Sad Bones

Unknown

pathway to the past heart the present

heavy weights clogging my veins making my bones cry out

the fire is gone the wisdom becomes anger now

the holocaust

the night is so dark and cold with barrels of water

washing my bones

the morning comes with the smell of cheese burgers and hope

but that doesn’t last

ugly faces smiling with broken teeth and smooth skulls

they stare at me

the music I hear is off key and too loud

the coffee is tepid and the hard wind gets hot

the riders go past and offer no assistance

a huge black hole eats my soul until colors disappear

sad bones poor old sad bones

Advertisements

Graveyard (orange 3)

df191acb59141ac46002ced591c5112e

old Midas was found down by the bay

beaten and ugly there he did lay

why was he killed in such a bloody way?

the answer was coming from those at the Inn

they worried when they saw a game he couldn’t win

for months Midas saw her and then made a move

she flirted back and thought he was smooth

the end was sudden and the price was his life

he never should have moved on another man’s wife

 

Graveyard (orange 2)

df191acb59141ac46002ced591c5112e

It began one night at the Dew Drop Inn when the bar was fast

Midas pulled up to drink right after his regular Scientology class

hiding and guzzling he didn’t see the blue and white come in

Midas just looked up as they grabbed him in his sin

they yanked him out quick and tossed him in a trunk

when screaming did no good he fell into an L Ron funk

later much later the blue and white rang the bell at the old graveyard

a mad dog yelped as they drove past his guard

Midas was forced into a 79 Ford- another trunk another funk

the mad dog trotted over to smell the stink like from a skunk

high above the dirt the orange pie moon smiled a wicked smile

the story keeps going down the row three tenths of a mile…to be continued

Graveyard (orange)

stoystown-pennsylvania-the-50-acre-auto-junkyard-belonging-to-stoystown-DMD373

greasy old tow trucks groan as they drag them into the dead dirt home

mere shadows of the past they drop in piles of iron rust

bits and pieces are sold and then the reincarnation trucks arrive

some are burned, melted, mixed, molded and sold again

others hold secrets holed up inside with bones of a debt collected

the orange graveyard is a blue walled shack where a blind dog sleeps

Norm watches from the shack and talks to the blind dog

Norm conducts his life out there amidst the orange with hollow eyes

ten times a day-  twenty times a day Рone hundred times a day-

money is exchanged

he understands the good, the bad, the unknown

“this is where the story begins” he whispers to the dog…

Vietbomb

150417125514-08-vietnam-war-timeline-restricted-super-169

cordite

that’s the smell

monks

ringing buddhist bells

rifles

loud in my ears

saigon

longing for a beer

enemies?

now what does that mean?

thinking

girl in a magazine

huts

low by jungle water

no

letters mother or father

women

old and young

is

that her with a gun?

hating

everything I did

thinking

back to when I was a kid

homesick

nothing else to say

wishing

I didn’t have to stay

children

little and so dead

old

man sick in his bed

insane

this entire fucking war

useless

generals minding the store

gunfire

hit me very hard

bleeding

played my last card

 

Nutz N Revolts

 

live Gambinos who are childish

dead Americans who make a wish

Russian trolls infecting Twitter

MAGA mouths spewing glitter

what became of listening ears?

God, what happened to Britney Spears?

guns in the classroom

leading us to impending doom

Dick and Spiro here once again

caring only for the color of skin

music heartbeats fading away

Otis Redding down by the bay

the myth of money and loss of love

minds no smarter than a baseball glove

hate must be taught and drilled hard

love must be exchanged said the Bard

this is America Glover said

sad but true a road of the dead

A Quiet Place

grotto best.jpg

there’s a place, where troubles can not climb

high in the mountains, among the great rocks and streams

the climber only hearth sounds of peace, love and life

wild deer drink from the springs and little foxes hide

find a niche, a place to sit, to think for days, weeks…

absent rude people, absent guns and traffic

wash your soul in the trail dust from hard clawing assent

feel the wild and set your heart free

blue skies, cold rain, woody smoke fires and thoughts of zen

yellow sun, green meadows, ancient canyons and deep snow

earth mother and father make love as hail explodes from the sky

deep in the cave dwells a fountain of knowledge and a turning

homeward