Gen. Lees invasion of the North written by himself—

    In eighteen sixty three, with pomp,
      and mighty swell,
    Me and Jeff’s Confederacy, went
      forth to sack Phil-del,
    The Yankees the got arter us, and
      giv us particular hell,
    And we skedaddled back again,
      And didn’t sack Phil-del.

How did we end up in this place
Trying to survive a war that exist because of greed
Living a life that is consumed by hate
Attempting to find joy that has eluded us for centuries
How did we end up in this place

We were once simple folks
Once upon a time we saw the rainbows and the unicorns that skedaddled in the wind
Now all we see is the dull black and white world
As we chose to focus on the corruption, the deception, and the perfect complexion
Completely ignoring the beauties in life
Forcing you to ask how did we end up in this place

We were once from a world where the little children can go outside and play in peace
Didn't have to worry about them ducking and covering praying this bullets didn't have their names written all over it
Didn't have to worry about mysterious people trying to ****** them up and force them into the *** trade
Once again forcing you to ask how did we end up in this place

We were once a family
If not by blood by relations
Starvation wasn't a thing that existed in our communities
If food was something you could not afford your next door neighbor had your back 
Offering you a four course meal even putting close on your back
So tell me...if this is where we came from
How did we...end up in this place

My devotion ran deep.
I'd kiss the bottom of your heels,
**** every one of your toes & eat the corn
to keep you.
But you thought all that was gross
& skedaddled
to find somebody more civilized
& less devoted.
But does he kiss your *** in a three-piece suit?

The spoon's side jumped
Between moon shaped glasses,
He jip jived dipped and dived
Forward more toward something resembling music.
 
A fresh song and dance.
New tunes through an ordinary water holder,
Nestled between plate and napkin.
The sound got his mate all jazzed up,
So he joined with his own swift swinging tune.
Who knew that dining things could own a beat?
 
They found a new way to show
They had a rhythm from their fingers to their toes.
It was them together.
Hearing things they thought they would never.
 
So they skedaddled downtown
Piddle paddling through the streets.
Clanking their feet into light poles until their soles were sore.
Smacking hands on drums where knees used to be.
 
They threw nonsensical sounds around that made sense together,
They flowed like a bird’s song to its dear old Mrs.
Common sounds with a unique meaning.
They were loud and crazy with a vision slightly hazy,
For they didn't see the sheriff approaching.
 
The sheriff caused a bigger scene then they ever were,
Yelling and wrestling with them.
He stopped their show saying, "There ain't none of those nonsense words on my street, especially not from your kind."
 
How kind they were,
They left without a question.
There was no need to fuss and rush
They were goin'.
 
They thought that with sounds like these
There was no use wasting them on empty streets
And park benches.
 
Back to the club they ran
Eager to hear their cheering fans they had left behind to show the streets their new found sound.
 
That stage is where it started
And stayed for a while.
On that stage their imaginations could run ramped on an empty canvas of ears.
 
But on their stage they had to stay.
Hidden.
For a little while,
You see the streets weren't ready to be shown these beats,
This wasn't Joe Schmos show put on every Thursday afternoon near the salad bar,
Quiet enough not to disturb the guests but just enough to give a nice background noise to their chewing,
Oh no, no, no.
 
This was jazz.

poetry with two spoons and a salt shaker

~for poet, writer, Lora Lee, unexpectedly~

my symphonic orchestral accompaniment today, musically
unlimited, except by lack of disowning skill, a voice unkempt,
spoons and salt shaker, there in-nate rhythmic opinions off key,
worse, my manly word-smithy, out o’town in June, July, August too?

