The Beautiful Life

Oh the fifteenth century was the beautiful life
so simply survived and free from very much strife,
most foods you could eat without need of a knife
while learning to love an aromatic, sweaty wife.

Just have to enjoy a home you built with a dirt floor
made spilling things from meals something easy to ignore,
which really was a treat when you got the gift of a wild boar
and could drop a few pieces without much of a cleaning chore.

Spending all those wonderful days from June to May
waiting for that tub and nice hot bath to come your way,
pure heaven that the man of the house was first to play,
the others taking their turns so much later in the day.

Now sure did enjoy our ale in those cups made of lead
though in pewter plates it could end up leaving you dead,
should some rotten tomato’s acid decay its gray thread
giving a taste of poison that would leak into our head.

At least we figured out a way to be sure our coffin was true
and we didn’t revive after somebody thought we were through,
using that string on our hand to ring a bell so all then knew
it was time to dig us up since our soul hadn’t thus flew.

Oh can’t talk enough about how this age was so blessed
beside with enough drink you would never got depressed,
plus with all that BO we sure had to say so formally dressed
it helped to forget those stinks that made the nostrils distressed.

The Dictionary

Now I wish the people who made this would think more before they printed it. They sure got some weird ways of making it.

Like they don’t give you any breaks if you don’t remember how to spell a word. How you suppose to look it up if you can’t spell it?

And if I could spell it why would I need to look it up anyway? See they don’t seem to think of that part.

But then sometimes I do like to know what a word means. And that is fine if they always gave me definitions that made sense.

I mean first of all they tell me how to pronounce it. Like I even asked. Yeah, that don’t really impress me.

Plus I can’t figure out all those marks anyway. So I just don’t even thing about it. So there to those dudes.

So I just try not to let it bother me. Yeah that is the best part. Which brought me to the part where I had a solution.

Basically see I figured it would be cool to get rid of the words I don’t like. So I tried to cut them out.

That was a cool idea, but way to messy. Yeah hard to keep tract on what words didn’t piss me off.

So that ended leading me to the idea I could like you know get different dictionaries. Each one for a different letter.

Then you know I could add notes and other stuff that would make it easier next time I had to look up a word. But that took up too much space.

Still working on how I deal with this. I like the idea of a dictionary that is simple. One that makes sense and I can use.

So I right now am like doing this one word at a time. Spelling it as I want and then how it should me.

Then like doing other junk to make it simple. Such as one definition. Yeah that really is easier.

And then less confusing to. So I take a word with more than one meaning and then sort of lump them together.

Makes sense to me, I don’t care about all them huh looks.

Trapped On A Cloud

I got trapped on a cloud today,
it muffled the sobs of the man in his limo,
saved me from listening
to the rattling sounds of tranquilizers
being spilled from a bottle
and taken by one of the beautiful people.

In my hammock life just floats away
gave me a chance to ignore
the guy who wanted to lecture me
on how building staircases
was the most important thing
you could do with your time,
he died of a heart attack
standing on the stop step
that lead to no where.

The queen stopped by during my nap
just to show of her new crown,
it was bought with a maxed out credit card
and she hides her chains to debt’s cell
so very cleverly.
Too bad it couldn’t cover up
those lies she told
making her ruler over a kingdom
instead of a trailer with 30 year mortgage.

Oh sometimes I dream those mansions in the sky
almost get excited to chase for some brick
for building my own version,
then I remember that I already know how to fly
higher than any of those estates will ever reach.

Billboards

The world has an edge and is flat
ending where the concrete stops,
for the mental urbanized utopian eulogies
muttered of over the death of civilized crowns
when glancing at wilderness detour sign
that greed’s graffiti hadn’t defiled.

It is the landscape unexplored
where the heart ceased beating
to mindless sounds of metropolis music,
being trapped in crumbling thought citadels,
pretending the boundaries of asphalt titles
truly controls a person’s qualities.

In the false freedom bathed in neon candles
those billboards built in the head
float as phantoms of places forbidden
where the fireflies of skyline stars
glow as reminder of what you never tried to chase,
feeling that twinkle you didn’t capture
burn its haunting in your brain.

Sitting where the wind is always refrigerated
makes it so easy to forget the sky
or the times you didn’t worry about limitations
set by those who ruled your hopes.

