What The Boy Wants

She's so beautiful,
To that, no one can deny.
She's so captivating,
Enough to make him sigh.
She's what the boy wants,
But can't seem to get.
She's what the boy wants,
But he's just going to have to sit.

His mama always taught patience is the key.
His mama always said this, which he does agree.
The girl is the object of the boy's hot desire.
The girl is the symbol of his mama's words.
She's what the boy wants,
But can't seem to get.
She's what the boy wants,
But will probably have to forget.

And the nights come and they go,
And the boy, well, he does sleep.
He dreams sweet dreams of this girl so,
And visions of her creep up in his head.
He awakens to the real, solid thing,
And she's what the boy wants, which has been said.
She's what the boy wants, but can't have.
And the boy will forever cry.

Cassiopeia

I've always dreamt of a romance
Like the ones on the silver screen,
The ones in which people dance,
And where a kiss is meant to be seen.
Last night, I saw one of those movies
And I shed a tear or two,
Then there was a cool, brisk breeze
As I thought of you.

I looked into your eyes, my love,
To see if this was like the dream,
And you looked so much like the angels above,
I think, or so it would seem.
The stars did shine that night, sweetheart,
And I took note of ol Cassiopeia,
So I made haste and did what was smart
And ensured we should never be apart, mi filia.

One night, a stroll in the park,
Just enough to ensure that romantic spark.
I now know after that night
All dreams work out alright.
The thing is, our love is strong
And will last several years on long,
And will last past the day I die
On into my days in the sky.

Vanity And Vice

Strolling about and around
In that big ol' place called New York town,
So much sin airborn and on the ground,
So many people playing the part of the clown.
I was raised a good ol' Southern Baptist boy,
And I've been endowed with godly "values,"
But that's such baloney, such a ploy,
For I'm an individual, and have very different views
Of what moralities suffice
On the philosophies behind vanity and vice

Murderers, thugs, pimps and prostitutes galore,
What many consider the earthly damned,
But it isn't as if this sort of thing hadn't happened before,
For this vanity and vice has for thousands of years happened.
I feel like I'm being watched, like my father, you see,
For he slammed home the "values" so evident in me,
But this ol' soul, oh, I'm no fool.
I'm not one of these fellers that's simply old school.
Nobody's perfect, that much is certain,
And that's all I have to say. Bring down the curtain.

Some Random Ideas (Some Random Thoughts)

Some people have all the fun.
Some people have all the luck.
I'm not one of those few.
I feel so low.

Where is the assembly line?
Where is the stuff that makes me?
Something missed me
Along the path to inclusion.

Image seems to be everything.
Image seems to be attainable only by a few.
I can't seem to find no image,
And I don't know why.

Women like strong men.
Women like macho men.
I'm mellow, less than buff,
And thus, women don't like me.

These might be some random ideas.
These could be some random concepts.
However, they have some semblence of order,
So I think you get the picture why I ask, "Why?"

If Only I Could Have A Love

It's the end of October,
And you know what that means:
I'll struggle to remain sober
Amidst the dying of the greens.
I wonder whatever happened
To the end of the summer;
Why a magic fairy can't waive her wand
And send us back to times not a bummer?

The holidays are coming,
And I'm told to be of good cheer,
But instead, I find myself running
To a keg full of beer,
To fill my brain full of frothy thoughts and perceptions,
To forget all my troubles, for them to run away,
The things about life, the sun, their lasting connections,
Which ultimately brighten us on this gray day.

Love is a commodity oft taken for granted.
I've seen many lovers abuse what for me is now allowed.
Those people, though, can have their statements recanted,
But not I, you know, for I was born a-fouled.
And this time of year is the most painful of all
Because I can't have the mythical love of my life by me.
Every New Year I sit by, watching the dropping of the ball,
Sailing alone on the boat down time's evaporating sea.

If only I could have a love, I'd be in luck for sure.
If only I could have a love, I wouldn't be so obsure.
If only I could have a love, my life would be complete,
And if only I could have a love, well, I think my life would be sweet.
If only I could have a love, this life would be worth living.
If only I could have a love, my tale would be more riveting.
If only I could have a love, I wouldn't want to hang myself by a rope,
And if only I could have a love, well, I know I wouldn't be such a misanthrope.

