What Did Jesus Really Mean?

Christmas is here,
So where is the cheer?
We look to Jesus,
But He doesn't appear to have an answer.
People fuss. People cuss.
The people fight.
They have no right.
Yet this is supposed to be
The most blessed time of year.
That begs the question:
What did Jesus really mean?

Is Jesus all knowing and the truth?
Is Jesus loving and benevolent?
And is Jesus truly pious
And worthy of our praise and glorification?
All I see eminating from Him
Is a stinch which reaks of sulfur.
If Christianity is like this,
Then hell hath won the battle for souls.
Christmas is supposed to be a time for love,
But we spoil it oh-so much.
Is this what was meant to be?
What did Jesus really mean?

What did Jesus really mean?
Look at this horrifying scene.
People mob, and people rob,
And people are dishonest, an abomination.
Christmas is written to be a time of cheer,
Yet, with each year grows more fear,
More fear that we won't get all the best deals,
All the big bargains, and the workers shall pay.
Did Jesus mean for this to happen? I don't know,
But I truly worry about each and every soul.
Perhaps all would benefit if they would ask,
"What did Jesus really mean?"

Could each individual soul enjoy Christmas more
If they stayed home away from the stores for a while?
And could each individual soul lift their burdens
If they sat down and prayed with their families?
It is written that this is a season for giving,
Yet we cash in in ways never intended.
We beg, barter and deal against the name of love
And thus evil creeps into our hearts.
What did Jesus really mean?
It's a question asked, oft given many responses,
But so far, mostly wrong interpretations.
How do I know? I know not the right answer,
But a loving god wouldn't bestow this upon the world.
Is it the people, or is it The Lord?
I dare gasp at pondering the answer.
What did Jesus really mean? I wonder.
It's simple. God works in mysterious ways.
He simply refuses to disclose this information,
So I guess it's up to you and I.
Think hard, and decide well, my friends,
Or farther we shall fall from grace than we have fell.

Eve of My Wedding

I listen to my friends all the time,
Sometimes for good, sometimes for no.
I have a-taken their advice to heart so many a time,
And sometimes I've flourished,
Other times have fallen short.
Take, for example, my trip to the sin capital of the world,
I don't to need to tell you that that's Las Vegas, N-V.
They told me to go a-sewin' on my wild, wild oats
'Fore the approaching wedding comes to pass.

Now, I'm a good hearted soul. That I am.
I'm a gentle-hearted man.
I'd never hurt a fly, and I try not to sin.
But apparently, I have my flaws
As we all do, under The Lord's creed,
For apparently I was about to fall into the trap
Of Adam when he was with Eve.

Well, I got to Vegas, got off my flight,
Hookers were on the left, pimps on the right,
Showin' off their honey-money.
This was unusual where I was from,
For I was from Middle America, a cornhusker boy,
The "purest lil' spot of earth on the this here planet."
We didn't have these delicacies there,
But that doesn't mean I wasn't tempted
Or I sure as heck wouldn't be here,
So I walked up to the pimp, he showed off his pets.
I said, "I'll take the first one on the left,
So fine, so decadent, so tasty,
I think that I'll rip into her sensuous flesh."

And so I forked over the money,
And we headed to our hotel,
And she kept me up a-bangin' all night long.
In the morning, when I woke up,
What was once in my arm was gone,
And I felt empty, not to mention a few dollars short.
So I packed my bags and I high-tailed it on home,
Totally convinced I could say my wild oats were sewn,
And yet feeling totally hollow, couldn't face what's ahead.
I saw my fiance. She asked me about my trip,
And I definitely said, "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas."
It's the eve of my wedding, and I feel like a total asshole.

The Life of Lil' Johnny

Lil' Johnny, he was a poor ol' boy.
Couldn't get no respect. Couldn't take a lick.
Lil' Johnny often tried hard, but, couldn't make no friends.
He only got knocked around, and that's a fact.

Lil' Johnny decided there was only one thing to do.
He'd make them pay, feel his bleeding pain.
Lil' Johnny thought hard, and here's what he did:
He packed his bags, set out for Nashville for a song.

Well, Lil' Johnny could play some chords on his guitar.
The first places he landed were in many a bar,
Then one day, someone, a talent scout, saw the budding Lil' Johnny,
And signed him to a record deal worth a pretty penny or two.

Lil' Johnny wrote some songs, recording songs, the such.
He went on, going from zero to hero.
Lil' Johnny played his heart out to his adoring fans,
As he reeled in the benefits, yes sir, indeed.
Lil' Johnny was showing the world a thing or two.