At night the eyes can’t stop seeing those horizons
flickering the questions you never asked,
about if this tent made of steel and glass
was really the paradise believed.

Cruising down a highway
that stretches from inside
to a future never visited,
continuing to tell yourself
it is just a mirage
so you don’t have to truly regret
trying to escape where you stopped
thinking life was more than a structured reality.

The Good Stuff

Well this should be a good thing. But sometimes I’m not sure. I mean good is easy to understand.

And so is stuff. But when you mix them it can be so confusing since we don’t all agree what is good in terms of stuff.

So I am working on this deal to list good stuff. I want to you know help others. Make it easy to figure out.

Got to admit this is a challenge. Yeah getting really complicated at times. Sure not be easy.

Oh I know I can do it. Really just a matter of time. Well and then testing all the stuff first to report.

That is the hard part. I’ve been going around to ask people to let me test junk so I could make it all seem okay.

You would think they would say thank you. But no way, they get all bent out of shape and down right hostile.

Wish I didn’t have to rely upon my bat at times to get my message across. Yeah they don’t always listen to good.

But I am trying to be confident. Yeah really am trying to do this for a help to others. And going to keep trying.

I don’t know maybe I need some kind of a badge. Those always seem to impress others a a lot.

Hmmm, perhaps I can borrow one? That might be a good thing. Well hope so. I mean I just want to make this smart.

Then I can like get all that junk and tell you if it is all good. Yeah I think that would be a good deal.

Well guess I’ll drop by the police station and see if I can borrow one. Maybe they would lend me baton too.

Might feel more official to use that than a bat. Well maybe, can’t say for sure, but hope so.

Oh man that is a lot of stuff to do. And that is okay it will be worth it should I get it all worked out.

Just have to finish my rating scale. Got crummy and lame to fit, not sure what goes with cool yet.

Thought for the week: "Let it be said, let it be written, but don't let it be farted."

I'M FINE

My fingers work with precision,
eyes have eagle sight,
ears can decipher the faintest sound,
I’m fine as I should be,
a contributing member of society,
serving its purposes so perfectly,
normal and being so essential.

What a pity that officer
didn’t agree with my words,
he seemed to think
my celebration of being useful
at the local bar
diminished my credibility
after one too many rounds.

Now I guess I will find out
on my court date
if the legal system
is truly appreciates
that one can still be efficient
with their brain well oiled
by all those cocktails.

Didn’t seem to be a problem
all those other times,
but then I never tried driving,
having tested the competency
of the pavement
while being passed out.

My Best Friend

How could I be without
this most precious pal I could ever have?
Always defending my honor,
ever singing my praises,
and a master of timing
knowing the perfect moment to inspire.

Oh my glorious tongue has its charms
why I am amazed
how often it saves me from trouble
so gifted as a story teller
such a blessing to know.

What good tastes it has
able to tell me when some food or drink
is a lofty flavor of heaven or the tempting taste of hell,
might be nice though
if it didn’t love the latter so much.

Yes, I truly cherish its companionship
even those at times it goes a little crazy
uttering something deranged.

Despite the moments I get those strange looks
or the occasion it choose to test
the sense of humor of that huge goon
by saying something it thought was clever,
which nearly landed me in the hospital,
still I admire it’s skill and creativity.

All I have to do is get it to stop
being so imaginative around the boss,
sometimes he doesn’t appreciate
those excuses for work I didn’t get done.

I don’t even mind if my special buddy
does have a penchant for talking about aliens
wish it didn’t mention partying with them
when explaining to my supervisor
about some report I failed to finish.

Guess I’ll still love it just the same
because its flattering compliments keep me so happy

Commercials

The world is a cable box
with too many channels
and not enough doors.
I kept looking for the station
selling a life transplant
for this one that is clad in chains.

Kept asking myself where was the heart
that once beat to a sunrise’s drum,
felt the thunder in song,
heard the violins in violets
or the dance of a whirlwind’s flight.

It got lost between programs
where commercials were played
those stabbing snippet segments
offering glue for my shattered vases
where I kept those bouquets of roses,
which I expected to blossom someday.

On the floor are all the petals
shaped like teardrops.
Keep watching those advertisements
in hopes they will show
a cure for what vaporized in my visions
from all those sitcom ending
that never happened as I thought.