Fall Of 2002 (Dying Of The Rose)

Oh, how our lives could've been so good,
And oh, how they should've been.
You were the most the beautiful gal I ever did see,
But apparently, God thought you weren't meant for me,
And that's a shame, a crying shame indeed.
Behind every event, there's a whopper of a tale,
So let me tell you how you ran away north to Ohio.


You ran away north to Ohio
From your old place in Tennessee.
It seems only appropriate you'd go there,
For it's so very cold up in the American tundra;
I guess here I provided you too much warmth.
Winter roared in early in the fall of 2002,
And I felt icicles on my nose,
Thus, there's the dying of the rose....


That was yesterday, and now there's today,
On with life's journey I have gone.
I've nearly forgotten about that "incident"
That happened all those years ago,
And yet, you just keep on popping up in my mind.
Lord, how I still haven't a clue how things have changed.
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
I reckon I'll just never learn.

Life Sucks (When You Write Bad Poetry)

The masses look to me for inspiration,
Something to spark 'em, to excite 'em,
But the abundance of ideas has run dry,
So there's no more shit for me to mesmorize you with.
Get a life, people, or be freshly fucked.

My muse of mind must've died on me.
I just can't spin no raps or no rhymes.
My brain was once an endless sea,
But now, I've hit hard times. Oh damn.
Life sucks when you write bad poetry.

Spinning lyrical etudes is what I do for a living.
I guess that's all for naught now.
What once was an overflowing dam of ideas
Now is a parched desert with prickly cacti, sagebrush and such.
Time will pour on in the hour glass, but slow.

So that's it then. D.C. al fine,
Or whatever shit it is you guys say for "finished."
I'm through trying. I'm done explaining.
There's no more reason for me to sit here and complain.
Just know that life sucks when you write bad poetry.

Fleeing The Badlands

The road's been rocky
And sometimes, the occasions blue.
It doesn't take a rocket scientist
To figure out its past time to fly.
So, I reckon I'll get in my car,
Rev up the engine so I'll get far,
For one thing's for certain:
I needed to have been fleeing the badlands yesterday.

Baby, where were youi when I needed you?
You simply left me high and dry.
As if lovin' gone bad weren't enough,
I've had to endure through so much other stuff, too.
I lost my six figure job yesterday (my boss...that bastard),
Parents divorced because Daddy's gay,
And all I can do with this
Is make arrangements for fleeing the badlands tonight.

Twenty Gals In Twenty Days

Throwing caution into the wind,
Just drinking a lot of beer and gin.
Don't know what I'll do next.
Never met a girl I didn't like.
Never had any self-control.
I guess I'll drop trow, lower anchor,
Prepare to board the ship,
And set sail, twenty gals in twenty days.

I think I've found my niche
Residing in my pants,
Parked in some lady's garage, or two....
I feel lucky to be a bachelor, yessiree,
Driving home my sex train,
Speeding wheels of fire,
Love bullets attacking away,
In twenty gals in twenty days.

Twenty days come, twenty days gone,
Twenty days heavenly bliss
Recorded in the annals of history.
But one day, I know, it'll all come back,
For it's cyclical, you see.
I'll come again
In twenty gals in twenty days time.
Yes, I'll come again
In twenty gals in twenty days hence.

Empty Cupboard

Over the hill, far and gray,
Pain so hard, I think I'll perish
From this earth so torturous in nature.
I once was a bastion overflowing with ideas,
But now am an empty cupboard, bare of the essentials.
Why don't I pour my tears all over you?

Over the hill far and gray,
Pain so excruciating, I should slit my wrists
And end this painful travesty
You people call my life.
At one time, I was an arsenal,
Stocked full of the sweetest goodies,
But now am an empty cupboard, bare of the essentials.
What do you even care?

Over the hill, far and gray,
The sun shining on ninety-nine percent of the globe,
And you, like so many other nymphs, bask in its radiance.
I honestly wonder how this could happen,
How I could be so empty while others are so gay,
For at one time I was filled with so much pride,
But now am an empty cupboard, bare of the essentials.
Let me get out my violin and play for you.

Running On All Gears

I wake up to another day,
The sun shining the night away.
The day's ahead, so what's for breakfast?
Bacon, eggs, grits, a prelude to a wanderlust.
I'm happier today than I have been in years,
For the world is running on all gears.