But then the day came when Lil' Johnny fell from grace.
Cocaine, heroin, pills and whiskey consumed his life.
You'd've thought it was the end of the civilized world.
It was definitely reminiscent of the fall of Rome.

One day, Lil' Johnny died by the fire.
The room turned to ice, and the fire should've burned out that night.
Instead, the fire raged on, the memories blazing bright.
Lil' Johnny left his mark on me and those who were so mean.

There were so many who were so mean to Lil' Johnny.
In memoriam, I bet they're all looking at him now.
Lil' Johnny paid for his sins, but oh, he accomplished so much.
In the end, Lil' Johnny had the last laugh.
In the end, Lil' Johnny had changed the world.

All of My World

All of my world
Is filled with thoughts of you.
All of my world
Is a hall of mirrors with your reflection.
All of my world
Is a vast ocean, with you the swimmer.
All of my world,
And baby, it's all you.

I'm obsessed with you,
To that, no one can deny.
I'm mystified by you,
By your sweetness and elegance.
I'm enamored with you,
That goes without saying.
All of my world, there again 'tis said,
Is inundated with you.

If loving you is a crime,
Then I'm going to break the law.
If someone is hold you back,
Then damn all to hell, I say!
If love is in the air,
And it definitely is, I know, I shall partake.
All of my world, as I've said before,
Is all about you, darling.

Soul

Sit down, son. Let me pull out my guitar,
Play you a tune. A song from the heart.
Let me connect you to the soul,
The world's soul, that is. The world's soul,
And warm up your heart
Because your leash has kept you frozen.
Sit down while I play you this tune.
Just lay back and let the world come to you.

There's more out there than simple ol' Powell, TN,
But don't get me wrong. It's a nice place to be.
Powell is a wholesome, pure community,
Yet when the exit came, culture passed it by.
Just a few hours west is the Music City,
The place where I learned my trade.
Go South on I-75, there's Atlanta,
"Empire City of the South,"
Just a little taste of what the Big Apple might be like
With a lil' Southern peach zest.
But become a jetsetter, don't stop there,
For you can fly anywhere in this land and beyond.
You name it, just your imagination
Is all you need to succeed.

I guess you can stay in Powell, but where will that take you?
And don't you feel you'd be in a state of folly if you do?
Son, if my guitar and I have done anything to win you over,
You'll flee this hole right now and find your soul.

What Did The Others Mean?

The others ran across the playground
As birds would cruise the skies,
But the little boy was in a world
Full of robots, commandoes, and such.
The other little children, however, took exception,
And thus, life was not good for the little boy.

The other little children did not enjoy the productions,
Aesthetics in transluscence though they may be,
Nor did they approve of his portliness,
And thus, he was tortured for being he.
A flurry of punches, a bevy of kicks,
And a rolling of the tongue, so vitriolic, not nice,
Were unleashed upon him as if he were lit up like a torch.
After all that, how could the little boy be anything but scarred?

But the little boy, he would not be deterred,
For he was a tough little runt, that's for sure.
He just pressed on, his imagination like a tank,
Doing this, despite the enemy fire.
He was so brave everyday, but so naive:
"What the did the others mean?"
He didn't know what to believe.
Well, he simply questions The Lord
On the nature of his peers,
And God said, "Listen here, kiddo,
Leave alone, live and let live."
And so the little boy heeded His advice.
And the boy was now Enlightened.

When the other boys and girls
Came to pester the Enlightened Boy again,
When production started again,
He took a pelting.
But he came right back, directed his piece to perfection,
The best that he knew how.
The others? Suddenly wowed,
He could be the next Spielberg or Sigmund Freud,
And enthralled, they joined him in his great music ritual.

Lil' Gal From Port Arthur

Lil' Janis was raised in Port Arthur,
A Texas gal only by birth.
She was really a child, wild child of the world,
Or so I was told by the old 'uns around me.
You see, I'm a youngster
Influenced by her body of work.
So, as you can plainly see,
I know all about her and Bobby McGee.

Now Texas is a big state,
A fact no one can deny,
But the lil' gal from Port Arthur
Needed to spread her wings and fly.
It was off to San Francisco to get into the Beat,
But she never bet she'd get into rock 'n roll.
It was here she buttered her bread,
Enlightened her soul.

She wrote songs so true,
True to her by heart. Yeah, definitely true.
She left it out, left it all out,
This free spirit, this Janis from Texas,
She bled Amercana through and through
For people like you and me,
And yet, she was one with the world, you see.

Along with the successes were her vices.
She couldn't quite be so gregarious.
Thus, she had to find a way
To hide all the lonliness and sorrow.
She turned to heroin and booze for that.
The lil' gal from Port Arthur
Was invincible to all but herself.
The lil' gal from Port Arthur
Was headed for a fall.

