Carolina Mud

It was raining in the mountains
In good ol Brasstown.
A quiet place, the culture dry,
But now it appears to be quite wet.
There's a family reunion tomorrow,
A return to the roots of our blood.
It all mixes together, really,
Like the mushy Carolina mud.

Nothing, not the elements,
Can nor will keep us apart,
For the family ties, here or there,
Are really quite strong.
We remember the days long ago
When we were so very young,
And realize that time flies away from us
As it does for the Carolina mud.

Oh Carolina, how you've always been there.
You're so staid and you're so old,
But you've not gone anywhere,
And for that, you are so bold.
Let me just tell you something, bud,
About what the rain can nor will never kill:
I shall never let the Carolina mud
Sour my soul or my will.

Now, the sun is out, and it's so pretty,
And the children are out at play.
The mean ol rain left for another city;
It packed up and ran away.
Love of the family buoyed us up,
And there's nothing to stop us now,
So, pour yourself another cup;
There's no more Carolina mud.

He Says So Many Things (And I Think He's Wrong)

He says feminists only want to be equal,
But I think, "That's not true."
I think the lunatic fringe wants to wipe us out,
Out of the earth's very existance.
I guess he lets his wife run roughshod on his mental capacity.
He says so many things,
And I think he's wrong.

He claims to be a teacher.
A faux one, perhaps.
He claims to disseminate facts of the world,
But he's really quite fallacious.
The man is so full of hot air
And he feels compelled to release.
He says so many things,
And I think he's wrong.

Apparently, I'm a stupid git,
Because he exalts himself to the throne of prophecy.
He wants us to speak of our opinions,
But he never agrees with me.
I guess I lack the inner intelligence, but this I gotta say:
He says so many things,
And I think he's wrong.

He prides himself as an authority,
Of what, you ask, I cannot say.
I guess he lets loose by someone pulling his chain.
What does he know?
Not as much as Jesus, I bet.
He says so many things,
And I think he's wrong.

Do we pontificate this professor because of his title?
Do we say he's the all omnipotent one?
Do we really say he holds dominion over all knowledge,
Of all academia as well?
Well, I don't know about you, but this I must say:
He says so many things,
And I think he's wrong.

Condescension is the key to his style of pedagogy.
Remember that he has visions of himself as savior.
Some people blindly listen, thinking he is truth,
But he is yet another example of artful deception.
Well, what do I know other than what's on my mind?
He says so many things,
And I think he's wrong.

Left Side of the Aisle

High achievers, beware!
Beware of the subversive men in red.
They'll take every penny you have,
Then they'll ask for more.
For blood, perhaps. Blood for keeps.
Artful illustrators of mistruths
These elitists most certainly are.
Always claiming to help the common man,
But then, they'll rob them, too.

They sit on the left side of the aisle,
Thinking they are the savants of the land.
Anything to the contrary must be quashed.
They say they'll make us free,
But then comes the stuffing of "the pig,"
The fattening of the apparatus which makes us free.
There's the special interests in their back pockets,
Though they commonly claim the right has it all.
They're the biggest liars I ever saw.

Those fellers on the left side of the aisle
Speak to others with great vitriol
Who bear differing opinions from their own.
They claim to champion the poor
By dispensing handouts and such,
And rendering the rest of the country to their soup laddle.
And those fellers on the left side of the aisle,
They claim we righties don't give a damn,
But they pontificate the role of the government
As greater than The Lamb.

Believe in freedom, boys and girls,
For its there for the taking.
All you gotta do is cast your vote against the reds.
Save the lives of the unborn young!
It's easy if you just take the time.
Vote for freedom! Vote your conscience!
Just cast you ballot down, my children,
It doesn't take much at all.
Vote for freedom for you and I.

Penniless Shifter

A penniless shifter on the streets of D.C.,
Legless, wearing rags, pushing a tin cup,
He might as well have died in the day,
In the day of the scourge in the hinderlands.
The pain of the wounds in the rice paddies
Was just the icing on the cake
For this soldier who served in Vietnam.
It was a day of pain. A day of sorrow.
The first day, really, of the rest of his life.
He was a football star in college,
But now, he has nothing to live for,
So, when will it all end for him?

