The Storm

These days are crazy now,
So tiresome, so insane,
And it makes me blue.
Why can't the ocean's tides
Settle down to a whisper?
Until then, all's tempestuous.

It seems all that ever goes on
Is a perrenial storm flashing before us.
I bet it will never cease nor desist.
Some folks complain,
But I simply explain:
You must adapt, that simply is the key.

What do I in my spare time during the storm
But spend it reminiscing of yesteryear,
When things weren't so bad,
And when things didn't make me sad,
And when I didn't shed a tear,
When all was serene?

I dream of times when the storm is gone.
The time for that coming may be long.
I sit quietly, then hum a tune, a sweet song,
And oh, I think I may be then alright.
We can take the storm's lemons, make lemonade,
And all the pain will then simply fade.

Attack of the Magic Carpet Brigade

One fine day while I was awake,
It seemed like such a normal day.
The mindless masses were away at work,
As numb as ever in the head, so we assume.
The children were at school, eventually to play,
And all seemed to be innocent as usual,
Then came the horrors that would follow,
The attack of the magic carpet brigade.
Innocence, then, was lost.

The brigade attacked in the name of religion,
That folly of a pseudo-science. What a folly.
What followed was a case of death and destruction
The likes of which we've not seen in eons.
Fire, fire everwhere. Here, there, everywhere.
Oh my. What a bloody mess.

So the magic carpet brigade got theirs in,
Something a little more than a punch to the eye.
We are bleeding now as a society, in grave pain,
And we must strike back, strike hard and fast.
We mustn't take these things lying down,
And so I take up arms,
And their turbans shall be soaked with blood.

And I take my firearm with bayonet
And charge the vermon in the magic carpet brigade.
Ferocious they are, yes. They put up resistance,
But I am unyielding. I am a tiger!
I fire and stab. I fire and stab. I must not fail!
I must not fail in the name of all we hold dear!
There seems to be an endless swarm,
And doubts begin to pop into my head.
What of my resolve if such thoughts arise?

Suddenly, winter came, and the swarm just disappeared.
They disappeared. Victory is mine. For now.
But there's always the spring time,
And I must keep a vigil, along with my brothers in arms.
We mustn't let such disasters occur again,
Not from the magic carpet brigade, nor anyone else.

Wannabe Saint

You put on your pants.
You put on your shirt.
You put on your shoes,
And you go to work.
But the day gives you the bird.
You got no time,
And you get no respect.
The man owns you,
And you are a zombie.
You work hard all day,
Hard all night,
Work like a dog,
But you feel uptight.

How can you stand it all?
How can you stand this pain?
Can you see the light at the end,
The light at the end of the tunnel?

Are you a wannabe saint?
Do you work for the good of man?
Do you work despite persecution?
I think you're a wannabe saint,
A wannabe saint, for sure.

You could be an angel,
An angel in disguise.
You could be of the heavenly divine,
The one from whom we should drink wine.
You are the working class hero
We aim to be, but fall far short.
You are the working class hero, man,
And we salute you. Let your spirit free!

Her Song

I've been waiting, it seems, a million years,
A million years, so long, too long, a crime,
To be with you, to simply find the right time,
And now the time has come to pass
When you're finally ripe for the picking,
So there's nothing to stop me from courting you,
No barriers now to barracade me.
I know what I want. I've seen you, you precious thing.

And that it is, and because it is true,
There's a feeling inside that says, "I love you."
You've come of age, blossomed from the spring light,
And you've captured this good ol' boy's beating heart.
I had to wait God only knows how long
Before I got the chance to make off with you, doll,
But patience is a virtue, and patience has served me well.

This is the beginning of a beautiful relationship,
The start of life's perennial trip,
So just come with me, and let me into your heart.
My peers asked me what I would do for you
To start things right, to show that I'm true,
And I said, "I'm a crooner. I'll write a song,"
And here it is. This is your song.
Don't take offense if it isn't long.
Just listen to its lyrics, its melodies - love's aesthetics,
And you'll surely feel all is right.

Adaptation

They say mastery of the liberal arts
Is the apex of the learning curve,
But I ponder this, I know, because
I've had to adapt all live life long.
Some come from privied lineages,
Others from the salt of the earth.
I think Daedalus would agree,
Adaptation is indeed the key.

You live and learn through adaptation.
It's not strictly books and "that is that."
Learning is certainly important,
But there is a specific sort.

Daedalus was smart, and oh, he knew,
He knew the way indeed.
The architect built a set of wings,
And flew aways a-way.
He adapted, and lived another day.

I know, I know, I know you're saying,
"What good if not well read?"
Pain is the price we pay
If we don't learn from our mistakes.
Adaptation really is the key.
It's the key, oh yes, my brother,
Of how the human race has survived,
Of how the human race, really, has thrived.