One day, they found the lil' Janis dead,
Dead from her own demons,
Dead before she could fulfill her own destiny.
But destiny aside, her legacy lives on
Into my generation and beyond.
I know she is reflected in my music and my prose.
If lil' Janis were around today,
I'd sure want a lil' piece of her heart,
But alas, I guess I'll just let her have mine.

Trip to the Shrink

Another day is ahead,
Another tough day on the job.
My boss is coming down on me hard,
So hard, I think I shall scream.
That famous Dutchman, his name Van Gogh,
Painted that very scene,
Then preceededto cut off his ear.
How gross indeed!
Hopefully, that won't happen to me.
I guess that's why people see shrinks,
To keep their sanity intact.
I'll fork over my co-pay to see, and that's fine by me.

"The Doctor is in," the sign ominously reads,
And I'm all ready, so very pumped.
The Doc sees me in, says, "Hi. How've ya been?"
And I say, "Well Doc, things have been kinda crazy."
He replies by simply saying, "You've come to the right place."
"The Analyst to the Stars," so he makes the claim,
Grills me real hard, asks me stuff regarding my childhood,
And at the end, I feel totally relieved.

Then, I walk up to the receptionist,
Tell her all this was spit, that I want my $24 back,
That all this was shit. Yeah. I told them that.
She was argumentative. Instead of a refund,
They scheduled me another appointment.
How's that for service? Assholes.
They're the crazy ones, in fact.

Mississippi

One Mississippi, two Mississippi,
Three Mississippi, four.
Houses destroyed 'cause the Gulf was angry.
Towns ravaged 'cause the winds
Simply wouldn't take "no" for an answer.
Pray for rain, you say?
I think these folks will not, that they'll say, "No way,"
For after all, reading of Noah's Ark
Is enough now to make them crack.

"Ole Miss" was once part of the pride of the Southland;
Cotton fields, old plantations, just to name a few.
So many black ones singing up the blues,
Merely an art form they made famous.
But now, all the people are certified blues artists,
For the times are hard and will take years to see sunlight.
Sometimes, looking toward God seems not easy, not enough.

Mississippi, o' Mississippi,
Where's your rebel spirit at, you people of the magnolia?
I haven't a clue, but this I definitely know:
It's time to revive one's faith in The Spirit of Jesus.
C'mon, Mississippi. Y'all ain't simple hound dogs.
I hope you're a little more complex than that.
Just give God your hands and you'll be free.
Just give God your hands and the light you will see.

To My Darling Catherine

To my darling Catherine,
Song of my life, I know.
Her voice drugs so many men
With its holy angelic glow.
I met her one day in the square
On a day soaked with rain.
It didn't matter, she was so fair,
I was willing to endure "the pain."
We sat down in the cafe
Where we exchanged each other's name.
This was to be my most memorable latte,
Never again will the taste be the same.
We then strolled to the park.
By then, the rain had ceased as well.
The sweet songs of the little lark
Made it evident how we'd fell.
Love's first kiss came
At the half past the stroke of midnight.
From then on, all people could see we weren't to blame.
We embraced and kissed for hours
While the love fairies played harps and pranced.
We are two pilars, two towers
For Aphrodite's platform as she danced.
A year passed by, and we got married,
Catherine and I, two love birds in a trance.
For most of my life, I had wondered what had me carried,
And I know, it was destiny, my Catherine. A life-long dance.

Pornographic Priestess

She's a movie star,
Used to work in a bar
In downtown Boston.
The things she does
Really creates quite a buzz.

She hitchhiked to California.
She wanted to be an actress.
She had assets. Big assets,
And the talent agent liked brunettes.
Thus, she entered the porn biz.

Lights. Camera. Action.
Many an orgasmic reaction.
Bed, chair, tables, and so much more.
Doing it all with so many "soldiers,"
Lennon would've called her,
"Pornographic Priestess."

Nothing with her is ever behind closed doors.
All on audio, video, or DVD.
She's now a movie star
And she has a corny name, "Sandy Titties."
She was what Lennon would call,
"Pornographic Priestess."

A Life So Dreary

A life so dreary, a sun always dim,
A time where prudence demands weeping on a whim.
The young man who stands
In the middle of a dark, flat, desolate field
Absorbs a downpouring of tears
That would flood the very astral plains.
A universe so bleak, a vision so opaque,
Perhaps the sadness itself will kill him,
Suffocate the very breath from his body,
Pounding until his bones are crushed,
When there is nothing left to hold them together.
But a fate worse than death is to remain alive in this state
And wallow around incessantly, pitifully,
In the confined muddied area,
Crying, moaning, griefstricken forever more.

