Poetry-Thing Thursday: Wandering

Wandering and wandering
and wandering we go
where we’re stopped
by whom and the how,
only the notions,
of father time can now tell.

Because in the end
what they call sin
is thinking with
alternative win–
corruption unseated,
mind boggles it, when,
they don’t see it coming
get steamrolled in spin

“If only, if only,”
the cry in the night,
those four sacred words,
turn to sand from might,
like the ancients of old
for what time doesn’t bare us,
was written, foretold,
no need to embarrass,
nor spoil it, see,
for those wee little four words,
contain infinity.

But never fear,
for madness is near,
and love-a-rub dubbing,
kindly riding in rear.
Decipher their words,
but know not their meanings,
for these processions, herds,
and wanton unleanings,
are really the yearnings,
of creatures quite feeling.

All quite like us,
and no wonder, you know,
when wandering and a-wandering
and-a wandering we go.


Poetry-Thing Thursday: Beauty-Suicide

In the West,
with the rest,
should’ve guessed,
but was blessed,
on the edge,
of time’s ledge.

So indeed,
we concede,
that belief,
is a leaf,
on a wind,
in a bend.

What a task,
could the mask,
upon such a face,
of such a race,
contrive to hide,

Perhaps when,
“we were then,”
is a thing,
to seldom sing,
and recompense
becomes suspense.

We must wonder if she’ll ever come back.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Now Uncouth

I will not always,
say things that you like,
but make no mistake
that is my right,
to hold in my heart,
for that which I’ll fight.

I have opinions,
as do you, too,
but do suspect,
that far too few do,
disagree with effect.

Bear that in mind,
with whomever you like.
But remember,
they too have a right,
to believe and hold dear,
for that which they’ll fight.

You may be wrong.
You may be right.
You may find joy,
in silence respite,
But recall;
no hatred is might.

It is formed by a mind,
fearing to accept,
disagreements and pleads,
to be better, correct.

But humanity’s needs,
must turn off our hatred.
Our anger and spite.
So we together, embrace,
for that which we’ll fight.

So drink from the cup,
of wisdom and truth,
denying the rituals,
formed in man’s youth.

It may be there that we found them,
now they’re uncouth.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Kingdom of the Animal Song

Pass out from too much cruisin’.
White waves that I love usin’.
Been around but not abusin’.
Forget it, I don’t need excusin’,
I’ll just be on my way.

Pity the fool who’s not foolin’.
Write it up in the daily news ‘n,
see him come all unglued in,
the lair of the rich and proven.
He’ll just waste away each day.

No one is right, no one is wrong,
in the Kingdom of the Animal-Song.
I have heard it all along,
in the Kingdom of the Animal-Song.

She’s just a little bit stressed.
She’s just a little undressed.
In my back yard she’s feelin’ blissed,
while her body’s caressed,
beneath my lips.

It’s a little bit sound.
It’s a merry-go round.
Going pound for pound,
down to the ground.
I play it for the tips

There is no fight, there is no gong,
in the Kingdom of the Animal-Song.
Bounce around like Neil Armstrong
in the Kingdom of the Animal-Song.

Close your eyes and meet me there.
I despise more than is fair.
But close your eyes and meet me there.
Tell me lies as if you care.

Ready set dead,
from a shot to the head,
a curious way to be led,
from the comfort of your warm bed,
to a mystery’s need.

I’ve had enough of you.
You’ve had enough to do,
everything I said ’til I was blue.
You are but one of few,
chosen for this deed.

I’ll just be on my way
just to waste away every day.
Underneath my lips
you play it for tips.
Don’t settle for this.
Don’t settle for less.

Cause there is no sight, won’t you come along
to the kingdom of the animal-song.
Tamp it down and hit the bong,
in the Kingdom of the Animal-Song.
We get it on all-day long,
in the Kingdom of the Animal-Song.
I feel inside your thong,
in the Kingdom of the Animal-Song.

In the Kingdom of the Animal-Song,
you always belong.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Heart of Wits

On second street, an avenue
I never thought I’d be with you,
and now the years have left us both estranged.

I wasn’t sure that I was blue,
having met so many few,
I needed them then but now I’ve changed.

And if I am not looking back,
I’ll never feel the need to crack,
I’ve gotta keep my head on straight.

Books and papers in a stack,
atop them all your face is black,
I guess I’ve begun to feel the weight.

But life is short and love is long,
and you’re in need of another song,
So why don’t I just pack my bags and leave.

But every time I think to do,
What we both know we want me to,
I have to stop a while and believe.

When the rain falls hard I’ll call it quits
as something in your voice admits,
that we’re better off apart you and me.

But I just can’t handle this, it’s
a deadly game your heart of wits,
And so I think I’ll just wait and see.

Goodbye to love is never right,
I wish that we had known we might,
break apart like warming ice.

Then I’d have had the great foresight,
not to guide myself with your light,
and instead braced for snake-eyed dice.

I guess it’s just this waiting heart,
that buries itself beneath the art,
of making love and missing the point.

But I’d do it again, know that it’s,
just to play your heart of wits
and in its warmth, myself anoint.