Thursday, October 13, 2016

Dress rehearsal for a parlour trick

Oh I saw it coming like the teeth of the Jaws
the degradations of legions chomping at the maws.
Saddened, but nevertheless I am in awe.

There is no news that is fit to print
just tabloid flaws amongst internet hint.

"Hey, i'm just earning a living"
 gives me great pause...
When that living is a slavery cause.

So the aliens are coming, or so it would seen
from the internet scammers living an apocalpse dream...
see it's a misspelling... you know what I mean.

In the east horizon, on a day gone south
when I flap useless gums from a nere-do-well's mouth,
i see ghostly visions wafting the skies,
projected from thoughts of nere-do-wells eyes.
No need for disguise.

The aliens are coming, there is nothing to fear,
no shit sherlock they are already here.

They come as your masters and ascended one,
or candidates for presidents who consider themselves
won. Please forgive me, my heart weighs a ton.

So projection as planned in due from the east, a little
bit south from the belly of the beast...Nasa, Nasdeq...

and even a little nascent trebek. Spare me the recent
star wars and trek. Movies are projection but what the heck...

The past is dead but our future is now, we all got the memo
and we know it somehow.

I saw the silly ghost, and the creepy clown
vying for options for a very silly crown.

Aliens are coming your way, or jesus, buddha, allah
as some might say. It will be a grand parlor trick

to cause some more fear. The aliens to most kind folk
are already here. Be ready my deer.

Wednesday, October 12, 2016

Oh the perfect day...

There was one perfect day a long time ago,
no a moment in time without reason or rhyme,
skipping home to a jump rope rhythm, blue sky,
white clouds, happy to be alive as I skipped with
my rope away from the school... home. Past the nursery
of the blossom kind. Birds singing, and me knowing
all is well with the world. Lunch with mom is waiting.

Mom was not so well and the dark clouds came instead.
I can't remember what transpired but I went back to school
and faced a disappointment that day. Dismay.

We learned  scary tunes from my teacher kind as she banged
on an old piano. She wore sunglasses and wept as she taught us
some songs, for the curriculum. No "Bill Grogan's" goat today.

"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming...

"And bombs burstin in air gave truth...

No, no, no my day just went wrong.

"Oh beautiful for spacious skies", was the song I wanted.

Fast forward... a half a century later.

I saw the dragon as a cloud in the sky, the moon sucked
into a brain. It passed down a sinus and out of a mouth,
(did I mention there was a rainbow that day?)

It passed out of the nostril of that dragon beast, as it
lit a twilight sky. I felt for the passing of the man in the moon,
but alas, I could not cry. It was a man in the moon with
with a sorrowful grimace that passed through the cloud in the sky.

I know why. She dances her light from the light of a Sun that
is just a reflection here. Letting her little one's know that their gifts may
give pause, but there is never nothing to fear.

A perfect day can never be spoilt when you see dark clouds
in a different way. Oh dear.

"Oh beautiful for spacious skies, and amber waves of grain."

Words I remember from a feminine chant that has stifled
my weary left brain.

"Crown thy good with (mother) brotherhood from sea to shining
sea. It's a perfect day when I'm thinking like me.

Skip roping with my poetry.

Thursday, October 6, 2016

Wolf and a Sheep

Prey tell, to the sheep that bleats well.
This wolf hides deep in your eyes,
an animal sentient and unhumanly wise.

It's a clever disguise.

The hunting are hunting, it's not such
a bad thing. You watch and can see
the human comedy. No fear. Stay with
me here.

Watch the skies, not the TV if you love
the birds, the clouds, and even the trees...
you will see the prey,
it just you and the me

who cares... steps from your heavens of
Apocalypse prayers.

The wolf is watching over the sheep, at least they're
sentient and won't lose their sleep.

Talking heads and crazy church bells come
together as jokers, as the hurricane swells.

Love is the reason that everything is here,
as a threat to the status that makes all of us fear.

It's just drama occurring, loud and bold...
such a old time melodrama whose time is
on hold, a moment in time is a joke in a rhyme.

The wolf and the sheep are beginning to see,
we are both the prey of a dying breed.

Love is the only thing that brings us together,
define the word and you will trust in the weather.

Or whatever.


Scalene... why can't you be true?

So it is written in the sonnets and beholden from the stars
that a scalene with an eye, projects the life on mars...

quite possibly dead, don't you think?
An eye for and eye and a tooth with a chink
of gold... or a story once told that is dead as
a doornail or quiet as a church mouse
never mind, as the storm moves closer
i will shut my mouth... ahem.