The Rollercoaster

The thrills, the chills, the rollercoaster ride,
I never know from one day to the next.
Up and down and all around,
My back keeps slapping the Yo-Yoer's palm,
Painfully reminding me what tomorrow may hold.
Little ones like to laugh and giggle
Whilst feeling the rush of a 60 mile per hour coaster of fun
Gushing invisible shouts of air onto their faces,
Twisting and snapping their necks
In violent positions with every turn.
Can't you just hear them scream? I do.
I'm a child of the rollercoaster.
It's my calling. It's not so much who I am
As it is how I am,
And when the rollercoasater stops?
Well, I sob. I sob really bad. Almost inconsolably.
I hate being grounded and the feeling
Of my back being slapped by the Yo-Yoer.
It makes me want to shove a .44 magnum into my mouth
And have one last taste of Smith and Wesson's finest
Before everything goes pitch black.

John Versus The Polar Bear

I won't go out hunting in the snow,
But where was he going? I don't know.
It's so cold, just right for a polar bear,
For only the bold would even dare.
I looked up hill, the fool was shouting down.
Dear ol' Phil cracked the barrier of sound.
Smashing his head like a tin,
A polar bear killed dear ol' Phil.
No more Halloween for that dear pumpkin.
God iced another frigid kill.
Suddenly, I was alone, just the polar bear and me,
And I decided to make it moan
And kill it before it would leave.
BANG! I shoot, the polar bear gushing blood from its heart.
It dropped, the bullet hit like a lucky dart.
Only, was I so lucky?

What God Said In A Dream

You gotta tell him
He don't know how it is.
You gotta tell him
He don't know how unhappy he is,
Or what he's fixing to have happen to him.
You tell him real soon,
Or so that's what God said to me in a dream.

He's so oblivious,
If he were dust, he'd blow away.
And God damn! If he weren't a firefighter,
All he'd be was oblivious,
Or so that's what God said to me in a dream.

God came to me in a dream,
Said He'd wake him up real soon.
God came to me in a dream,
Said the oblivious one's like a wild raccoon.
You can beat him up, skin him alive 'til he's dead,
For he won't go to Heaven 'til he's awakened,
Or so that's what God said to me in a dream

Happy Birthday Lil' Jimmy

Oh happy birthday, lil' Jimmy,
But don't beg or say, "Gimme, I want some more."
Your papa's an invalid,
Ain't gonna give you much,
And someday, you will become redundant, too.

Take this fiddle, lil' Jimmy
And play me a sad song,
One I don't even know.
Then, proceed to hold it sideways. Yeah. Like that,
And shove it tightly up your tight, puckered ass.
See what I mean, you bastard?

Happy Birthday, you lil' bastard.
Go to hell, for you've made my life a living one,
And I'll laugh, smash that toy I fell upon.
Burn in hell, lil' Jimmy. Bye-bye!

Smoky Mountain High

I woke this mornin'
And saw tears fall from the sky.
The angels were a cryin'
Over the Smoky Mountain High,

And what did they see?

They saw I was a leavin',
A goin' home in the morn'.
You'd think the Angel of Mercy was a grievin'
As I was leavin' the Smoky Mountain High,
The place in which was born.

And what did I get? What did I do?

I turned around, went back in my cabin,
And God! You'd think the old lady though it was a sin!
So I put on my overalls,
Gave the baby back his toys,
As I decided to never wave goodbye again
To that beautiful Smoky Mountain High.

A History For Our Time (11/22/2000)

Our story begins in a land ruled by a king,
A kingdom, with knights and fair maidens,
And in this kingdom ruled by the king
Lived a lady of ill-repute. Her name, Monique.
Monique was a dreamy young lass,
And the king was here, in the middle of his life,
Married to his queen, her name was Helga,
And so he have the prelude to this history.

One day, the king found the young, seductive Monique,
And promised here his undying support
If she would perform certain royal duties for His Majesty,
All this he wanted, and which she all willing to do.
And in compliance with the king and his demands,
She played him like a flute, with his sighs the music,
And thus, this liason was begun, now on,
Between two people, one powerful, the other one no,
And the chaos really began spread
As we move forward in this history.

Well, the queen walked in one fateful day,
The queen lady you by the name of Helga,
And lo and behold! But what she ever would see
But none other than Monique going down on the king.
The breeze suddenly stopped, but the blood rush sped up,
And the king was no longer being tossed off in the wind.
Now, the king was thought a loving man,
Married, appeased with children, caretaker of all,
But now his heart will eventually come to play
More of an underlying role in this history.