He is fifty-eight now,
But his life began thirty-five years ago.
The fork for him bent in a peculiar way,
To the path of pain and suffering.
He never got to play for the pros
Because 'Nam was the bloody field of play,
But he did win enough to stay alive,
Though it may be his curse,
Because he stayed too down,
Downtown, on the streets of misery.
The pain. The pain of it all.
He lives on the bed of despair.

I walked past the old man today
As I do so quite often.
"Spare me some change?" he asks,
His eyes, tired, all but dead.
I dug in my pockets deep,
Deep in comparison to his,
And I pull out a dollar, said, "This is for you."
The man said, "Bless your soul!"
And I pity him, the fool, raped by life,
Knowing he'll simply drink his troubles away.
He's been rendered redundant
By life's ubiquitous cruelities.
He should pass on to another life,
One more compassionate.
Perhaps this drink will take care of that.

The Glory Seekers

A battle to the finish for victory or death
For the glory seekers against their enemies sworn.
The trumpets blasted off in herald, the sound of war,
And the combatants drew their swords from their sheathes.
The audience knew of the sense of finality,
For the winner moves on to glory,
While the loser simply perishes.
There was simply no turning back.

Victory or death's the word,
Or the world, if you will, to the glory seekers,
For if they cannot have one,
They'll certainly have the other.
It was victory which they championed,
But then the day came along
When the tides of change blew it all astray.
Life decayed, and death soon found a way.

Now, there is always the belief of reincarnation,
Of the phoenix rising in a flame from its own ashes.
Why not use religion to comfort the soul?
For the legions of people who gathered
Around their fallen heroes,
They simply prayed for another day.
And the glory seekers ascended into The Light.
Their souls validated, wearing laurel wreathes, strumming harps.

And the glory seekers achieved martyrdom
In their fall against their enemies sworn.
It was the glory seekers who had a manefest destiny.
They fought to the last man, the last man left standing,
And they died heroes in the eyes of their legions.
They did not die in vain, no, no,
For they died on the field of battle,
For the glory seekers fought until the trumpets called.

Her Majesty's Request

Her Majesty's request should be granted.
She may not be the queen of all, but I am her domain.
Her voice, a gentle, sweet, sonorous tone of sensuality,
With eyes, like diamonds, whose beauty defies time.
Beauty that is timeless. Timeless, indeed,
And she seduces me with merely a glance, giving me hope.

All Her Majesty wants for in life
Is for me to make love to her on a bed of roses.
Simple, yes, in its complexity.
So, I take this red, red rose and pluck it of its rougeness,
And scatter its petals all over with a painter's touch,
And we fall down, two lovers embraced,
Giggling incessantly, kissing true love's kiss.
I cry, knowing I truly have my lover.
Who cares if we're not blue bloods?
We have each other instead.

And we roll along, joined together as one person
In the only way possible to conjure up.
Her Majesty, so beautiful, so very, very pure,
And I, the humble servant, covered in rose petals.
Our love is the smell of that rose,
The symbol of our conjoined heart.
I just can't get her off of my mind.

An American Tragedy

The boss lounged at his desk, smoked a cigar,
Fat, obscenely fat, a mockery of health.
He dished out some money, some green to those he patroned,
To those who gave him power.
And the boss hindered Irishmen's chances to be free.


There was this boy from Dublin.
Dirty, he was, so unclean from his journey.
He had dreams of making it big in America,
But he would soon find that it it's just another tussle.
The American dream he wanted, but could never have.


The boy was told to meet with the big boss man
In the smoky saloon downtown in the Irish sect.
The boss could make the boy something if he chose,
Exalt him as high as the angels, maybe higher,
But instead, he chose to throw him into the mud.
It was all she wrote for the boy before it all commenced.

And the boy became a boxer for betting men.
Fought all comers, and did the best he could.
Small but scrappy, he could take a punch,
But he barely made any wages.
He often wondered, "When will all this ever end?"