All I see now are the reruns
replaying those episodes
with characters I want to forget,
those comedians who became vampires
who drained me of my pulse.

I’ll just going to keep on watching
because somewhere I still believe
there will be a locksmith’s program
having a master key to my cell.

Feeding Frenzy

The Great White moves so steadily
towards your defenseless body
he can smell the claret blood scent
like so many other times,
ready to move in and brutally attack.

Mind rages in pure terror,
frozen place, muscle paralyzed
while watching him open his mouth,
visions of being devoured
flood your petrified brain.

Heart pounds in the intense fear,
knowing how his attacked
will be so horribly brutal,
spilling that crimson juice
that keeps you alive.

Regretting ever venturing
into his territory,
yet knowing there is no repellent
for a car salesman
once you’ve let yourself
become bait for his feeding frenzy
when he’ll critically wound your wallet
as it hemorrhages with red ink.

Raincoats

After being caught in that cloudburst
walking from the office to my car,
which ruin my suit that I had just gotten from tailors,
I vowed with a resolve ringing in every recess of my heart
to never again be drenched because I had no raincoat.

But that was March when the rainy season
stalked the sky with relentless rage,
my urgency that had echoed as a haunting voice
within the depths of my soul
was not just a footnote in my head since it was now July.

Oh I had so many opportunities for purchasing a cloak,
seeing the sales and reminding myself
how that one storm had cost me a new sets of clothes.

Just were so many more important purchases
when I saw no clouds in the air,
there would always be so much time
before another deluge showered in my life.

How I snickered at the radio when it mentioned
rain was predicted for the night,
we never got such weather this time of year,
driving past the clothing store
seeing that raincoat in the window
and smiling at my prudence to not give into
the climate broadcasts spreading their warnings.

As the first raindrops pelted my windshield that eve
while driving to a banquet dressed in a tuxedo
there was no stress rising in my heart
since I was confident that parking lot would be covered.

Then my engine died and I realized my cell was still at home,
getting out in that downpour to reach a pay phone,
standing so soaked, yet unable to truly be angry
because rage at the face who caused my misery
doesn’t work when it is my own.

Envelopes

Puffy ivory mail
whose letters are never opened,
holding secrets none will ever read,
left to ponder their contents,
how many reasons they inspire,
are they homes for UFO’s,
doorways to other realms,
the muse’s marshmallows,
angel’s pillows
or merely white airy formations.

Whatever is written of their essence,
which we can’t decipher
lingers in our fascination
as fodder for our fancy,
perhaps they are God’s dapples of inspiration
meant to keep our minds busy
so we don’t stop noticing
all the other phenomena of nature
we might otherwise miss.

Meanwhile we are blessing to ponder
those lofty pregnant notes of mists
who dance in the sky and capture our attention,
wishing we were birds to kiss their edges,
grateful whoever is using them as correspondence
isn’t sending them postage due.

His Toady Daze

Oh Prince Charming was so very, very charming,
he would wave his big scepter at so many ladies,
how he loved leaping upon every woman’s lily pad
and taking long dips in her pond.

Inside he was such a hopeless horny toad
no maiden was safe when he was around,
couldn’t stop jumping every gal he met,
always lying about offering them a princess crown
so he could keep his stiff sword satisfied.

Then one morn he returned to the castle
after another night of carnal nobility
when the King informed him
that he was betrothed to another monarch’s daughter,
for his dad was pressed to get his son married
in order to preserve peace with that other empire.

Naturally his son didn’t like the idea
of being wed to a woman he had never seen
or giving up his glory days
be free to party all night
wherever his throbbing saber wanted to play.

Then came his wedding day
finally seeing his bride for the first time,
hoping for a goddess, but got short round wife.
She had a heart of gold and was the sweetest person,
but he just kept hopping around on all the other ladies.

Only he didn’t know she had a full figured fairy godmother
who decided to vent her wrath,
turning him into a frog and keeping him on a leash,
even his parents couldn’t complain
because she threaten to make them love eating flies.

Now he’s forced to go for a walk
so the fairy can show off her powers,
making sure he’s under control and never straying again,
grateful at least she didn’t castrate him too.

Thought for the week: "If voting was like shaving most people would have beards."