Now Queen Helga, that damsel, that jealous thing,
She took a sword from the Crusade,
And struck down cold the fabled king,
Then she turned to the laciviously dutiful Monique
And muttered some unkind words,
Then she hacked her in half,
And down were two secret lovers.
Queen Helga panicked now,
For you see, she had committed murder to the highest degree,
And she knew this degree called for only one degree.
Helga, well, was doomed to become dust in the annals of history.

Helga met her end alright,
The end not so expected early on,
For she had assasinated the mighty king, such a crime!
For this, she would be comdemned to a beheading
All because she let passion get the best of her,
And yet that would not be all the problems she'll endure.
Monique's father was the tutor for the queen's children,
And he was mighty upset with queen's act of rage.
The schoolmaster took the royal children from the goals of light
To an eternal sleep, a journey into darkness,
All before turning the sword onto himself.
Now the kingdom, built on the principles of goodness,
Was no longer experiencing peace but strife.
It was apparent history had produced a civil war,
In which the victor would achieve corruption.

But it was not history's fault, the civil war.
Here you, my friend, must heed this simple word,
That dishonesty have before destroyed a kingdom,
Originally thought built on the principles of righteousness.
And as this poem comes to an end, I ask you a simple favor:
History goes one, so let's make it for our time.

The Epic Of Life's Memories (11/14/2000)

DEFINITION: We last as one, forever bound memory, for without we the one, there is no memory worthy of mention. The Epic is the answer, two-in-one, to nihilism.

LOOKING BACK.

I bare in mind our times,
Our moments in the sun,
Our moments beneath the stars.
Your warm hand caressing my cold, chilly face.
Ah, precious memories,
How they keep me sane
In my moments of deepest sorrow.

How I treasure the moments we've had,
The trips to the beach,
Our excursions to the ski resorts in Colorado,
And the sheets of warm comfort,
With you by my side in spiritual sanctity
In which we created singularity.
But, I painfully recognize you are gone,
And so, along with the blowing sands,
I turn through the memories.

THE BEGINNING OF TIME.

You were born, the dawn of hope for me,
Reared in the finest fashion,
Groomed to perfection into a majestic angel.
(But you were already divine.)
The sounds of your voice shrilled with a clean jingle at dawn,
And perked in the afternoon,
And resonated at the down.

WE MEET.

Ah yes. We meet,
The pinnacle of my life,
At the time when I had yet to earn that law degree,
Or my seat in the ruling House,
Or the office where, "The buck stops here."
None of these would've mattered, however,
Without your presence.

WE BOND.

Lo! How we grew so close,
And we decided only one thing must come to pass,
And so we became as One.
From there we accomplished Life,
Starting our family and settling down.
You were the driving force
Making the success of our family possible.

EPILOGUE.

You're gone.
How, in my waning years of life,
Old, frail, not anchored to any code other than that of the One!
Will I possibly make it through
Where the only constant was you?
You're gone,
And all I have to keep me alive
Are those precious memories.

And thus, I will breathe one last, heavy breath of God, and I'm gone.
You're gone.
One is gone.
We're now mingling ashes blowing about in the sands of time.
Just precious memories. You and I.
One glorious memory. 'Tis well.

Thus, we come to an end of one Epic and the beginning of another. One new cycle.
The Epic of Memories never ends. Not as long as there is One to evolve.

Our Just Flirtations

(This is one of my oldest poems. According to the paper here, it was written on 10/20/2000. I have edited some of it due to the fact that there were some typographical errors as well as the fact that I am a better writer now than I was then. Enjoy!)

When I saw you, a light of divinity shined so bright.
I saw the opening out of my abyssmal state,
The answer to all of my prayers.
Alas! Salvation is now achieved!
You are the sunshine of my life,
The missing half of my moon,
The precious gift I've wanted but never understood
Behind our just flirtations.

Hark! How those blue bells bloom,
And the birds sing in the trees,
And trees sway in the wind,
Flowing as divine Nature so deems.
As natural as the birds a singin'.
The blue bells are a bloomin'
And the trees are a swayin',
As are our just flirtations.
It is just meant to be this way.

Eve Of Another Day

Here, now, on the eve of another day,
Something, really, that's a perpetuating occurance,
I look back on the past and try to recall certain events
Which have blueprinted tomorrow and the ones after.
So many mistakes, so many, I tell you, 'tis sad,
And I wonder if there is a way to be forgiven for them.
Then it occurred to me that it was told to me
By the preacher man that there is a feller named Jesus
Who hung on that cross at Calvary,
Where He swore to The Lord that His Will had been done,
And thus, the world and its people had been cleansed,
Cleansed of the personal filth, the baggage,
The uncleanliness you and I simply recognize as sin.
Yes, Jesus died on that cross,
But there were, and are, an infinite amount of tomorrows
For both us and Him so long as we believe.