I board my emotional rocket ship, 'tis time to fly,
Fly high, way high, into the great blue sky,
And if I were to die today, well, at least I have a smile,
Where as other people consider it walking the "green mile."
I don't think I've been this happy in many years
Because this ol' world is running on all gears.

Rock 'n rolling on my air guitar, sweeping me off my feet,
Everything so delicately smooth, so decadent, so sweet,
And I this ball of energy ready to electrify you all,
A spiritual dance until you're tired and you fall.
I think I've made it known this is the happiest I've been in years
For after all, the world is simply running on all gears.

The Great Flood

Listening to the music
Of a favorite musician now dead
Conjures up images of a youth now lost.
Lyrics, "Master of going faster,"
Break the levy of emotions.
Nothing can hold it back now.

Just hours prior being happy,
The subject now feels sorrow,
And wonders when his time will be up.
Crying won't help the situation,
Or so he thinks,
But then again, the analyst has been wrong before.

The great flood has the subject
Up to its neck in murky water,
Losing sight of the bright sun that was out earlier.
Who knows what the rest of the day holds?
Certainly not the analyst....
But somehow, it can't be any worse.

Crawl back up and hide in the bed.
It's what the subject wants to do...
To reach, to grasp ahold of the covers,
To not face the grim beast head-to-head.
"Master of going faster?" Perhaps all are this,
And that just makes things so scary.

Top Brass

What a long time it has been
Since I last sported that familiar grin.
Slide's glide, bell supreme,
I don't need to confide, it's always been my dream,
For to blow air through is divine
Because it creates that sonorous line.
Five long years, way too long,
Five big ones full of tears, proving, "Oh God, how I was wrong."

"Mouthpiece out, horn up, ol' boy!
Stand proud, stout, but do not toy,
For now you need discipline in your life
To quell the vicious cycle, all the inner strife."

I should've listened to the top brass,
For I could've been making paper greener than grass.
I couldn't agree more with myself,
For I'm still in limbo, still searching for that wealth.
Have I waiting too long? Am I too late?
Some say I can still be great.
It'll take some work, that I know,
But I didn't listen to the top brass all those years ago,
And Lord, how I did lose what I didn't use.

Love Is The Answer (You Stupid Boy)

Ah. You blew the opportunity, the chance,
Of any possibility you two may dance,
All because you stayed mum.
What the hell? How dumb?
How silly can you be, dear boy?
She's not some silly toy
You can tinker with, oh no,
And that makes you your own worst foe.
She's the most beautiful woman in a world
With so many materials that are furled.
You're so lucky, you know you really are,
For unlike I, you can be her star,
But instead, you have to be stupid
And thwart the will of none other than Cupid.
Love is the answer, you stupid boy,
So you need to make every effort to cease being coy.

Love Of A Woman

I was wondering about life a lot,
Of things which matter, ready or not,
Like the love of a woman, for good or no,
Something I haven't known since long ago,
Of a woman's beautiful eyes, glimmering and such,
Of her sweet lips and delightful touch,
And in my heart I know if be true
That no amount of care is too few,
Except for the ones we do not experience,
The pain, oft confused for "innocense."

I fail to mention one other thing
Which drives a man like me insane,
And that's of her sweetness, sweetness divine,
Always seemingly speaking the right line,
And capturing this ol' heart, to my delight,
So we put on our formals, and dance beneath the moonlight,
And as this evening will fade,
So our love will undoubtably be made.

History And Time Have Passed Us By

You passed me by one fine day,
And yoiu made me instantly feel this way.
I know not about you, but I must confess,
I have now an issue to address
In regards to you. Yes, you,
How history and time have bound us together so few.
A love never realized, never fulfilled,
The deal never conceived or sealed
Until now. Until now.
I questioned the gods, "How?"
With all the opportunities there could be,
There are just so many points I don't see.
What else is there for us other than love,
For after all, it fits us like a glove?

I stood fixed on my spot,
A long night gone by, still more to be fought,
When precious you passed by,
Speaking to me words, lord, how I now cry
As I reflect at the instantaneous spark
You left me. Oh, you left you mark,
And it buried its way into my heart,
So if I stay smart,
And I think I will,
I'll ask you out the next time and enjoy the thrill.