Those Special Gems

Birthdays are those special gems
polished by one’s truest friends,
who always make the facets appear sublime
until you have no sense of passing time.

For when a pals words are your jeweler
you never need see age’s ruler,
just the luster of the light they see,
which outshine a wrinkle’s pending decree.

My Room

It has no doors nor windows
yet I can visit there any day,
apart the sounds of thunder
and cries of chaos that come like rain.

No one knows its location
and the time never changes,
just closing my eyes
to escape between the seconds of reality.

Within its walls I am a knight fighting dragons,
an ageless voyager soaring through deep space,
the king in my own castle,
wizard who works miracles,
conjuring enchanted creatures at my command.

By a thought I am transported to a mountain chalet,
perhaps some meadow of golden grass and silver skies,
or long purple beaches with crimson oceans
that mermaids swim on the backs of cerulean dolphins.

Words float in the air as the sounds of harps,
I grab them as birds and place them on paper,
they take the shape of stories and travels
where life is magic and serenity hangs in the air.

Every time I sit in that space
it always changes as if having its own mind,
but each encounter is so soothing and peaceful
in this realm without tears,
can’t wait for the next experience,
which happens any time I concentrate,
blissfully wishing the world away.

MARBLE ALLEY

Lunchtime hour at my junior high school
turned the playground into marble alley,
little troughs dug in the dirt,
pyramids of those glass balls
awaiting nimble fingers and keen vision,
for a chance to shoot and knock the pile down
so we could gain them as prize.

Oh how every kid who thought he was a cat’s eye master
gave a try at winning those stacked treasures,
one eye closed, the other staring intently,
down on his knees with left hand supporting his weight,
tongue sticking out with right hand in a fist
while thumb presses against the back of his round little gem,
then flicks it like an archer releasing an arrow
waiting with inhaled anxiety and pounding chest
to see if that aim was perfect.

How this became and epidemic of obsession,
we all were consumed in our game,
proudly toting our collection into class,
that small pouch with its aggie arsenal
having its strings tied around our belts.

What lust was inflamed for those steely diamonds,
driving us to such insane deeds,
trading desserts in cafeteria
for some more of those spheres of clay beads,
a brownie would get you six,
two cookies maybe three,
just compelled to have another crystalline globe
as a bullet for that battleground dirt
of our marbleized passions.

There were always the vile rats
who brought their lunches from home
how dare they bring pop tarts to barter
they were like gold.

It all was that heart pounding thrill
when we were in seventh grade
before puberty kicked in and girls became our rage,
but for those special days
nothing was a more rush unto the soul
than strike it rich in marble alley
walking away feeling like a god.

WHO ME?

Oh please Mr. Boss man,
I don’t want to go,
because there’s costumers on the phone over there
who will scream and frazzle my hair,
oh please Mr. Boss man,
I don’t want to go!

Was sitting at home just last night
feeling so much reason for fright
over how those prices you’ve been charging
sure have been showing they’re enlarging,
now those folks who buy our product
are yelling like savages the rates suck.

Oh please Mr. Boss man,
I don’t want to go,
just can’t stand the idea of looking them in the face
knowing they want to hang my hide in disgrace
oh please Mr. Boss man
I don’t want to go.

You already sent my buddy Charlie out to the lobby
those angry patrons nearly scalped him as a hobby,
so don’t ask me to go be the next on in line
who they will decide to douse with turpentine,
not trying to be uncooperative or unfair,
just don’t want them setting fire to my underwear!

Oh please Mr. Boss man
I don’t want to go,
and trusting you has sure lost a lot its luster
since you’ve gotten as whacky as General Custer,
oh please Mr. Boss man
I don’t want to go.

Now what’s the word for proving I’m their friend?
Keep-Your-Refund –Treat. Hey out there, Keep-Your-Refund-Treat!
No that ain’t it.

Oh please Mr. Boss man,
I don’t want to go.

Ah, Sweet Liberty

I am the wind,
a breeze in independence
blowing where I please,
not caring what others think,
just a living, throbbing leaf
dancing in freedom’s air,
me and my trusty Harley bull,
don’t let anyone say
that I am a follower,
for I’m a proud cowboy biker!

Yeah and I just ride where I want,
when I have time off
from being an accountant,
keep my lap top in my saddle bag,
underneath my hat I hide my cell phone,
and got a pocket protector for my pens
in my right boot.