He, having an affair with my she-muses, left me bereft & berated,
helplessly hoping, the timpani of my words clashing, overrated,
woeful under-something, betraying my need for spicy sriracha,
poetry, sans hamburger helper, no-tasty, even less-than-average

everyone comes rushing in to the kitchen, hearing my to-sky-voices
howling, thinking something wrong, the four instruments rack up a cacophony of rhythmic-less noises, words emerging, to-a-person, they announce, “you’re no Allen Ginsburg, ppp-please not so early next time”

alas, they don’t know the poems are coming hot and heavy, guess I’ll
go outside, serenade them birdies in the trees, the striped bass in the bay, the rabbits procreating/sleeping/eating under their (our) dock

the squirrels know better, have skedaddled to the next-door-neighbor who feeds them classical stuff with a dollop of jazz creme mixed in, but I don’t care, cause I got all day, the rest of my life, to amuse me & you too

to refine the qualitative, to improve my creative, I’ve gone “native” and the rush is the best, the wind beneath my spectacles (haha) drives my rhyming to lowlight heights of prosody, besides seems

everybody has gone to a different beach, so it’s just me and the giant blackbirds cawing holy hell noises, and I’m thinking seriously about baking pie, but they just don’t get the hint, how annoying is that!

harrumph!

BESIDES GOTTA WRITE SOME SERIOUS STUFF...

(when John Prine met Tom Wait) The Drawdown Day

sun starts this day like a good one, hallelujah,
a June bug, sweet summer honey, praise-pinging
the lord for speckling the grass with sunlight breaches,
thru the standing tall oak trees branches banner waving.

go outside to grab me some rays, burn off some privilege,
two towels, one white solid as an orchid, fresh cleaned,
one joseph coat of many colors, striped, saying ‘looke here.’
Sun saw me coming, immediately call it quits. high tailing, gone.

the partly cloudy curse of weird light, making you squint,
that ***** the desire out of ya to do anything, only thing left
is to waste the day thinking all day about doing nothing, which
is the most tiring thing I’d ever done, cause there ain’t solution.

the devices crackle, hoot and holler, saying severity is a-coming,
thunderstorms from the city sent, 100-miles  traveling, straight to you,
should be there around about three o ‘clock, give/take, mostly taking
whatever solace hanging about, hope, loving and good expectations.

sure’nuf rain drops, big as overfed suckling pigs, ****** on windows,
silent tho, making sure you’d be looking why, thru glassine windows,
signal intentions to make something all-hell-to-pay, raising cain,
goodly cain which bytheby ain’t accidental, doubt? sub in pain.

ole lousy whether, does any of of this really matter?
ole lousy whether, does any of of this really matter?
I hope so, I hope not, that’s the trouble with watching
the wether or not, it just freaking hopeless, like asking,
where did the time go?


forget to mention the wind, which makes the wind even more pissy,
rattling my eyeglasses, not just the whole house, makes my beard a-twitching, the trees **** unhappy losing children from this war, all their drowned bodies, now field litter, casualties of a drawdown day.

the light weirder still, more aglow midst of darkening, you say gawd!
he ain’t nowhere to be found ‘cept I guess everywhere’s, which is the sameness as saying nowhere’s which is god’s **** good hidey-hole,
just like every animal that skedaddled hours before, also gone, gone.

how does a stormy day bring such misery and pain, and in my head,
saxophones wailing ‘hell no,’ but the heavens, shut up tight, no noise
getting in, only getting out, at my soul, saying you, you justshutup
and write about ***** for *****, women & men love-hurting and the

ole lousy whether, does any of of this really matter?
ole lousy whether, does any of of this really matter?
I hope so, I hope not, that’s the trouble with watching
the wether or not, it just freaking hopeless, like asking,

where did the time, the drawdown day go?

It was when my waking eyes
shank into the dent in the bed
                                that I knew.

Torpid, little tense in the neck
the phone dead,
my hand snaking through
       a mesh of wires
to get to the muzzy
                  crux of it,
it was yourself
I turned up tangled in,
found ensnared, redrawn,
in throws, and throngs
            of a clonic cupidity.

That was us
who mangled in the night
like cobras with empty stomachs
Churning round
small nocturnal animals
         in the dark,
even in the dark,
I swore your skin was pellucid.

Sleepy-headed still,
I skedaddled outside
to swallow the rain,
and slumbery remember summer,
when I hopped as light
as bird from brier,
up rises my spirit,
down falls the foot
caked in muck,
schlepping slowly
through the mire.

You've slept in my bed
it seems, for as long
as memory serves,
just one of the many things on Earth
I've noticed and subsequently
           can't unnotice,
like the way in one hears a clock
tick.....tick.......tock......
only when one is listening.