I'm Talking About Love

Wandering about the streets

On a cloudy, cool October night,

I sip on my bagged whiskey

And wonder where my life has gone.

My job. My kids. Oh, I'm talking of it all.

It's all gone. Including my wife.

I couldn't control myself from the sins

Which splinter bonds asunder.

My face so hairy, stubble bristly like a cactus,

Clothing so battered, I look like a vet on the Mall,

I thought about digging in a trash can

For a tin cup to use for spare change.

Maybe that's what I'm worth. Chump change.

What it boils down to for me, however,

Is the issue of love. "Oh yeah?" you ask,

"What about it?" And I then perceive you the village idiot,

Because despite the fact I've lost everything else,

I've still got precious memories of what cures all ills.

Yes, I'm talking about love,

The thing which makes dancing under the moonlight

So precious in that I fix my eyes upon my partner

And see the stars so bright shine their luminousity.

I miss those sentimental moments,

And long to recapture them.

Rustling In The Autumn Leaves

Lovers on the ground,
Rustling in the autumn leaves,
Splashed in a cascade of orange and stuff.
It's the stuff romance novels only dream of.
I walk past the "task-occupied" couple in the park
Thinking how romance is so underrated.
I try and recall the last time my wife and I
Were so tangled up in that web.
It's been a while. Way too long,
Or has it? We've been together for an awfully long time,
And we're still running the marathon.
That has to say something about our mutual love.
The more I analyze the situation,
The more I understand that these two lovers
Must be in the infancy of their relationship.
Nevertheless, both scenarios
Are examples of love consumed greatly by fire and passion.

A Good Woman Is Never Easy To Find

Women. So demanding,
Gripping incessantly over our inadequacies
As members of the opposite sex.
We must realize that we are two different species,
Two differing beasts with two varying methods
For pouncing on deer meat.
Analysts to the stars say its anatomical,
But I think it's all in the scent.
Oh, how women kill me with their wily ways.

I've consulted my stacks of books,
And, aside from their definite better looks,
I can hardly find justification in putting up
With such hogwash as the kind in which they dish out.
Perhaps we as males are the polar opposites to them,
And if that be the case, we're like magnets.
Imagine that. Hearts like magnets.
And that apparently makes them our lovers and best friends.
Yet , we mustn't forget that there is a special one for every man,
In that a good woman is never easy to find.
That way, the human race is guaranteed to survive.

Mysteries Of The Night

Wide-eyed soldiers march during the day,
Whether the sky be blue or the sky be gray.
It's pretty clear what lurks then,
And we know the brighter it is, the greater the grin.
But day only lasts us from rooster's call to the moon,
And then we begin singing a much different tune.

I've studied the constallations, you know, the stars,
But what do they mean to us? Anymore than Mars?
Mysteries of the night abound us so,
Or at least they have for me since a long time ago.
I can't remember a time or place
Where, at that time, I needn't a light bulb to see one's face.

Superstitions galore, the driving force of the inquisitive,
Of all those who tend to be photosensitive.
Trick-or-treaters revel beneath its cloak,
Something which only appeals to the kid folk.
There are many different faces on this here planet
Who'd rather be blinded by darkness than be under the sun and fit.

There are mysteries of the night,
And they baffle me, alright.
What's the fun in being blind
When you're bumping into others of your own kind?
Maybe some like it so they can sin,
But I don't know. Then again....

Imminent Death

From the moment we are born,
From the point when we're first coddled,
We're doomed to die,
Doomed to fall into a six-foot deep abyss.
Wise people will tell us to live life to the fullest,
And what if we don't? Well, that's too bad.
I guess they figure that we'll miss out
On some good times, fast times.

While we're on the subject of imminent death,
Might we discuss that we have to think about others
After we are food for the maggots?
They get to enjoy the spoils of our long endured toils
While we lay down within our crypts.
Depressing thought, especially when you consider
The possibility of misusage of our intents.
Death always deals us a blistering blow.

I thought life was supposed to be so grand,
A perpetual parade, of glib and laughter,
But look on the horizon, not far away,
For there lurks a day that will be cast black and gray.
The company that's making your coffin is already at work.
They'll get your money. All they need is time,
For death is imminent, and is around every corner.
You better make your existence time well spent.

