull your hair
pull it all back
give you my all

friends said it was perfect then
im sorry i ruined this hall.
how about you grab my hand
you'll see
it fits just like a glove
we all stumbled around
it was jackies' birthday
life felt like but a movie,
i want to hold you next to me.

floating down the stairs
just to run right back up
i found a friend and molly
scratches to the crest make me throw up
i swore i loved you then
though now
love is just made up
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
i've lived among the english
for so long,
that, they practically never
saw me coming;
    i'm giggles a'hoy a mile
apart, with a devilish feline stare
of murmur eyes;
mind you, i love the english,
their docile hum hum hmm
antics,
    you could end up speaking
welsh,
funny that, the welsh are
somehow intact in pride,
  the picts / celts?
seems to me, you have to kick 'em
up their *** to retain
their st. andrews!
jackies wanna ***...
huh?
   tell 'em: ******* first,
          then, you get to ****!
now i really feel like
a deutschejungen (german youth)...
it's a football story,
ah, you haven't lived among
them, you wouldn't know
what's funny...
  mischter boond ischt fer-scht
on the loove-loost-lischt:
sche sche! (no, not she she;
             casablanca: sché sché!)
via the orthodox: schnell! schnell!
bewegen es!
god, german sounds so ****
now, given the omnipresence
of english in a globalised woold.

— The End —