I dive into my work
And swim away . . .
I dive into my work
And swim away . . .
I want to write a love poem . . . sweet and easy.
I want to find a way to say the golden things
The things with wings.
I want to mimic Gibran . . . and Rumi too
I want to write a love poem . . . I do I really do.
I sit at the break of day
When the hush of morn surrounds.
I think of all those loving things
where peace and love abounds.
A thought so strong it births a tear
Takes me back to a better year . . .
BUT ALL I HEAR . . .
Across the hilltops flying high
Are cries from earth
ENOUGH! ENOUGH! . . . we say
IF you wish to live another day!
ENOUGH! ENOUGH!! ENOUGH!!!
In the beginning there was Intelligence and there was Energy….that’s all there was.
One day while traveling the Great Void Intelligence happened upon Energy.
Being enamored with Her shimmering beauty He knew He must have Her . . .
Instantly the great marriage experience (later to be called the Big Bang) ensued.
When Intelligence and Energy became one their orgasm flung seeds of Creativity throughout the Great Void.
The physical universe was formed, Stars, Solar systems, and the smaller planets appeared.
The Earth, being a favored child of the Two, was scattered with the seeds of a million creations, each one having the ability to reproduce and change evolutionary direction as seemed fitting to insure its survivability in the highly competitive environment.
You see…………..forget the religious/science debate……it’s all about SEX!
“Bang, bang, you’re dead!” Tommy yells from the thick woods bordering our back yard. “Ha! I got you right between the eyes! You’re dead!”
Tommy’s laughter recedes.
“Bravo One, Bravo One, this is Delta, Over . . . Bravo One, this is Delta, over.” Again and again the same agitated voice. “Bravo one. Can you read me? Over.”
My pounding heartbeat all but silences the incessant static of the radio lying somewhere to my side. I’m trying to find the handset, trying to answer. My ears are ringing. My eyes struggle to focus . . .
‘Blood! Oh shit! What happened? Roll over. Crawl away. Move!’
Blurred, ghost-like images move swiftly towards me. I hear excited, sing song voices and struggle against the panic seeking to engulf me. I close my eyes and attempt to merge with the mud I am lying in.
“Help me,” a voice moans to my left. I hear cursing to my front. The low cough of an AK47 shatters the stillness. Pleading screams followed by more shots, curses . . . more shots.
The shooting ends as quickly as it started. The ghosts melt into thick underbrush and vanish into the early morning haze.
I try to roll over . . . to escape into the jungle before they return, but my legs have detached themselves from my brain and are doing a strange mud dance of their own.
I think of my dad, years ago, laughing as Buster the old coon hound runs in his sleep by the fireplace, “He’s chasing rabbits,” dad says to me.
Tommy laughs at me lying beneath the old oak tree playing dead and pokes me with the butt of his BB gun. “Gotcha, Jimmy. Ha! You’re dead.”
Pissing and moaning, sighing and groaning
We sit here and cry in our beer.
Why me? Ask we, to the man in the sky
And to all most willing to hear.
Our toys they are many, our food it is plenty
Yet we buckle in woeful depression.
As we think of lost gold and bonus untold
In this last goddamned recession!
But thanks be to our name we have lost not the game
As our House puppet friends will save us.
The presses will run as they steal from our son
But our asses will shine from the gift that they gave us.
Next time we’ve learned to be careful
And not overboard our greed
We’ll steal just the same (of course) but we must change our name
And adapt to the new ‘social’ breed
We’ll start a foundation and give to the needy
We’ll stop all the shit that made us look greedy
A full 10% we will give to the poor, of that we can assure
The 90 that’s left? Expenses not theft
And of course as an onus, the large Christmas bonus.