doopth..doopth..doopth..
the intonation of a gavel
upon a felted block

order, orrrder,

i now call to order this
washday gathering
of the
metaphysical
analytical
socks
drawer # 1793

all rise and come to toetip
for the grand entry of
the great thrice darned heel

kazoos squeak  the intro
to the ode to joy
an old grey golf sock is
ushered in to sit slouched
on the top of the washer/dryer.
he observes the following proceedings.

now to business

the agenda for the day

1. groove and the toe socks
table their report on the
systematic eradication of toejam.

2.the tradditionalists continue
the open discussion on,
wool versus synthetic,
for winterwear.

3.we have a vote scheduled
on the referedum matter:
do we allow sandals and thongs
guest status in this drawer.

4.the metaphysicists update
us on the age old conundrum;
"where do the odd socks go?"
at present they are devling
into the posibilities of
superposition of states,
as presented by
the schrodinger's cat theory.

5. the analytical group are meanwhile, surveying the remaining
evenless socks;
to obtain data on the pairless state of being

6. and finally, we welcome a deposition from the natralists;
with regard to use of bamboo
and hemp to allow for the wicking
of footwater, for a longer lasting
freshness of the base arch construction.

please feel free to attend one or
more of these discussions, contributions and /or questions
will be taken after the presentations.

i am also asked to inform you, that
the metatarsals group has a table of goods for sale, at the leftside of the wash basket.
items include:
new elastics and darning equipment.
books on special this meet are;
the ever popular
"how not to become a sock puppet"
and the tragic
"my life as a duster"
then there is the new offering of
"sox and jox:
the art of underwear
diplomacy."
and one last item of note:
a reminder that membership fees,
(of one clean toe clipping) are due
before next months gathering
go now,
enjoy the gathering.

and may the foot be with you

Im held to the ground by my imperfections. Dodging bullets thrown by those in need of correction. Understanding that life is filled with much uncertainty, acting only on the knowledge that I am most certainly free. Held to my actions and words by the thought of perfection, being only that which determins selections. Into a realm by which the humble are seeking, gained only by those whose words are worth speaking. Determined by a world whose ear seem cut off and closed, and unwilling to listen to that which they are opposed. But truth can be heard by the hearts of the few, whose minds are filled with possibilities anew. Whos lives are practice in the faith of whats real, but whos minds are not blinded to what true beauty can reveal. Because truth doesnt come through trial and error, truth comes from understanding that we are all rare. Held together by a contract of emotions and deeds, that defines us as a society with real human needs. To be loved and accepted, held and adored. To act on these wishes and hope to find reward. Because when the reaper comes to collect on our debt, we are all going to wish to wake in a cold sweat. To find more presious time, in our running hour glass. To hold on to each grain and not let it pass. Without cherishing the moment and giving it our heart. Without telling those we love, they are a work of art. Painted by the Picaso of the ground that we walk. Whos motives no one will ever unlock. But disagree on forever, untill the end of time we will. And break our human contract with the blood that we spill. Of our bothers and sisters who feel just the same, as the men and women who share our last name. So read me your books and give me your shame. For logic is my shepard for this world i look to tame. For i hold in my heart a truth unknown. One not found in a book or scripture alone. Or known by those who try to speak fear, through a book whose hypocricy is well too clear. One only found when you see a mans true soul, and realize 'that is all i need to know.' To stare at the only perfection this world will ever know, and hold him in the same regards as winters first snow. Or summers true spirit, or falls pure brilliance. Or when the sea meets a rocks true resiliance. Imperfection may hold me firm to the ground, but my spirits true beauty holds no bounds. And when the world can see one another through each others eyes, then humanities posibilities will break all its ties. Will be stripped of its shackles and free of its chains. Will be free of its stife and know no pain. And we as a beautify creation of perfection itself, will finally find peace in oneself.

Why does good stuff happen to bad people
and bad stuff to good people?
that i can not say.
I dont have a way
It's a mystery to some

Every day you see sad faces
It's because of those horrible
people and places.
The posibilities of sadness is endless.

I live for hope
I wish someone could help and bring soap to clean all the lies.
It's like an endless stream of flies.

I cant, I wont
says the lazy ******* of today
just wait i will see what you say one day

The song in my poem
is pure gold
My poem
overflows with cuddly music
that's a comfort when I'm forsaken
and is re-assuring when days are bad
The song in my poem is for all seasons
devastating when I'm in ruins
fortifying when I march to my demise
and a prompt for the compulsive actions
of the fools of history
The song in my poem
can lead you to perdition and oblivion
or it can lead you to ecstacy and contrived joy
or the sweet freedom of being gone forever
I am alive to all the posibilities on life's menu
and I'm the gourmet that chefs rustle up the magic for

I don't like to admit this,
But once every year,
I summon all of my courage,
And shove down my fears,

I let my mind wander,
Let myself roam,
Through all the posibilities,
All the paths my life could go,

I find over time its gotten harder to say,
That I just might not want my life to play out this way,
Maybe I want just a little more for myself,
Maybe what I'm doing is poor to my health,
Maybe I need to work on my life,
Figure out who I am, what to change and whats right,

Hey you!
Yes you
You couldn't hide your words behind your poetic gallery!
One day they will shout they will want to call their own desires
Respond all posibilities
Don't let the tornado get heavy
Let me bring my tea
And feel free
To see
You& me

To be strong is to be weak,
for as we bathe in the sea
of endless posibilities,
we should swim like fishes,
not hold on to the ground, limiting
ourselves to one perspective and
one "mental place" like an anemone.

Go home
Echoed in the trees
In the wind
Dancing all around me
Listen to your heart
My heart, tucked safely behind
Old ribs
Go back to a place of endless posibilities, this town you subsist in lacks in mobility
This I know, and it's slowly killing me
Go back home*
Yelled the babbling brook
It's time, once again
To find my roots.

Ruined for having good healthy dreams,
Stupid but wonderful wishes,
How to improve? On your degrees?
On your great being?
On your Achievements goals and Fame?

Keep dreaming.

Ruined for having some goals,
Taken on great height to see the world,
Posibilities and lovely homes,
Put down to see just where one can help...
One can help if one can help.

Ruined for having a mind and a soul,
I guess for you it should be only the material
But when it is that,
Oh, when it is that all the **** starts to fight,
Pray and fight and ask for some light
To Fry out all the stench and make it out
As the powder that came out of a star.