And then one day, he went up against Big Bill Mulligan,
And he laid the boy out like a piece of meat.
A few men gave the boy hell,
Kicked him around, made jeers at him, "Get up! Ye fool, get up!"
But it was too late. Big Bill Mulligan had laid him out for good.


The boy died right there on the canvas,
On the same floor chickens cockfight.
The blood flowed out from his nostrils,
His eyes, like tenderized meat, tell a sad story.
It was painful to see by the sensitive few at the scene.
Good for him that he doesn't feel a thing.


And then there's the boss: rich, pompous, and fat.
Counted his money from the bets made on the boy.
But then an angry mob forced down the doors
Of that smoky, old saloon in which he lounged.
The boss, he said, "Spare me, fellers, you bet on your own accord,"
But the boss, well, he was shot full of holes.


What comes around, goes around in circles,
And that, my friends, is the end of an American tragedy.

The Rose

As I pass by a bed full of red, red roses,
I pick one that brings a tear to my eye.
This rose reminds me of my Stella.
So natural. So beautiful. So naturally beautiful.
The sun glistens its rays down upon this rose,
As did God's grace shine down on my beautiful lady.
Stella's mouth was like this blooming red rose:
So red, so vibrant, so filled with vigor
And hope for the future.
More than anything, perhaps,
Is the sweet aroma emanating from the rose.
Stella emitted a freshness which launches an image
Of God, of the angels, of the angel she must be now.
And now as I stand over her grave, I stare once again
At this red, red rose, and then drop it.
Here's one for you, baby.
You may no longer be with me here,
But I can still feel and taste your sweet kisses
And feel your warmth. Your soul is still with me.
Stella, I know that you always enjoyed roses.
Please accept this as my token of everlasting love,
And to rest assure that I will always be here for you.
In my advanced years, I know I haven't long for this world,
Yet I take comfort in realizing that I will be heading to a better place.
Soon, Stella, we will be reunited in the Kingdom of Heaven
In one perpetuating bed of roses.

Dear Anna

Dear Anna,
My heart is aching.
I don't wanna know what life is like
Without you, my darling.

Dear Anna,
It seems like just yesterday,
You used to say that I love you
All the time.

But, then you changed.
You began to ignore my calls from the heart.
I cry sometimes...no...
I cry very often...
I cry, it seems like all the time.

I'm a human. Aren't I allowed to sin?
I swear to God I'll never do it again.

Dear Anna,
What did I do?
What can I say or do to make it alright?

Dear Anna,
Your words, they're so painful
I can't believe it so...
I can't believe that you hate me so much.

After all these years that have rolled by,
It's finally come to this,
And all I can do is let off a grand sigh.
Now, I could pout. Now, I could be bitter.
After all, I'm so sad I feel I could die.

I guess that's it then, Anna. So sad.
It was all good lovin' gone bad.

The Obscure Corsican

There was a little boy with big dreams
From the isle of Corsica.
Didn't speak a lick of French,
And yet, he took a nation's heart.
Was it the escargo,
Or maybe a revolution?
He was a mathematician,
But a brilliant politician...
Generalisimo, too.
A coup d'etat did the trick,
As the little man, as he was, took control.
This Corsican was so obscure.

He conquered a continent,
Built himself an empire.
He did all this, in the name of peace, so he said.
Misunderstood, perhaps?
As genius often is, of course,
But he wanted the world,
And you know you can't have that.
He spread his wings to limits
Far too far away,
And he felt the cossacks' wrath
In the forbidden land of the Rus,
Leading to the obscure Corsican's fall from grace.

There was the exile to Elba
After his defeat at Leipzig,
But you had to know he wouldn't stay down.
He retook his adopted country,
And not a single shot was fired,
Only to see his last harrah fade away.
And there was the obscure Corsican,
Done for, defeated at last,
His vision of a grand empire, dashed.
He spent his last days on St. Helena
In the South Atlantic waters,
And he died in much the same shape he began.

And here's to the obscure Corsican,
Big dreamer that he was.
Some say he was the antichrist,
But I prefer to think he was just misunderstood,
And for what, you ask, is it all worth to me?
The man from humble beginnings made a name for himself.
The obscure Corsican should get further review.
The obscure Corsican deserves to get his due.

