Rock On

I’m moving to a planet
Houses made of granite
No oil, no cruelty, no politicians
No greed, No crime, No war
I’ll take some food, some water
My pets, my family and nothing more
We’ll stargaze, stonehaze, laugh, love, trailblaze
Joining hands in blessed mirth
Thanking the day we got away
From debauched Mother Earth

Bells and Whistles

Hollowed out with Avarice
Or devoid of decent meal
Two percent with loot unspent
Say they know how “we” feel
Their talking heads are everywhere
Flick on flat screen TV
Two years from now or maybe ten
They’ll sound the same when in 3-D
We are the “job creators”
You can’t tax us to death
A lie trickled down from gilded hills
And spoken with perfidious breath
Shakespeare said the world’s a stage
And its men and women merely players
Seven ages made all the worse
By immoral “Altruistic naysayers”
They’ll ply the masses with their gadgets
All redeemed with credit card
Then collect the blood in golden cups
As we’re gouged with plastic shards
Their wealth will grow and those below
Will someday get the hint
That the eye of the rapacious
Always has, and always will, cast pernicious glint
Yet until then mine solemn friends
We are doomed barefoot in thistle
Pacified then cast aside
Content with Bells and Whistles

Intertwinement

In a grave yard, in a church yard, sits an aged, dark tomb
A repository for the lifeless, an inanimate solemn womb
Its inhabitants are a smattering, you might say a few
A man and a woman who once were twenty…plus two

This young gentlemen for his years, had seen much of life
Had been exposed to much grief and internal strife
When a child cried in pain or a beast moaned in sorrow
He’d squeeze shut eyes and ears, and pray for tomorrow

‘Til one day on a lonely road walking in a chill wind
He met a girl with raven hair and introduced as Rosalind
‘Twas like a burden had been lifted for a brief, precious time
For in the company of Rosalind he doth felt much sublime

‘Twas not long, before they, both stood before Priest
And after simple ceremony they quick retired to humble feast
They lived each day as two leaves intertwined in the wind
A young man who’d learned to smile in the glory of Rosalind

But ill-fortune has a knack of shadowing the poor yet glad
As when black clouds foretold of days that would be baneful bad
On the air, arrived the plague and its companion so named death
And the man, who’d learned to smile, soon drew in his final breath

One day from whence he died came a special delivery post
He was heir to a fortune so bestowed him by a passing remorseful ghost
Rosalind, forlorn Rosie, sat alone, in their meager sitting room
And devised to spend the money on a private marble tomb

Her beloved was kept on ice as construction was hurried through
And on the day of the internment she knew exactly what she must do
Funeral proceedings, like their wedding, were a quiet, austere affair
Rosalind, dressed in black a pair of red leaves in Raven’s hair

Before the casket, that held her world, was so closed, she doth linger
To place two leaves on dead man clothes between waxen, ashen fingers
Then she walked home, made preparations for the path she must follow
And whilst holding, two leaves in hand, ‘twas a poison she did swallow

That was many years ago, the tomb’s now home to ant and spider
And to a tender, fragile girl and the “leaf” that lay beside her
Sometimes, on frigid nights, two leaves cling, together, in the wind
And with mine ear, I faintly hear, a voice calling…Rosalind

Rosalind, was sick at heart, was moribund, could not stop weeping
And she cried, rivers of tears, while wide awake or even sleeping

Dough Nutz

Saggy bottoms…clogged veins
Fleshy arms…chest pains
Bulging bellies…rotten teeth
Diabetes…Good grief!
We lost ‘em once…now they’re back
They're moving into their old shack
Our March Lane Drive-thru Heart Attack
A junk food junkie’s supreme dream
A sly mortician’s wicked scheme
Insulin insanity…let’s all scream
Welcome back…Krispy Kreme!

Mortal Murmer

Shh! Somebody might hear, I’ll apply cupped hand to thy ear
How many sweet nothing’s spoke by love’s lips?
How many last breaths on Angel’s wing tips?
How many wishes…secrets are heard?
How many coarse tongues mouthing soft words?
The bellowing, the milquetoast…an ill maligned lisper
How much life’s spoken by…shh!...Whisper

Woodgood

Dead trees have no friends
Dead trees can’t block the wind
Dead trees in the fireplace end
Dead trees
Dead people have lost their friends
Dead people smell in the wind
Dead people in the graveyard end
Dead people
Live trees provide oxygen
Live trees make for tree house fun
Live trees give shade from sun
Live trees
Live people do treachery
Live people often just think “me”
Live people cut down live trees
Live People
Given a choice between bad and good
I sometimes think I’d opt for wood
A tree that lives is nature’s mill
Custom made for folks to kill
Dead trees can build a steeple
Live people have become sheeple
Trees and people…Jones and Spruce
Lets save our trees…and call a truce

Fade Away

Bones crackle, eyes strain, ears ring, daily pain
My image gray before the glass…time past
The race is ending and never the twain
Shall meet, as old supplants young much to fast
Time invites sorrow for tomorrow flies
Uninvited to distort once smooth skin
Under Crow’s Feet marching ‘cross squinting eyes
Talking ‘bout the good “old” day’s way back in …
Gray stubble holds sway on my chin, words I say
Spilling forth from acidic twisted tongue
Forgotten how to laugh…not fade away
Aging man trapped…with the soul of the young
Like the vampire I will remove all mirrors
And end my days in invisible fears