Good Times

Sit out in the summer sun,
Bask in its radiance.
The chill of winter is gone,
Gone with the sands.
Your life is so good,
Just wonderful, understood,
And you turn on the radio,
Put some tunes on, rock and roll.

It's the easy going feeling
That comes with good times,
And not when you're reeling
Or showing bad signs.
Life is one big smile
That just suits you well.
You can take the convertible,
And drive the American mile.
Life is as fruitful as what God did sell -
You don't have to know the difficulties
Or the Heartbreak Hotel.

Clean air sweeping through your lungs,
Your chest hulking up big and tight.
Walking your dogs who are wagging their tongues,
And your aura points you out as one with the light.
Some might say, "What's the matter with you?"
But all you gotta do is keep your chin up, Lou.
Just walk along, enjoy life,
For it's not worth all of the strife.

Well, good times will come, and good times can stay,
And good times can come and stay everyday.
I might need reminding one more time,
About good times... I'm in my prime.

The Bitch

She walks down the street,
Her clothes, so neat,
Making hearts pound
That rhythmic sound.
Then you stop her,
Try to lure her,
But she bites back,
For she's a bitch on the attack.

She's a bitch. Yeah. Definitely so.
With her, it's best to just avoid her and go.
She's a bitch, a thorn in the side of me,
To that, there's no doubt of that's what she be.
She wears red. She'll walk right over you.
She's a bitch, a bitch through and through.

She devours you, her prey,
And then she strolls away,
Blood everywhere.
Everyone stops to take a stare.
She has a smile of perverse mirthfulness,
For she couldn't care about less.
She's a bitch indeed,
And she'll make you bleed and bleed.

So, the next time will come
For some unfortunate bum
Who'll encounter that witch,
Yes her, that bitch.
They'll try to get it going with her,
But she'll slay them. Grrr!
Then they'll be dead, still, with no twitch,
All at the hands of that mean, nasty bitch.

Magister

Magister: Latin for "teacher"

Remember all those times gone by
When boys and girls let their childhood fly
In your presence, in the glimmer of your eyes?

Remember standing before the young audiences
On your pulpit, teaching of the instances,
Of what is, what isn't, what should forever be?

Remember preaching to the youth so much
Of your personal experiences, good, bad and such,
And telling us it's all the price we pay to be free?

Well, I remember those times so very well,
And I have so many things to you I want to tell.
You and I have such a wonderful bond, magister,
For you taught me to reach for my dreams, to simply dare.
There comes a time to fold wings and fly away,
But my memories of you shall never wander astray.

Remember the time I fell on wounded knees,
Lost in direction, in the presence of a car with no keys,
When I thought I had simply nothing left?

Remember the caring words you expressed
To me, emphasizing the pertinence, you impressed,
And you helped reawaken this slumbering spirit?

Remember when all these things occured,
Whether they were said, acted, or by written word?
I do, magister. You meant so much to me.

Mr. Jones (Captain Puff)

Oh, you blow hard, Mr. Jones,
King of the rolled cash crop, Captain Puff.
You have so much influence on the little kiddies
And you can make little kiddie minds.
There's death, destruction, chaos
Left in your wake.

Chapped fellow, Mr. Jones, you are so chapped,
And I, fellow observer, thankful I am me now,
Now more than ever before.
You are creased beyond comprehension,
Not I, for my abstention has kept me so very clean.
So very clean, Captain Puff. I'm so very clean.

Here's to life on the run, Mr. Jones, for what it's worth,
For your time here is much, much less than mine
Pray tell no accidents to me,
But you are in pain inside. Not a care in the world.
Dying to make a living, but instead, you're really just dying.
Dying, Captain Puff, to come full circle, to come to.

Little Danny Boy

The night before the morning,
Shadows creeping through the mists
Surrounding the crying boy
Before he is doomed to a fate
Worse than death itself.
At first, quiet, serene,
Then raucous like a reckoning ball
Slamming against his personal wall,
Wrecking the self-edifice
He had worked so hard to build
Since day one of his youth-filled time,
The night proceeds to progress
Little Danny Boy towards oblivion.
Nerves rattling his bones, his skin,
Teeth chattering again and again,
He drops to his knees in pain,
And rocks forward, then back,
Like his grandmother in her rocking chair,
Tears rolling down his cheeks.
Niagara Falls has set in.
The perenial flooding of the fall,
And what is he going to do about it?

He's broken now. Shattered glass.

Ocean of Dreams

I go to bed at night,
Awaiting my fate to be.
What do I see?
Darkness.
How do I know what my fate will be?
Darkness.
An peaceful, easy feeling
That trickles down my body,
Covering every inch,
Until I am one ocean of dreams.

And I swim in this ocean of dreams
In a mysterious land sugarcoated
With only the sweetest indulgences.
It's so beautiful, you see,
Pain is a non-entity here
In the world of the metaphysical.
In fact, I'm like a cherub now:
Youthful, vibrant, vivacious,
Baptized in the holy waters
Of the ocean of dreams.