It is not I who shelter your conscience from the bitter truth of denial
It is not my sword that slays last hopes in fitful cries about bloody battle grounds
It is not my spells which sheath truth to avoid speaking amongst those who whisper wrongs by name
Nor is it the timbstrels who dance around the spoils of victory
That shake the knees of that noble fervor so deeply rooted in passions teeth
It is the lofty words of treachery and treason that curse the steeds of ambition’s race
Month: August 2013
Slithering Madness (day 818)
Don’t cry into an uneven pillbox
Shuffling against the rainbow mirrors
I can see you shifting madly
I can see your soul aglow
Haven’t you seen my stardust
I left it by the tower
It’s pounded into them
Some recesses out at sea
But if you’ve come to know me
Then cry at my back doors
For I shall treat you kindly
Without qualm or unnecessary greed
Dive with me into madness
And sugar coat it as we play
Dosages of Love (day 817)
Gypsy Queen I see you
Floating there in your sheen
It’s bogus here this madness
Dazzling as you sing
I’ve splendor-ed into gladness
Hoping as I pray
Fantasy at its finest
Goldens and their boldness
Perfect fluttering delicateness
You’ve cried for much too long
Did you whisper mildly?
I couldn’t muster up the gumption
To take you into lust
But long it lasted when we held
Onto the shackles of flirtation
Did you delight as much as I
I hope it was as dashing
Enchanted as we’ve just met
Forsake me for all I’m worth
At Bay (day 816)
Pictures that come at me
Explode into sugarness
It’s that that’s great presence
And should we feel the independence loudly
Share it with me mighty pure
You’ve landed here now stay a while
For this is where the boulevard flows
Peaceful living where we are
Is what I see from here to there
Where whitecaps float on forever
Matches ignited for me today
Flamingos dancing wildly
Not just idle out at bay
Garage Sale’ing (day 815)
Dragging feet
Coin purses
Sifting Dust
Makin Rhyme (day 814)
Shake my sugar
My gloved thing
In moonlight
It’s a good thing
It’s been alright
Oh my dear thing
Cause it’s a 1-2-3
Hippity
Hippity
Hippity
Hop
Shake it down some
Make rhythm
Run
Baby you’re all fine
Sugar and rhyme
You pull roses from hearts crest
You pull angels from heavens nest
Your big bad ways unknown to man
You drag hearts round
You make loud sound
You’ve heard words
That ain’t mine
You lift pity hurts
Until blind bursts shatter loudly
You’ve pushed bad songs
Until rhythm equals dirt
Slung guns with the bad crew
And left daddy with a wide grin
Been there, you know
I’ve hustled in bad times
When there ain’t a living
You’ve got nothing baby
Like it ain’t hurt
You ain’t nothing baby
Like it ain’t hurt
Truth is
It’s a good thing
Prophecy will manifest
Like good goblins
In the blackness
Or Michael Jackson
And a leather vest
It ain’t lies
It’s like a holocaust
Evil gone
And the good all left
Broken gods
Relaxing on the river’s edge
It’s alright
I’m a gentle touch
I’ve got it down
Sugar and sweet
I’m a gentle touch
You know baby
I’m a gentle touch
Now no break
Can penetrate
Can permeate
This fine skin
Traumatize
Through these eyes
Cause you’re a bad seed
Through these eyes
You’re never wrong
Dot Dotting (day 813)
I cannot lie to you
Your tender eyes
Beseeching
Sun setting as we
Walk through children
I cannot deceive you
When I answer your calls
Leaving the receiver
Dot dotting near
I cannot understand
Reasons for our uniting
But long I will not tarry
Fall (day 812)
I lost that feeling deep within the cavernous region of my lonely heart
When the holy sun set upon the western banks of euphoria
My fingers crawled with memories over burning sand shifting away time
Like Mother Nature’s wiles as summer turns to fall
Leaves challenging gravity to a duo, a fate well known to man
Fruits come to spoil and nights come to close amongst sober flight
Silently and diligently animals march their way with instincts
Into warmer climes and distant hills, far off ponds of migration
Flocks and herds and pods and groups and hibernation
With the great cycle of life: life and death and birth and age
And here I sit: legs crossed with my third eye alert
Searching amongst the birch trees and clovers for only that which comes
Without forced determination, without abrupt distraction
As the harvest moon breaches the young evenings virginity
And the lone coyote sings a song of love into the cool night air
Sinews (day 811)
It’s a feeling that’s more than a feeling
Like an itchy elbow that cannot be itched
A recurring thought weaving its plans
Undoubtedly gently, so subtly urged
And nestled, and cuddled, and squeezed
Into a mold so earthly seated
Next to precious corners of life
That neither time nor obstacles hinder
Where no word plies this rooted fabric
Which sinews, taken from this same itchy feeling,
Are used to steadfast so strong a bond
So effortless a unison that does makes sense
That it feels good to be a part of
It’s a feeling that’s more than a feeling
Unfound (day 810)
A turned over rock
What once stayed fast
For thousands of years
Put up, tumbled
Upset in an instant
In search
Of an anomaly
Of yet, unfound