In times of trouble, I often forget those lessons and values
Instilled in me by my folks. How foolish I am.
Jesus is ubiquitous. Jesus is omnipotent.
He is us, and we are Him. We are the body of The Christ.
We are beholden to Him for all He has done,
Yet all He asks is for our undying devotion to Him,
To know Him and The Lord. Not too much, now is it?
Nobody is perfect. We all sin. And we are to pay for that sin.
Our punishment without Jesus is an eternity in hell,
So we better pay homage well.
Don't worry if you've not done so yet.
You can still make it count.
The past is past, and we're on the eve of another day.

Road Of Dreams (Field Of Dreams)

Gettin' into my car,
I take off on the road of dreams,
Goin' to the hacienda closest to Heaven.
Mountains a mile high,
Mists cloaking their summits,
All those, so different from where I come from.

I drive on up the highway,
Up the highway, that road of dreams.
I'm heading to that destination,
To that hacienda closest to Heaven,
To that field of dreams, oh Lord, that is so green.
This place, the field of dreams I describe,
Is a Mecca for we lovers of the game,
A religious experience I plan to experience
At least once in this lifetime, probably in the next, too.

River, rolling river, how've you been?
I see, Lord, how long has it been?
The fishes migrate to their destination as I do,
And like them, all I got to do
Is simply roll with the flow,
And avoid the disturbances along the way,
Disturbances which interrupt the force.

And the cities glow at night like lightning bugs.
People swarm around; you'd swear it's a hornet's nest.
I stop to enjoy the finest cuisines,
The finest wine, spirits, all that good stuff,
Then after dessert, it's back on the road of dreams for me.

Amber waves of grain ripple in the wind
Along a flat, rolling plain, prairie land,
Then, I see signs. I must be getting oh so close.
I can feel the powerful aura of the promised land.
The field of dreams seems to be calling me out by name.
Suddenly, I see it, that beautiful diamond in the rough green,
With grown men, young and veteran, passing balls,
And the road of dreams serves up the ultimate in thrills.

Wake Up The Echoes

"Those who cannot remember the past are doomed to repeat it."
- George Santayana

A peasant farmer wades through the mud,
Through the rice paddy, all for the family.
On this note, he stumbles, falls face first,
Yet gently regains his composure as Buddha would.
He bends over to pick up the object, a skull, over which he fell,
And memories flash back to days thankfully in the past,
Memories drenched in blood. Chaos. Genocide.
He remembers his family. It's been roughly thirty years
Since the day he fell at the hands of men
Who carried out the orders of a truly evil soul,
One who had lost the way toward the path of the light
And had, instead, made a U-turn into misery rather than joy.

He remembers growing up in the big city,
And of a national revolution going on four years strong.
Then the evil one came. The one who made promises for a utopia,
Of a more pure life for those who would abide by him.
The city, once a vibrant outlet for humanity to intermingle,
Was evacuated, and its citizens sent to the countryside.
The emotions overwealm the peasant man,
For he remembers being separated from his father, his mother,
His grandmother, grandfather, his siblings.
Buddha was suddenly supplanted by the evil one.
It was as if the light had been shut off.

He recalls being enlisted into the army,
Being whipped everytime he showed signs of exhaustion,
And the echoes of the predators' guns
Ripping into their unsuspecting prey.
At first, the peasant boy would cry,
But then he would endure unimaginable corporal punishment,
And thus he started equating human emotion
As nothing more than a cry without a reply other than a cane.
So he worked on, working for the good of the collective,
For the demands of the evil one, so he now understands.
He remembers one phrase which vividly sums up the experience:

"To keep you is no gain. To destroy you is no loss."

Years passed, and he thought he might die,
Having grown bitter, and wishing that it would happen.
Then the army from the neighboring country invaded,
And thwarted the evil one and his minions once and for all.
But the scars remained. Where was his family?
"Well, the bodies, they disappeared,"
And so he had grown up into a young man,
Hardened, having lost the way toward the light,
Having lost the acquired knowledge of his role as a filial son.
The peasant realizes he's alive today, but the pain remains the same.
This skull, which could be his father's, did wake up the echoes.

Guys Like Me

Little boys play the field with glee,
And little girls tease away at will.
It seems like everyone else is getting play,
Except for us guys like me.
I'm not flashy. I'm not snazzy,
And I definately lack sex appeal,
Thus, I can't help but wonder if there's hope
For us guys like me.