I have noticed
that dent in my bed
grow into a dozing silhouette,
noticed the garden-gate
creek in F minor,
silver cobwebs in the loft,
               distant dogbarks
and a pomegranate stain
on your mother's blouse.

Once, so thickly laden
with expectancy,
                     now I know
that I am
                        no longer
                           Waiting.

ball. And his voice
the paddle. He kept whacking
the celluloid globe to the tune
"man on the moon" I skedaddled

as a deer crossing the road
seeing a truck marked "oversize overload"
His notes ricocheted on my forehead
as a concert hall of "the living dead" My eyes

fell out of their sockets as pennies
rolling from my ripped jean pockets. I put my
hand inside to find the lining unravelling to
"man on the moon"

Last night while riding nighthawk
a skittish herd of cattle
spooked by a desert rattler
panicked and sure skedaddled

Chased the cows in heavy brush
through briar, mud and water
running through the Texas night
Uvalde to the border

A coyote sings close by
he howls in a falsetto
the cattle now at their ease
are grazing in the meadow

White stars are slowly fading
the dawn is close to breaking
beans in Cookie’s *** are hot
I smell the biscuits baking

Sic semper tyrannis ad mortem
("Thus always I bring death to tyrants").

Ever since early forerunners
of twenty first century
mankind (sprinted
across trackless expanse extant
upon planet Earth),
modern **** Sapiens essentially
won out as coterie precursors
sans predominant
present day team of rivals.

The zigzag line,
whence our arboreal ancestors
skedaddled their way
toward capital one delineation
of diehard deadheads
******* disaster, and acquiring
dubious distinction
decreeing domain of oblate spheroid
as prime real estate,
(when Prometheus fire privy to proto
humans), the imperceptible
figurative ink did not dry
before hairy hooligans
edged out other prehensile primates.

Enfant Terrible employed
as an analogy for punctuated
equilibrium witnessing
boom rang amidst feral creatures
unpredictably crowing
with nirvana seeking
foo fighting fecundity
(inadvertently in sync
with Feng Shui)
to launch scrappy
posse of measly mensch
kinsmen/women into the realm.

This phenomena countless
thousands of years since
inception of brutal, nasty
and short present day troglodytes.
With the aid
of an imaginary crystal ball,
the seeds of White Lily got borne
via Aery windy gusts jet setting
most “advanced” pygmy beasts
as animalistic bellwether
per future adventure,
whence many anthropological
opposable thumbed volumes
yet written till present
deadly crossroads
announced ruthless Reichstag.

Credos, codas, diktats
governing infantile Messerschmitt
Sol Invictus yet unnamed role
as most dangerous living
beings known to exist
unwittingly usurped grandiose
nom de plume as Master
predicating their survival on
brawn and brains
to public enemy number one
to all other life forms.

As the fittest (at least
when accident found tendency
to crowdsource),
the mob mentality already evident as
hyena cackles quickly garnered
rubric of might equals
right), thus grabbing
by force of strong arms (fingers
clutching deadly lances)
top prize as sovereign
dictators of the Proletariat).

Over the course of millennia,
they became de
facto dominant species.

The evolutionary descendents
metamorphosed into bipedal hominids
of recent mankind did not monkey
around when competing in the Human Race.

They elbowed, jostled,
and ousted competitors eventually
to ascend inexorably their way
to top tier of totalitarianism.

Great indomitable naked apes
of early simian evolution,
would not settle for any role
except top banana in
hierarchical schema
of biota extant throughout nascent
dawn of civilization.

Violence with whatever
material at hand vanquished any
threat to world wide webbed *******
sans existence at dawn of civilization.

Closer to late morning
and high noon tall tale ushered
vanity viz venal, vicious,
vocal Tarzans, 10,000 Maniacs,
and voodoo worshippers
blitzed like banshees.

Literal face saving
each manikin for himself
(gnome hatter
whether blood pact swore)
bludgeoned, hoodwinked,
and whipped warriors wary warlocks
fought tooth nail to death.

One instant found a bald
(ah that explains receding heir line)
bandied legged ******* macho tree
swinging sportsman
brazenly boasting bona fide.