Sure glad they make contacts
so don’t have to wear
my black horned rimmed glasses.
plus can’t say how thrilled I am
to find that costume store on the net,
this beard I bought looks so real.

Nothing like sweet liberty
on the road where a man can be a man,
just happy my wife hasn’t found out,
because so far got her fool,
claiming I went to the gym,
hard part was bribing that trainee to say I was there.
now all I got to worry about
is risk of running into her truck driving mother.

Tain't Fair!

Tarnation life just getting to complicated,
here we were so dang proud
we started our own volunteer fire department
here in our proud town of Stumphole,
before that kept relying on buckets of water,
but that was such a problem during milking time.

And next week Zed is going to get some wheels
for that pick up truck we plan on using to get to fires,
be great when we get an engine too.

Oh yeah we were are all so busted out with joy
until the dang state official showed up,
tain’t fair him telling us how we needed all these changes
in order to get them government funds
that Buford read about in that magazine,
which inspired him to start the group
since we figured it would buy us some beer
once we got past the inspection.

Well we think we’re ready now,
done found a ladder and Billy Bob Jo
tossed in a hook from his tackle box,
got us a hose that don’t leak,
hoping that duct tape will hold.

Even borrowed Clem’s ax,
though not sure where to get a handle.
Only part that is still confusing
is this thing about a bell,
that man showed us picture of one,
figured out it was something round
and was on the wall,
sure glad that Otis remember the jiffy pop deal,
looks great up hanging up there,
imagine that will impress that state dude,
besides keeping it there prevents
Earl from thinking that painted cow patty
would have done the trick,
no way we keep it from stinking
be a dead give away.

IN SEARCH OF FANNY'S FANNY

Poor Fanny always wanted the perfect fanny
one so lean with a nice tight cheek cranny,
just like the her lean friend named Annie
who got slender chasing kids as a nanny.

Oh she tried signing up for a membership at the gym
gong to exercise away the pounds to look so very trim,
even hired this Adonis guru known as Sweatman Jim
stuck her on a treadmill singing a I’m so skinny hymn.

Gave it up after she thought assume his smiles were affection
all those seductive words he used with such loving perfection,
all he just lured her into buying his personal vitamin collection
she left after giving him a nice shiner for his tanned complexion.

Tried the diet drinks and joined one of those weight loss groups
paid a fortune for their brand of miracle pounds way protein soups,
they claimed had been made as nutrition for the Army’s troops
group ended after it was learn meal was from bottom of chicken coops,

Now Fanny never did find that behind she craved to say is me
found a solution though that made her full figure glow with glee,
on the internet she’s a goddess so beautiful and stately as a tree
dwelling in a palace instead of a trailer at a park in Tennessee.

She takes even started her a nutrition business on her own personal web site
selling her own brand of low fat meals under title of heavenly thin delight,
put her trick photography photo on each box to make it so cherry and bright
and then rakes in the profits while chatting with new suitors on net every night.

Even got her revenge with Jim through her personal ad in realm of cyber space
trapped him into thinking she was a beauty queen with a glorious Venus face
then when he vowed his love she took him the emails to his workout place
forcing him to be her slave in many ways to avoid a risk of stupidity’s disgrace.

THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK: "We need exist signs for people who have trouble finding themselves."

FIVE O'CLOCK

The last five minutes counted in seconds,
feeling the adrenaline starting to flow,
insides a current of electricity
waiting to escape and be free,
no smiling while lusting at idea
of seeing your boss
with a knife in his throat.

Dreaming of the company’s policies
suddenly being revoked
so you don’t have to scream
over their idiocy,
wishing that coworker
would get therapy
and stop talking to his stapler
as if it was a lover.

Hoping the recovering alcoholic
won’t come by again to apologize
for her behavior
you can’t even remember she committed.

Then comes the moment of pardon,
a dash to the parking lot,
praying the workaholic bean counter
won’t try to stop you
to ask one of his stupid insignificant questions
that you never have the answer for anyway.

Finally reaching the car,
starting the engine,
pulling out of driveway,

BOOYAH!

Survived stupid land again.

Crowds

Spotlight shines up the star’s stool,
silence erupts in solo serenade,
music so magically and melodious,
a voice divine and truly inspired.