The Trouble with Lilith

She is my wife. Her name is Lilith.
Lilith likes to get what she wants.
Lilith likes many things, rich things,
Things beyond my control.
Lilith is dangerous. So very dangerous.
She's sucking me dry, so very dry.
I just can't keep going on like this.
Lilith spends money. Lots of money.
She spends lots of money, so much money,
More money than I have.
She's out of control. So out of control.
She's out of control, so bad,
I know not what to do.

I hide, because here comes Lilith.
Here comes Lilith, maddened face and all,
Wanting more from me.
She likes to be on top. On top everytime.
She likes to be on top, but I say no,
And this makes her so very mad.
Lilith's found me. She's found me, alright.
I can't abscond. Just impossible.
She's an animal, a beast who can smell blood.
Lilith wants more from me. More from me.
More from me than I can possibly give,
And I tell her no, but I pay the price.

Lilith attacks me. She attacks me hard.
She says, "Adam, I rule over this domain."
Lilith flies at me, claws stuck out,
And digs those claws in just like a demon would.
I'm wounded. So very wounded.
I don't know what I'll do. I don't know.
Lilith has me by the throat, and there is no winning.
There is no winning, and she sucks me dry again.
There's nothing left in me. Nothing left at all.
There's nothing left to do other than raise the white flag.
I had faith, but now it's gone. Lilith's won. Lilith's won.

Alienation

Wake up in the morning at six o'clock.
Drag my ass into the shower.
God damn hot water heater is fucked up again.
Just another day for moi.
Another day, another dime, more monotony.
I do the robot everyday, all day.
Reminiscent to that thing from the 80s.
Hard to believe that was ever hip.
And after all that coffee, I still have blurred vision.
Blood shot eyes. Must be emotionally drunk.

Hop into the car, turn the ignition,
With ringing messages of leftists
Bitching how I'm ruining the ozone.
Fuck it, so I say. They can all go to hell.
What has the ozone ever done for me?
I'm driving along Interstate blah-blah-blah,
Missing exits, radio incoherently blaring,
Signs reading blah-blah-blah,
And I think to myself, "What a fucked up world."

I arrive at work. More of the same. Shit.
Copier doesn't work. Presentation due in five.
I kick the hell out of the machine, but it just wheezes more.
Wow. God must really hate me.
Presentation goes bust. Don't get that promotion.
Guess no vacation for me again this year.
The office owns me. I hear voices.
They are telling me that I'm a fucking idiot.
As if the whole world was surreptitiously keeping that a secret!

Five o'clock. Time to go home.
Car again. Missing exits. Signs read blah-blah-blah.
Still have blurred vision. Hit a man in the middle of the road.
Run over him because I just don't care.
Cops see it. I get pulled over. No one cares about me.
Charges will probably be vehicular homicide.
Pull out a gun. Put it to my head. Fuck this world to hell.
Shoot at the cops. They fire back. I get hit in the neck.
Bleeding profusely. Suffocating now.
But what the fuck? I was suffocating already before.
I know I'm dying. This is merely the last day of my life
Flashing before my very God-damn, mother fucking eyes.

Well fuck.

Summer

Your radiance was divine.
Your color, passionate.
But when you passed,
Your passing made me want to perish.
Now, there is a barren landscape,
And vultures circling the skies
Over your discolored, rotting corpse.
But, I dare not taint the processes of nature,
For you will come around again, Summer.
We will make love again,
And I will not have to suffer forever,
'Tis all temporary, indeed.
Yes, Summer, yes.
Your season's turn will come to pass again.
At that time, I will see the curvatures
Which I feel everytime I caress your body,
Your breasts, which I cup and massage vigorously,
Your long, splendid legs that always leave me breathless,
Your ruby-red lips that tease the most sensitive of my body parts.
Yes, Summer, yes.
You will bloom to be a red, red rose again.

Paths

In your dreams
And in my nightmares
We separate, uncermoniously,
Going down paths we dare not glance.
We cannot see our shadows,
But they are there.
Oh yes. They are there.
They are there and they're laughing,
Laughing at how we're such fools
For ignoring the obvious.
What is the obvious, you ask?
An undeniable force that at the very least I feel for you.
An undeniable force that is to say, true love.
Oh madam. Can't you see we're wasting time?
Can't you see we're wasting precious time?
There's only so much precious time.
Time is so precious....