Well guess what ma friend?

That sure-footed
geico hunter met ****** death
on an empty stomach
without the aid
of fast food restaurants.

His purported blood brothers abandoned him
(at dropped née hurled clump of offal)
as dependent and reliable brethren.

No such thing
as gentlemen’s agreement ruled ******
terra firmae.

Amidst warren of primates,
a promise quickly broached
instantaneously after pledging allegiance
to a pseudo fraternity.

We're living in a world of confusion
From one moment into the next
The grinding of gears twisting our fears
Bubble trouble inside of our heads

We're living in a world of confusion
Where we don't know who to believe
The flapping tongues wag as fast as they can
Without ever skipping a beat

We're living in a world of confusion
Causing this spinning of heads
From the upside of down to the inside of out
Until there's not any sense left

We're living in a world of confusion
Where guessing is anyone's game
The eyes used to hold the lies being told
Now everyone's wearing dark shades

We're living in a world of confusion
Sit, the table's already set
With dull forks and knives to carve up our lives
Would you like seconds on that

We're living in a world of confusion
Where the everyday rules have been changed
What once was okay is no longer in play
From one day into the next

We're living in a world of confusion
Where normal seems odd at its best
Crazy now hides out in plain sight
Right skedaddled at the first chance

And with all of this being said
I'm calling off all bets
Toss it all in into the losing bin
We're living in a world of confusion

We now get along swimmingly
analogous to this bro and his older sis
on the cusp of our gifted silver married years
if her presence absent, I would sorely miss
after earlier decades bereft of wedded bliss.

Rarely did yours truly acknowledge birthday
of his former fancy free presently aging bride
gathered rosebuds while
rolling in our figurative hay
contra dance paramours
playing seek and hide
as we skedaddled down the line
hoot'n and holler'n hooray
nsync with foot stomping music airing pride
without prejudice, where
sense and sensibility accompanied sashay

vaguely hinting Puritanical ethos of Jane Austen
sexually stifled era, nevertheless
suppressed flirtation pried
loose courtesy adulterous,
affectionate and amorous way
love blind prospective husband
pledged marital covenant whereby
till death doth she part, I avowedly did stride
both of us pledged troth,
when marital Gordian knot tied.

Grim reaper eventual sweepstakes
will claim yours truly and me spouse anon
obliged to answer for whom the bell tolls... -
thank you John Donne,
perhaps mine missus gains
unexpected posthumous renown
thru sewing self styled couture
repurposing scraps of material
even in afterlife her unflagging spirit

banging out sought after stitched
assortment constituting richly adorned rags
hence cause for feted celebration
representing subsequent earth orbit around sun
lovely bones of counterpart being reincarnated
into favorite flower such as Peace Lily won.

Direct attestation, communication, exclamation,
genuflection, profession...
challenging verses crafting poetic adulation
mother of deux daughters I adore
with reasonable rhyme, a literary chore
feeble attempt and lame attempt made to explore
elements of style to write loving emotions galore
and disappointing if husband did ignore
one special day among
three hundred and sixty five
less for any obligation
but more so cuz sincere motive doth jive.

Impossible challenge-response mission
to captcha alive
elusive essence defined as love
exhibited via hormonal secretion
penetrating breastworks
hoping arousal to connive
(no fallacy) as anatomical male divining rod
scouted fertile crescent,
wherein peppy did dip and dive
that drove dis once young rammy man
(during me bachelorhood daze)
sexually afire by twenty and five

celibacy spurred stir crazy state
giving bee steel impression hive
been cruelly, seriously, and unhappily deprived
feasting upon verboten fruit
unhealthy suppression plus anxiety
spelled premature *******,
and presently enjoy spouse as finest companion
no matter testosterone drive went in reverse
meaning to fiendish predilection fornicate moot.

Thee marriage strongly bolstered principally thru
playful dynamics and/or verbal/oral *******
resolving regular potential conflicts
sets virtual stage to stave off violent altercations
most likely regarding insignificant issue
summoning forth active/deep listening
a renewable (non toxic) resource.

H-A-P-P-Y B-I-R-T-H-D-A-Y