One blink and the light disappears,
returning to that seat in the auditorium alone
on the day after graduation.

Was a nice fantasy,
better than the ceremony’s aftermath,
walking across the stage
collecting diploma and all the awards,
but going home to emptiness.

Pained by images of face
that a crush couldn’t make
into a lover.

He celebrated with another
at a bash that lasted all night.

College waits like a fog,
will the A’s replace missing arms?
It is a question stuffed
into the achievement scrapbook
where they always are kept,
subduing the angst of kisses never felt
and invitations to parties not received,
whispering the lies to hold back the tears
about never liking crowds anyway.

Playgrounds

Vignettes of fragmented visions
animated on a concrete screen,
a world of creatures living in the head
given chalky makeup’s muted tones,
crafting images preserving
the poignant abysses and paradise portals
dwelling as surreal tapestries
visiting behind the eyes.

Murmurs of mistress, martyrs and messiahs
moan their musings into the fingers,
as wars from conflicts blend with lovers,
both cursing and blessing the unveiled thoughts.

Borrowing the forms of facades
the world massages in living textures,
to entwine the heart’s path towards vales and peaks
with the symbols of everyday.

It waits in the strokes upon the pavement,
tears and groans subtly inlaid,
until a viewer feels their power
open up a door to their own hidden worlds.

Signature of the artist felt in the encounter
lingering with its intensity
long after the wind erases the window
into the painter’s private playground.

The Day The Viking Busboy Sold Gumby A Cannibal’s Magnet

It was time to buy new éclairs for my car’s rear view mirror
because the news legionnaire at the grocery repair store,
who read a watermelon roulette salt shakers,
said Trojan walnuts were ready to invade
a pay phone booth with a draft pick to be named later.

So I took my lap top banana down to the golf beach,
watched the sunset rise over the raccoon square dancing pond,
took yodeling lessons from a paper clip gardener
before voted at the election that was held last year
using an absentee hot fudge sundae and pickle on a stick.

Then this clown showed up dressed as a mushroom parasol,
he was a prophet of tofu doomsday sonnets,
we went for dinner at a take out asylum
where Thor was a trainee for lobotomy jello mold making.

He washed our toe nails in juice of blender
using Play-doh as ice cream,
which he named Gumby’s concubine.

Afterwards to make it all blessed,
his voice chanted a grapefruit mantra
while taking the sock not eaten by the dryer’s
known as lawyer phlegm,
stuck it to his forehead and held his breath
until he claimed he like Gumby’s behind.

Sitting around he convinced me that éclairs were a Freudian slip,
and how cars the figment of gravity philosophy delusions.
Didn’t stop my worrying about rear view mirror monsters,
but on that afternoon it all was forgotten
during the medicated screams of modeling clay.

Honesty

In era of political corrections
tolerance and sensitive training,
daring corporation forged
its new employee relations philosophy.

Boldly declaring in blunt metaphor metal
the soul of their priority.

Erecting statue at entrance
as testimonial of their expectations
from every one that is hired.

Truth replacing executive rhetoric
not longer feeling need to pretend,
just looking for bodies to command,
no brain attached to question or challenge.

And for those with a complaint
they are told to voice their gripe
by putting lips on statue's behind.

Nudges

Like invisible feathers
floating effortlessly on a wisp in wind,
almost breathless in their soft and delicate caresses,
the pixie of ethereal emerald wings
flitters so weightlessly through the night’s silence,
landing upon sleeping minds,
who she gently nudges with her fantasia spell.

Fireflies of dreams flicker in the slumbering sky,
as she inspires such vivid charmed images,
they come alive and dance in the head
taking spirits to world’s forgotten
realms where reality has living rainbows
and vibrant landscapes so amazingly serene,
awakening the hibernating memory
to those times when fairies kissed the eve
with each day exploding in enchantment,
noticing there was magic in everywhere.

How her antennas hear the sounds of sighs
over hearts loss of belief,
who gave up on seeing the mystical creatures
they used to embraced as real.

For a while her wings comb with creativity
before she rides the sunbeams back to her flowery lair,
leaving behind a glow that lingers
upon lives who learn again
the beautiful joy of rediscovering
sights they thought were merely their imagination.