Real Life Barbie and Ken

A blond boy and girl walk alone, in love,
Oblivious to the rest of the world's will.
The only thing to shine on them is the moonlight above.
You can just feel love's chill.

Folks, they're just a real life Barbie and Ken
For you and me to behold.
So young, so innocent... one might surmise without sin.
Innocence abound, their love is gold.

A tender lock of the lips, pressed so tightly,
Two friends, more than friends, unite.
Steam rises into the majestic sky might'ly.
Their love is there, its band woven tight.

I Saw You (Song)

I saw you there in the bright lights.
You simply took my breath away.
You may think you're just an average, ordinary Joe-blow,
But I think you are an angel with a halo over your head.
And now, I ask you to dance with me
Beneath the moonlight and the stars.
Why can't we just dance the night away?

I saw you, girl. I saw you.
I saw you and I liked what I did see.
I saw you, girl. I saw you.
I saw you, and you set my spirit free.

You said you were simply an Irish girl in an endless sea,
But I swore to you that you were wrong.
You then blushed, then chuckled, then flashed a brilliant grin,
And you warmed this ole boy's heart.
I may not be a painter or sculpter
Or a musician, you see,
But I can see an aesthetic moment when it's there before my eyes.

I saw you, girl. I saw you.
I saw you, and I liked what I did see.
I saw you, girl. I saw you.
I saw you, and you set my spirit free.

And we dance the night away,
Hands together in a sweet embrace;
It's a Kodak moment if there's ever been.
Words haven't been invented to describe this moment,
And believe me, I've been pondering this all evening,
So I guess I'll say this, that I love you,
A simple statement that rings true.

I saw you, girl. I saw you.
I saw you, and I liked what I did see.
I saw you, girl. I saw you.
I saw you, and you set my spirit free.

Death to My Soul

A bright full moon
At midnight tonight
Might just make the Devil
Tear right out of me
In my sleep.
A soul so tortured as I
Won't be competent enough
To combat the inner creature
Consuming on my heart, and thus,
I might as well take
Another swig of Jack Daniels
And numb myself further
From the tortures of the night.

No matter where I run,
Ghosts greet me with their presence,
With balls and chains with which
To shackle my feet.
Death to my soul? Perhaps,
For its candle was blown out
A long time ago,
When darkness inundated my soul.
I wheeze as I gasp for air,
And see myself grimace on the walls
In this room full of mirrors,
As I experience my ultimate demise:
The descent down
Into the bowels of hell.

Maybe I'll Be the Piano Man

Another poem, another rhyme.
Yet, I know that I'll never make a dime.
Music, you know, is where it's at,
But my trombone career, it went scat.
I wish I were now a piano man,
Where I could create many a fan.
All I want is to be important,
But instead, I'm doomed to be a social runt.

Music is what flows through my soul,
Yet, I write lyrics that I could mix in a bowl,
But I never learned to play the piano,
So I guess my dreams will be relegated to the downlow.
I'm a writer. Things could be worse.
I could be totally devoid of everything, even verse,
Yet, I dream of the time where I can fly,
Hoping maybe it'll mesh together before I die.

Maybe some day I'll be a piano man,
And then I'll be rich, get a George Hamilton tan,
And I can help my mama and my papa with their bills,
All while I'd be getting my thrills.
Yes, I wish I could be a piano man,
And appeal to the fans like no one can.
I will dream of the time when I can fly,
So maybe it'll mesh together before I die.

Stealing of My Soul

I walk alone along this little path
Wandering away aimlessly.
It seems all thought has left this mind of mine,
And I am thus now all alone.
A friend would be nice to have right now
To help me pick up the pieces of my soul.
A friend would suffice, I say to you,
For he or she would set me free.

I walk into the local pub
And sit down to down my sorrows.
What a day, a week, or something like that...
Or whatever the hell that it is. Oh drat.