Folks we're at it again, and it won't go away
with some winds or a flood, the story goes
inward to the heat of the blood, it's relative
don't you see, the heart of the matter is the you
and the meme... or so it would seem.

A mission is part of the plan, to deny is to
bury good thoughts in the sand, which is blowing
into my jaded eyes... Oh, it's that old trickster and
he's wearing disguise, it's just sand in my eyes.

Quick, like a silver streak only for a glance or
a peek, an isoscalese in the wake, well hells bells
we should all order cake and be done with the past,
the die has been thrown and the future is cast.

Done, done. doner... said a ghost to a wanderer.

The eye of a storm is alive in feeder bands,
just like the disaster of Custer's last stand.

A scalene is what was planned, an isosceles
is what's in demand. A triangle will travel
for sure, not dependent on anyone's word.

A bird told me what might be true, but the
clouds convinced me that what I think will
come true. Oh scalene, why could't you be true?

I soss o lease,  wee are waitin on you.

Tis true.

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

The Light that has no eyes, or ears...

Well, I knew it was coming this wave of light
as I always knew everything is all right
in a left hand play the stage is set,
an actor in a play of not yet. The stage has been set.

Feeling quite human in chaos it seems, stifles all
thinking and heart wrenching dreams, a poet's dilemma
no secret it seems. I got onto my couch and into my dreams,
meditation if you will, the colors and feelings that some humans
spill... a fly on the colors shows up with free will.

I spy, then I cry... Love is my mantra, no question of why.

Calling for help from heavenly spheres, that come to my anguish
and know why I'm here for the basking... dolphins are there for
my asking.

The Light is blinding and I'm not afraid, cuz I promised to
be, and to be is just brave. In a full fledged attack I hold fast
to my heart, that barely quivers in a body of dark. No snark.

Wake-up from dreams that hold colors not seen, the One Love
of All Love is not what it seems. It's beauty without any seams.

A promise is made for my soft sorry soul, I have two more wishes
more precious than gold. Keep a family solid in love and in mirth,
keep the dream alive is my gift and my worth.

Blasted back to a humble couch, a dream that is living
if just for a day... a Love that makes all fear go away.

I'm thankful that I've been targeted today.

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

Catcher in a Ball Game

"Davey, everyone wants to be a pitcher, we need a catcher."

Famous words from the Family of God or some church,
we remember the animation and know the tune
and those lessons of children still echo as a rune
in our minds... these thoughts come in rhyme. or not.

There are pitchers who swagger and hold the ball court
and jesters who watch and know that the rules
that preside, secret hand jestures taken in stride
to the knowers only.

In front of a crotch, it's the manipulation
of the lesser of jock. A catcher will pick up the slack,
to make the game look easy as a crack in ice, when the
snow glazes over. As a simpleton dog, gives commentary
to the slackers that think twice. Dog-gone dogma.

Play you fools or don't get paid, and if you're lucky you might
get laid. A games of thrones, to the homeys unknown.

Now give us our bone.

How does it feel to be at home, all alone?

Saturday, September 10, 2016


In the beginning, in some circles was the Logos,
or the shhhh... word. A dangerous conspiracy of
sorts, when the wind, the birds, and leaves always
shone fine, like an infinity sign. An eight, like a
crazy, but not broken like a nine.

So the logos, or legos, or lagos, or sow the lugos
saw through from the beginning of our time...
a new age, so fraught in history and so sublime...
a matter of a concept so lonely, like a decrepit father,
could only be time... yes. out of mind. fraulein.

oh, no, it's mother goose on the loose... take a gander.

The word as I write is so proper and contrived, poe it try...
but it ain't like my homey who died. A mystery to the one who
loves poetic hisssstory. Honey, take a pill... I feel a chill
just waiting for the hot sweat of sympathy. Yea, you do know me.

Logos, the beginning and end of a psycho trend, your word is only
as good as your name brand... you jolly green giant, I saw it in a birdseye of yesterday. As green man of Starbuck grunge, competes with the runner of Dunking... I'd lay scones to donuts that it will never be free... it's just
Logos trash talking the money out of me. Curious or curiouser, I have none, don't you see? A looking glass wish that took a devil out of me. A crow giggles by,
thinking, a raven i'll be. Nevermore, a folly of wish for your soul...too easy. (duh)

It's when I sit on my tuffet, shunning those curds and whey, I am the spider
that frightened and fancied those lascivious gods and snared them away. Logos,
as word, has nothing to say. Uh...

Good day!