Windows

Epiphany’s curtains
drawn across
mind’s transom,
filtering out sun,
until light inside
burns away drapes.


Thought for the week: "You think they could invent an edible lottery ticket so everyone wins?"

The Clouds Glued My Knees Together

Leaded skies pour super glue
over my naked knees,
locked in an unbreakable bond,
sapping my strength.

Unable to rise
from that easy chair
where my body feels free
of any lighting pain bites,
which always strike
when I dare to move
towards places my heart longs to see,
perhaps tomorrow’s sun
will evaporate the seal.

Oh I could be a king
or valiant knight
if this smothering gray
didn’t hold me slave,
mutating my muscles
into a sloth’s sluggish form.

Doomed to a watch
and never act,
sullen waves of molasses
keep me stuck
watching a television for exercise.

Memos

Drones drooling their drudgery
in listless lines of stagnant suns,
watching them clone their scribbles
and cringe from the stale abuse in clichés.

Brain exploding in a thousand images,
heart racing with a fiery dream,
while fingers taps a beat upon the desk
in a private Morse code of seething rage.

A moment of pure and piercing ire seizure
sweeps across the chest
when a Shakespearian megalomaniac embezzle
struts before your mound of papers and files,
dispensing his literary crud as brilliance,
subtly hinting for raves
over the dribble he calls genius.

Wading through the litany of worn out phrases
scrawled as uninspired inventive sayings
upon the memos that rule your day,
knowing not a single word will be insightful
or the least bit infected with originality.

Meanwhile your quill that pens its light
has no admirers among the self anointed authors
whole waltz in their delusions,
pandering their plagiarized philosophies
before your eyes and ears.

Nothing aches the heart more
for one with ink in the veins
than living in a print’s oblivion
while inept minds with no creative talent
are the best sellers of corporate correspondence,
who never once read your gems.

Grapes

In the vineyards of the heart
so many grapes are grown
upon a soil inherited,
first tilled by ancestral hands,
the harvest is so natural,
its fruit sweet and succulent,
having a sugar that blends into the blood,
nourishing and satisfying,
when consumed in its normal form.

But some can’t find gratification
from its simple shape,
they squeeze and press its purple pearls
for every drop of juice,
fermenting it as wine
to make its taste rivet with warm euphoria,
staining the mind with its inebriation,
until the brain swims in its alcoholic seduction.

So naïve the power of that plum liquid,
how it is addicting and always snares
the inside with a need for more.
Then blurring thoughts and drowning sanity,
slowly slipping into mine field
where staggering leads to tragedy.

Oh the laments the imbiber has
after sitting and nursing those dreaded wounds,
trying not to bleed to death
while those who just ate the grapes
just keep enjoying the flavor,
free of fear it will guide you down a road
with a dead end at the cemetery.

Next Time

Oh yeah you always here this from fibbers. Those jerks that want to tell you the next time it will be better.

Only it never is. The crumb bums are so good at making things up without it actually being true.

Which they never admit to. Just keep making you think it will happen and then in the long run it doesn’t.

Now one of the ways they really bug me is with this deal about things being on order. Like that is really true.

I think they just say that to fool you. As if that helps in some way. It is all a big con job to stall.

That just sucks big time. I mean it sure don’t work for me. Yeah that is not a good thing. And I don’t like it.

See the thing is it is like when I go to the candy store. I stroll over to the jelly bean section and sometimes it is empty.

Oh yeah that is the part that really bites. All that getting excited and it gets you nowhere.
I hate that part.

And when I mention it they will tell me it is on order. Well I don’t know where they ordered it from, but it ain’t there when I need it.

Now to fix this problem I sit back and watch the store. I wait for the delivery truck so I don’t miss out.

But that sure sucks when I get in there and they claim the delivery guy didn’t have any kind of jelly beans. They give me some lame story about it being a delivery of other junk.

Heck man you would figure he could have added some jelly beans in with those boxes of other junk. They don’t take up much room.

Yeah, how tough would it be? Just drop by some warehouse and pick up a few. Yep, that sucks when they don’t bother.

And you can be sure I have told them too. Really hate it. Only they sure never improve. Nope.

But that is okay, I am going to keep watching. I go by there in the afternoon and watch when they were out in the morning. That should be enough time. Never is though.