Angelique

Sitting at a table, whistling away the time,
I look for anything to make my moment special.
Suddenly, there's this woman, a knock-out,
And she turned my head, stopped my "musicianship."
I never knew something could halt the virtuoso in me
Until Angelique came. Things were about to change.

I invited her for some beer and pretzels,
And lucky me, she was happy to oblige.
She enlightened me that there was, indeed,
Life outside being a lone wolf man,
Of being sauced on Jimmy's finest on the weekends.
Suddenly, football didn't seem so important anymore.

We began to go out from there,
Spending evenings in theatres, taking long walks,
And quiet nights at home with the greatest chef in the world...me
(I'm just kidding on the greatest chef part).
As I had grown older, I had slowly lost interest in the things
Which made life spin around for me.
Now, I had a reason to go on, a reason to exist.
Angelique had become my best friend.

Days turn into weeks, weeks into hours, and so on,
'Til the day I popped that magical question,
Which she was all to willing to oblige.
With me in my tux and her in her glimmering white dress,
We experience that walk down that aisle,
Her father handing his baby off to me, entrusting me with her future.
Relax old man. She's in good hands.

There are nights with the guys and nights to be alone,
But nothing can top it at all without my baby doll.
Beer and sports once consummed me from craving to craving,
But now I have a consistent sustainance, a thing called love.
Yes, a thing called love, something I have never known before,
And I know from now on, Angelique will always be there.

Growing Up Is So Hard To Do

I woke up from what must've been one long dream,
One long, extensive, God damn dream,
And what do I see but my metamorphisized bedroom,
Transformed into cover only grown ups could appreciate.
Where are my friends? To that question, I don't know at all,
But something tells me that they're off at the races,
Smitten with the scents of the evil opposite sex.
And as to my body? Well, that too is a mystery,
For I find hair in places it never did grow before.
Am I sad? Yes I'm sad, for I've lost so much precious time,
And not only that, but innocense,
For I can no longer rely on being cute or on mommy and daddy now.


So, it's a moot point, I must say,
For definitely growing up is so hard to do.
I can never see myself with fleshy stilts for legs
And catching the eyes of girls who I once dreaded.
Some people say there's a silver lining to every cloud,
But until then, I'll play my Stradivarius indicative of a rain cloud,
Then I'll blubber up and go to bed.
What can I say to you, you analysts to the stars,
For I'm just not ready to grow up yet.
Growing up, indeed, is so hard to do,
So slow down and let me catch up,
For this ship is moving too fast.

All The Guys Play With Annie

She walks down the street at night,
Whistling a tune with salacious intent.
I know not a more ominous sight
Than that of Annie working to pay the rent.
She attracts the guys like bees to honey,
And she melts in their mouths and their hands.
Oh, the wicked sight of such blatent gluttony,
And it will soon spread through the fall of the sands.
Yet all the guys play with Annie
And have not a care in this world.
They get her in the car, bumping elbows and fannies,
Or they'll rip her apart on the mattress.
They penetrate and lube all the nooks and cranies,
This sex in which they obsess.
And Annie, you ask? Well, she's a cheap trick,
Always having fun with the little boys,
Throwing caution to the wind, risking getting sick,
But she don't care since she cashes in on their "toys."

Madre

Madre, you hate me, but I don't know why.
Oh, and Madre, I don't know half as much
As it seems is there to be seen.
I break down, cry, knowing this is true,
Knowing this is making me so blue.
I've gotta have something to hold me up,
To lift me up, to keep me afloat.
Madre, oh lord, how I need you.

Madre, you hurt me, but I never hurt you.
Oh, you vitriolic soul, person of scorn,
Source of all the rage in my world that is, was,
Has, and will forever be true.
The pain just has me all tied in a knot.
Madre, I just want to tell you...
Madre, I've just got to to tell you
You've got me on my knees.

You know, it would be so fucking easy
To just put this gun in my mouth,
Pull the trigger, you know,
End this farce in which I live.
But then, what fun would I have in not bellowing out
Cries, laments, the pains from my heart?
Madre, oh Madre, what am I ever to do,
What am I ever to do with a bitch like you?