I'm not a jock nor a cheerleader,
Not a prep nor the president of the SGA,
Nor even the ubiquitous whore or a pimp
Traveling across the "good ol' U.S. of A."
All I am is just an intellectual
Who happens to know his shit,
And I guess that makes me some kind of special.

I often wonder about fellowship,
Love of man, companionship and passion.
Some people claim collectivism's the path to tread.
Despite all that, I choose to maintain my identity,
For maybe it's okay to be an intellectual after all,
And therefore I'll keep up with the "lunatic fringe"
Of guys like me, who'll rule the world tomorrow.

Songs Of Pain

You have never known the sickening feeling
Of hell running up and down your spine,
Jolts, not of joy, but instead, pain,
Pure as could be. Oh yeah.
You have never wondered what it would be like
To levitate from the confines of your bed,
Like in The Exorcist, but instead, the real thing.
Was I possessed?
Fear gripped me, yessiree,
It gripped me by the balls,
And relegated me to a corner,
Crippled within the shadows of my mind.

Then, there were the songs of pain
I serenaded to my onlookers,
Whose curiosity was, to say the least, perverse.
But these weren't operatic songs
Nor songs of rock 'n roll.
They were tunes cursing Lord Thy God
For unleashing His wrath upon me,
And all I got in return was an eternity more of hell.

Some called this a religious experience.
Some said it was a fork in the road.
I don't know, but there's been so many things told.
One thing's certain, that's for sure,
And that's that I think I have suffered enough,
But God, He just happens to disagree.
Other people suffer all because He waves His wand,
But have no fear, the freaks will simply point to Job.

Xinhua

What's going on out there?
I don't know, but they sure do,
Or so they claim. So they claim.
A finding from the Ming Dynasty
Serves as an oracle for the Revolution of '49,
Or so they say. And they do say.

What else is out there
But the paper with the funny characters,
The People's source, Xinhua, everyday?
It's "Hail To The Motherland!" or no
With the intelligencia's twists and turns.
I don't believe it, but they sure do;
It's all they know. Really, all they know.

America seeks to oppress the world
With its, quote, "imperialism,"
And is viewed as a heathen, to end all else.
Well, I don't about you, but this I do believe
Of those fellers in the Great Hall:
The noodles in their bowls
Took a right away from Alburquerque, to their brains.

And those peasants in the rice paddies
Who can't read, much less write,
The news is broadcast to them by forked tongue.
"Have one baby, you will prosper,"
All this, that and the other....
My friends, whatever happened to Confuscian values?

But don't fret, China, for the sun will rise again,
Xinhua will return tomorrow morn,
Updating you with the latest "water buffalo."
If you want to think for yourself, that's too bad,
They'll just stir the contents up real thick,
For if you're the bird extending out its head,
You'll undoubtably be shot down. Yeah.

Cleopatra

The sands of time have come and have past,
But the memories of you still remain.
You were a lover of rulers, of men of fortune,
And you ruled your land in seductive harmony.

Cleopatra, you're no longer here with us,
But that doesn't mean we don't love you all the same.
All we did was simply open up our hearts,
And history's ultimate lover entered our souls.

You were so dogged, so headstrong
In your pursuit of love, glory and happiness.
Caesar was a good romp, but merely a means to an end,
One well worth for you to be rolled into a carpet.

Marc Antony thought you were a real trick
Until he saw you on the boat in Tarsus,
And you set him for a fall, alright,
A fall right into love.

But unfortunately, time rolls right along
Across days and nights, weeks, months,
And the calenders come and they go into the trash.
Tragedy struck you, dear Cleopatra,
When you thought good ol' boy Marc was dead.
Two men down, facing "the march" down a street in Rome.
And Cleopatra, you couldn't face the fact
That your loves were, in fact, perished,
(Though some say you just couldn't face the inevitable),
And so you ordered a vase of figs...or did you?
Two pricks, apparently all it took,
Was it an asp or no?
Octavian's boys found you dead,
Perhaps he thought, "No guts, nor glory."

And so...

Cleopatra, you died, irregardless of infamy.
You left a silhouette for us to worship.
You made us a history to read
So we may learn what it means to love.

Perfectville

You needn't look further than any ol' street corner

For all your candy and your cigarette needs.

Amazed, you exclaim to the cashier,

"I can't believe you're open on a day like today,"

To which the cashier ignores the ignorantly innocent statement.

"Need Marlboro Lights in a box? Sure! It's no problem!"

They're happy to get you a box,

Take your $2.88, and see you walk away.

Then, you go to the pharmacy to pick up your prescription.

"Albuterol, sir?" the pharmacist asks,

And you bitch about the insurance increasing your co-pay.