It's the stealing of my soul, oh brother,
That has me on my knees,
That has me screaming at the top of my lungs,
"God, look at me!"
I feel I have no control over myself anymore,
And I don't know if I ever will,
And I drink yet another sip of ale.
What the hell. I don't care.

I notice the bubbles in my drink
Popping through the course of time,
Not unlike the way my life is now.
All I do is this perpetual drinking
Until there isn't a drop left.
No more life to lose,
And yet, I yearn for more.

It's the stealing of my soul,
That I'm convinced.
I can't seem to make heads or tails
Or give a shit.
I told you I drank all my ale,
But then I walked out into the street,
And into an oncoming car. That's that.

I Just Don't Know

Honey, I just don't know.
I just don't know at all.
I thought the moment was right,
But I can't seem to spring to life right now.
"Is it me?" you ask, and I answer,
"Honey, I just don't know.
Honey, I just don't know right now,
So don't ask no more, no how."

I've had a lot on my mind,
A lot of things bothering me so.
A lot of stress, I guess, I confess to you.
I'm laying flat on my back,
And that's usually a sign for you to attack,
But I don't know. I just don't know.
Honey, I just don't know right now,
So don't ask no more, no how.

Honey, I hope this doesn't end your love for me,
For it would kill me if that were the case.
I feel like I have a gun to my head,
And that someone's forcing my hand.
I guess what I'm saying, honey,
Is that my head is in another place, I think.
Honey, I just don't know right now,
So don't ask no more, no how.

Honey, you're pressuring me.
You're pressuring me so much, too much.
I feel like a mouse in a cage
Running on a little wheel.
I'm stressed out, honey-sweetie-pie,
And I guess that's true, and yet you push for more.
Honey, I just don't know right now,
So don't ask no more, no how.

Captain Piss Gums and his Pervert Pirates

Well, Cappy, this is gonna be sappy,
This tribute from me to you,
But you made all the collegians so happy
Through your subliminal messages, true.

I'll always remember my adult days young
When I marched to the beat of your drums,
And when this song has been sung,
Everyone will then know of Captain Piss Gums.

Captain Piss Gums and his pervert pirates,
They spoke words true.
They were not a stupid bunch of gits
But icons who grew and grew.

Those bad brainiacs they told us about,
About how they controlled our minds;
All this, he told over a stout,
Thank you for teaching us never to wear blinds.

"To arms! To arms!" Cappy called out,
"We must fight the evil establishment.
We must take it to them; we must take that rout;
We shan't pay another red cent."

And so Cappy and the pirates and the collegians
Drew from their sheathes their blades,
And attacked those patricians, those enemies of the plebeians,
And they thus got good grades.

When all was said and done, put to bed,
And the psychedelia returned, indeed,
We pledged our loyalty to Cappy, his pirates, and said,
"It couldn't have been won had we not you to read."

7/11

What is love? I don't know.
All I know is what I see.
I see a man and a woman kissing in front of the 7/11,
Sure that they're not thanking heaven for that place or anything.
They grope and they squeeze,
Not caring that the whole world seemingly is watching.
I originally think, "Get a hotel room, for Christ's sake,"
But then look at them again.
This is my parents about twenty four years ago,
Perhaps unwittingly preparing for my conception.
I think to myself how empty my life is currently,
While that couple over yonder way seems so full.
After they finished their business, I walk away,
With a mind full of racing thoughts.

Down the street is another story.
Posers line the walkway,
Men have cheesy pick up lines and salacious intents,
And prostitutes line the street, selling their "money trap"
To any fool along the way. For shame.
I see a man in a fancy suit walk up to a washed up girl
Wearing excessively revealing clothing.
She couldn't be more than 18. So sad.
He fondles her breasts, and she says, "I'm supporting three kids,"
And they walk into what I can only guess is a bordello.
God have mercy on them.
I've always known that money talks,
But love is apparently louder, and if real, free.

Oh thank heaven for 7/11.

