autumn trail

                                                 going past as if
                                                 on a mission,
                                                 they never knew I exist.

                                                 leaves falling,
                                                          geese honking,
                                                                   summer fading away.

                                                 soon, snow falling,
                                                           Northern Lights to show where I lay.

                                                 sounds filling the air,
                                                            yet to me,
                                                                   silent.

                                                 in repose,
                                                            after a long day hiking,
                                                                     only a couple feet from the path,

                                                 i lay.

                                                                                                  TV evangelist's again are shouting,
                                                                                                  probably pouting it is not yet the end.

For every disaster,
they say we're the matter,
causing God to tremble and sway.

                                                                              All the doom, the gloom, holding the Bible,
                                                                               even as New York has had a bad week,
                                                                                      they say it is Him who has something to say.

The poet inside has something to say,
el crappola s'il vous plait.

                                                                          Jesus, Mohammad, down the list to Martin Luther King,
                                                                                         all listened to something, or to what some people believe,
                                                                                          and that's nice as they too, had something good to say.
However, returning to earth,
low pressure system hurricanes,
shifting Teutonic plates,
to that rabid rat biting off a persons face,
all facts of life called living,
all results of choice,
as for God speaking,
He already has had his say.

                                                         So batten down the hatches east coast folks,
                                                         keep dry and your family safe,
                                                         and when you see that TV preacher talk as if they know better,
                                                         just smile and remember, they're just like you and me.


                                                                                   

<sub>I hear a pedicure is in order, nothing like a good old scrape to rid the hood of its constipation. The last place you need to be right now is a checkout staring down at food stamps and a long walk west with a kid and nowhere inside for the pioneer spirit to do the right thing — or listen to an apache thank the great white face for a transit system and gifts of snake-oil and nice clean bunny blankets from God. We already did that one once before.

This is a time to swallow your horse and hate, Randy. Florida needs sidewalks to run for a bus on and a job worth more than the minimum wage to go to, be proud of — and in Canada an alien is an alien. Amen.

We need to campaign for decent carparks for our kids, not promises of ownership, opportunity, and fame. We need a Chinese immigrant from Hanoi that can trail-mix a nation to victory with a bow and arrow and run all the way to Washington on an empty rice bag. So let's hear no more about evacuation, least call a spade a spade. Irene, goodnight.

Thank you kindly— good job, Randy</sub>





.

talking about hygiene earl, did you hear the news?

                                                   " Marines banned from farting in Afghanistan"

                                          in their world filled with bombs and sand,
                                                   the US Marine is banned.
           
                                            not in conflict with the Taliban, but with something,
                                       well, a little more digestic.

                                              when in the presence of those they came to kill or protect,
                                          just cross you toes and hold it.
                                                  then, when the time is right, just let it rip and blow it.

                                            failure to adhere, will have you standing tall,
                                                and when the Commander is chewing you out,
                                                    with a smile, let them smell it.

(news is perfect fodder for a poet to digest, a person can't make this crap up if they wanted too, oops, better light a match.)

                                                           Rich Man's Disease

Opulent surroundings, filled with truffles, stuffed geese, other delicacies fit for a king.
Wine flowed, staining chin and garments.
Laughter as women frolicked, swaying hips to music, teasing those who noticed.
Ripping lobster in half to suck sweet meat followed by oysters on the half with smoked salmon.

Feasting through a night, the week, months of years he was fed, pleased at the spread,
growing rotund, or if you prefer, pleasantly plump,
never lacking in feed, friend ,or family, of course by now his hair had fallen.

It was now time for the comeuppance, piper was to be paid as the court jesters laugh fades.
Awaking in his chambers screaming from the pain, a throbbing sensation rooted in his feet.
Shiny red and bulging, the joints were coated in uric acid.

While he lay in pain, surrounded by his wealth, outside was a common beggar,
a man of the street,
tending a cardboard fire to chill his lean stature,
wondering why a man of fortune should cry out.

Outside the world showed hunger,
those striving to exist,
never to know the rich man's inside pleasure,
of gout.

<sub>good
and goodlier

want Santa stuck on a wall
so Canada might recall never-never
snow white & pixie dust
forever fever during storms
and cure the blind next door
world Canada is that curious cabin
— virgin surrounds, a place where
vice is nice and victims get sappy
where team ape can cull the clan of man
desire of honey, any price, any school
as far as they tell, likes of Beckett
Bacon as well, remain unread and uncool
— effortlessly made bigger, well, yeah.
where turds come from on hire-purchase
totally. 


— good job, Randy
I often think about money, sleepless hunters
more pricks than kicks
where writers come from, go to care less and less
I love the soft sun and the ugly fucker
knocking, more and more with a hammer
say yes, say no, am I going
to be
too late, always</sub>





.

In other words earl, "Stick it to the man," a most opportune moment, i understand.

Is this a cliche' or did someone else already say it? I thought of it today while having lunch.

No matter how you slice it,
     cheese and more cheese,
              is the best food,
                      no doubt
                         about
                             it.

.

yes Earl, it is truly yours. No words needed from me other than to say, "nice."

                                                              Waking to the sun rising over the red sands of war,
                                                              looking off in the distance, there was peace,
                                                                                    walking lovers, hand in hand,
                                                                                          while last nights city lights still flickered,
                                                                                                casting shadows over still waters.

                                                               Caught in turmoil,
                                                               like a fish gasping for life,
                                                               it was to be another day like all others,
                                                               trapped here on Mars.

.

yes, more than yes, to yes.
ben flew it because he knew it,
paul rode because he believed,
settlers moved because of (royal decree),
and youth standing like deer in the headlights, waiting to catch the disease.

***


and now onto the forecast.

                                                           Morning yawn turning frosty at the breakfast table,
                                                           partial clearing of small talk,
                                                           turning to parting chatter.

                                                           Full sun of witty banter with the single secretary,
                                                           with the afternoon blowing full gale at the board meeting,
                                                           evening thunderstorm when she learns...
                                                         
                                                            Yes folks, it is 100% chance for a torrent of words.

                                                                         she sat in the Wal-Mart electric chair,
                                                                                  reaching for candy.
                                                                          a product for her production of fat,
                                                                                  which is why she sat there.
                                                                          last i saw, she was standing in Subway,
                                                                                   saying I'll have provolone

.

respectability

I neither expect nor want
a bird sings its wanderings
poesy over my wicked cracks
into something soft and dim
adventure
what
fine ladies, have these
eyes no equal
you see them dressed to kill
I on the other hand
pretend, deception
alone I play with my heart
as strings, taught, unread
yes ladies, you need a pattern
shapes, I see the smile takes
your head, not Boccherini
I your heart

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8dmWAve3Pvk

.