Echo..alas tis my bosom that heaves….

Ahem…for yay, I do not write to be right, but write to be wrotten..alas tis a quivering quiver of ink and quill that spilleth my coffee, all painful, and scourging in my lapeth.  Oucheth, as I jumpeth and runneth for the mighty towel of chamois, and wipe up thine mess.  It stingeth, like words from a mind gone to mush, and which is assualted by lack of blog activity. 

Bring me ale, bring me the mightiest mead, let me drink forth thine words of love, pain, sorrow, and fruit bats.  Do thou hearest mine groans…helloeth??  echo….echo…echo(and the bunnymen).

——————————–

Just keeping it alive….and loony and not real whatsoever.

Peace and poetry and smiles,

non-rant

Posted this on my blog…kinda a poem, personal viewpoint, etc…whatever…thought it might fit in here anywho……

Maybe in the Morning

Don’t wanna be
a victim anymore.
I see scratches
from the greenback whore.

Wounds run deep
On flesh and soil.
My weapons weak
and armour foil.

Inside my mind
I lead the fight.
Changing the world
from wrong to right.

Steel becomes wood and green surrounds, smog gets cleansed and becomes a cloud. 
People are fed and weapons die, I saw the scales shed from my neighbors eye.
The Peace was so loud I floated away, the yellow Sun erased the grey.
Did you hear the music today?

Awake reality
in your soul.
Each heartbeat
is your gift
to create
with
each breath.
Reality awake.

‘Scuse my illness.

‘Scuse my Illness
By r

After taking my fill,
I run to the toilet and
Puke.

My vomit splashes
Cool water onto my
Face.

I look at the oral
Afterbirth and see
Again;

Chunks of Hate,
Bile infused with corporate power,
Thirteen thousand slimy lobbyists,
A splattering of ownership,
And churls of Environmental death.

I flush and pick
Up my rag, to wipe
Mouth.

The quilted rag given
From Sages past, to
Me.

It is; worn,
Full of holes,
Stained, but

Still a gold thread writes,
Forming glyphs
Of
Hope
Love
Justice
Compassion
Sustainability
Peace,

Again clean,

I stand to
Face; worry, despair, which will be crammed
D
O
W
N
My throat, and
I shall fight, until
It knocks me
To my knees
No
More!

Shedding Skin

Sometimes I shed my skin.
It falls like a jacket,
Heavy and folded.
It thumps to the floor.

Once again I am a kid.
I lose my worries,
Old and simple.
They bother me no more.

I run with my kids.
I have their freedom,
Young and ponderous.
My muscles not sore.

We’ll watch all cartoons.
Reruns don’t matter,
Colorful and fun.
Ain’t nuthin a bore.

I’ll trip on that jacket.
My ripple of skin,
Fits just perfect.
Adult to the core.

The view from here (8-17-07)

So doc and I were climbing and climbing, being my idea it was fun and a relief at first, but then it was tiring, but still my wife and co-workers said it would be good for me, what my co-workers know is shit, but for my family and my sake, I went climbing with doc in which I got a few cuts and scrapes on the way and at one point was teary eyed, he would then heal me with his smiles and votes of confidence and we reached the top and I looked around and wondered at the beautiful plateau and the surrounding, and doc smiled saying well that’s about it, here let me take that heavy stuff off your shoulder, and I said no I am fine, and he just smiled, but as I looked around I knew this wasn’t it, as I saw the birds, hawks I believe, flying over me, and I thought, that’s where I need to be, but I wandered around the plateau satisfied and content for days, I think, maybe weeks, but started to freak out, just like the old days with my co-workers, who don’t know shit, and a hawk came down and said his name was Shaman and to take his magic feather called Xanax and to leap with him and we shall try to go higher and higher to dig deeper and deeper to see the roots of all the trees and all my wounds, and this sounded like advice that my wife would appreciate so I leapt.

A look in a mirror. A look in a window. (8-30-07)

 

 

 

 

A look in a mirror
A look in a window

I am the hypocrite
short and sweet.
A face in the crowd
Not sure which I’ll be

I type out my anger
and preach about love.
My views on the world
go from hawk to dove.

I cry about corporate,
while I eat my Bigmac.
I try to be a poet,
but come out a hack.

I am the hypocrite
but only for today.
I’ll learn and question
till I find my way.

promise……

 

 

 

 

 

Even if you didn’t…Y’all asked for it!!

So being angst ridden for the last, lets see, 30 years, I’ve a bundle of angst poetry.  So excuse me while a whip this out…..

Ahem,

Let the writing begin!