Numbers

Numbers, sigmas, mus and shit,
All running together,
A jumbled highway full of rats
Looking for cheese
With the impending doom
Just overhead.
My calculator burneth bright,
Smoking from between the cracks,
And I worry about what else there is to do.
All that jazz, all that jazz,
Bad music, set to drugs,
You want to leave this place
But you find that you can't.
An inability to overcome, perhaps?
Can't quite push the rock over?
Sisyphus knows this all too well.
Numbers are nebulous.
Tests say I'm left brain dominant,
But I can't break through.
Unclear. Very unclear.
Moments of inarticulation
Boggle the salivating audiences
Of the world,
And for what, you might ask?
The rat race is on,
On to crunch the numbers
As the cheese maliciously teases.

Gray (My first poem to be posted on my blog!)

Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas indeed.
The pain is too great. Need I concede?

"What before you other than a pad,
A pad and a pen, yet no purpose?" he said.
"A mind and a body but no real voice,
And a vault, with you as its lonely prisoner,
And you're locked inside, key thrown away,
Clothespin clipped firmly to your tongue.
So don't even bother me on this day,
For you're a failure in every way."

The guard is so subjective, my friend.
The guard is a spayed weasel. Fuck him being a Godsend.

Oh devilish monstrosity! I'm caught in a web,
A spider ready to feast upon my apparently empty heart.
I thought I was the sun until there was the eclipse,
And evidently, all the other people could still see
A world full of vibrant colors. Rainbows and stuff.
Me? Well, I guess I'm in the gray on that one.

The guard, he's the judge, too, my friend.
If you're not careful, he'll give you the bend.

Teacher! Teacher! Tell me what is light,
Tell me where to go to reach the light,
For according to you, I'm the epitome of a rainy day,
Despite all for you I slave and slave.
You're the prophet and you claim everyone else is, too,
But then there's me, and I'm the ugly duckling, the fool.
And that just makes me so blue.
I guess I haven't the soul to sing good enough for you.

Omnipotence is apparently the norm
To one who so pontificates his thoughts to the swarm.

Gray is my day drifting deftly into night.
An open casket invites me in for a flask of dirty water.
I haven't a thought that you'll appreciate,
So that casket looks so inviting tonight.
I lay down, dressed in a mundane tuxedo,
Looking like that fucking duckling. Oh, wait. I am the duckling.
Slowly, its lid grows larger to my eyes
Until all is dark and not a shade of gray appears.
All are dead shadows in the land that never was,
A graveyard of what were creative thoughts.

Check. Nothing special. Nothing special indeed.
That check is gonna really bleed and bleed.

Emotional Explosion

Pent up anger finally boils over
Onto the masses in the city below,
Burning alive the little people.
Is this real life,
Or is it, as Queen suggested, a fantasy?
I definitely am in agreement on one thing:
It's an escape from reality.
Dirty bitches roasted me alive for years
Until I would cry for buttermilk,
But not anymore. Nope. Never again.
I harken back to my early childhood
And recall my wrestling hero
Absorbing punishment from his opponents,
And harnessing that energy
Into their ultimate demise.
Yes, it is so easy to deal with the pain
If you are a child and can conjure up toys
To rush to your aid. Sweet bliss,
And I laugh uncontrollably
As my scalding hot fury melts away
Any and all evidence
That there were wrong doers
In this, my very own personal king's court
With a dire lacking of pithy explanation
Of my emotional explosion.
But then again, who needs that?
Certainly not I.

Welcome, friends new and old!

Well, this is my first attempt at creating a blog, and, as you probably figured out, it consists of my poems and what all other bullshit I choose to put on here (I'm just kidding you folks; this is for poetry purposes only!). My real name is Jonathan Henderson, and I'm from a small community near Knoxville, TN (aka. "Knox Vegas"). I'm 23 years old, and yes, I'm still in college. In fact, I don't think I'm ever going to get out of college, but seeing as how I'm on the twenty year path to graduation, I might as well tell you that I am a History major and plan on going into teaching. I guess that means that I will be a geek the rest of my pathetically lame life. ::shrugs::

More information about me will be available on my profile when it is finally posted. In the meantime, I hope you have a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening, or whatever time of day you happen to be reading this because, I mean, life's too hard, and we should try to be happy little people. If you can possibly pull it off, run around naked for good health.

Until later, adios!