You pay, after which the pharmacist advises you not to smoke.

Then, it's a sanctifying, "Fuck you, you God damn crooks!"

And you walk away, hacking and wheezing.

Yet, it's a ciggy that you desire, that feeling gnawling away at you,

So you continue to stroll along, light up a "cancer stick,"

And head toward the exit when a young, jovial employee bids you farewell.

Grumbling something incomprehensible, you walk out

Into the cold, bristly winter air, hearing jingle bells,

And how you can hear them is beyond me with that cough.

Did they serve you well with their wonderful methods of service?

Should you submit a survey of the drug store's customer service?

Somehow, I really don't think it matters much to the employees,

For after all, it's just another December 25th at Perfectville.

Listening To You

The boss man hired me
'Cause they say I'm a smart man,
But they don't know me so well.
I lie, cheat, trip over my own feet,
The pastor say if I don't pray, I'll go to hell.
I guess what he saw was my billboard face,
All painted up, shiny and bright.
Oh well, what the hell? Who gives a damn?
I didn't get anywhere by listenin' to you.

The underlings don't call me Hoover for nothin',
'Cause they've seen me suck the dollars outta pockets.
I can't add two plus two and get four,
And definitely can't model and gain acclaim,
But I've got some moxy, whatever it takes,
And it defies belief, some clergy lose faith,
Because as I told you earlier, I ain't ever gotten anywhere
By sittin' around, listenin' to you.

So many doubted me, said I couldn't get it done,
But look who's laughin' away, lappin' it up now!
Deny the human spirit what you will,
But I shall win out by hook or by crook.
I can go on about what makes me tick,
But what's the point? You aren't a believer,
You'd say it's a trick, I do believe.
Oh well. What is it that I claim?
Oh yes. I ain't gotten anywhere by listenin' to you.

The Twilight Child

She was the cheerleader.
She was the prom queen.
She was lil' Miss Everything.
At Hollybrook High.
Then came graduation,
And now, nobody knows her.
All she is now is a twilight child,
A child living in her past,
A worm who looks back
On all "the little people,"
Wondering why they've gone so far
And why she is still here
Living in 1995 instead of 2005.
As she ponders all this at her reunion,
She meets up with some of the "geeks"
Who are now doctors, plastic surgeons,
And have beautiful wives and kids,
While she, voted "Most Beautiful," has none.
Poor Miss Priss. She is such a twilight child.
I guess the sands of time will continue
To pass her by as she slowly becomes
A dusty chapter in the annuls of eternity.

Tennessee

From mile high mountains in the East
To Graceland and the mighty Miss'sipp' in the West,
In Nashville, sounds of country music resonate in the heart,
And in a broad land where trainers trot out walking horses for show,
You know that is the land of Southern enchantment.

Lord, but only a land as unique as this
Could harbor a dry county in which resides a whiskey distillery.
Still, this strange land is nothing if not extraordinary.
Brave men from this land have marched
To the front lines for our country voluntarily.
Three Presidents have called this place, this Tennessee, their home.

And to add to that, I proudly proclaim Tennessee home sweet home to me.

Fall Of The Year

Leaves falling from up high.
God whistling through a cool, brisk breeze.
Trees look like geriatric hands.
Fall's definitely arrived, my friend.

Dew dripping from the evergreens.
The birds migrate South.
The little furry ones surreptiously sleep.
All the people wear jackets, gather around
To celebrate the arrival of the equinox.

The kickoff is a stealer of breaths on the weekends.
Men go on turkey hunts while their families gather for a feast.
It's the prelude to the nibblings of Jack Frost.
The fall of the year is in full swing.

I Sing To You

I sing to you from the heart, lady,
Of my love for you so strong, so you'll know.
I find it truly impossible to describe these emotions
Which bind me to the ground, gravity or no,
But I must put forward my best efforts
To enter the heart of my one true love, you.

My guitar strums sonorous notes
From my heart and soul, straight to your ears.
Just listen to my calls, humanly primal, true,
And you'll know someone's always there for you.

Someone's there for you, my love.
That man happens to be me.

I sing to you, my lady. I sing to you.

Fallen

Glory was once bestowed upon you,
But then just like that, taken away.
You were left out in the elements to freeze,
For according to the puppeteers, you were through.

Life on a pedestal was so very easy,
For you hardly had to lift a finger, much less two.
Now, it seems you are one of the underlings,
Having to work when you were always pampered before.

Life is hard now that you are fallen,
Royalty title stripped, faced with a grim reality.
I never thought I'd see the day arrive
When your back'd be against the wall, struggling to survive.

Weren't you once the one, darling,
Who was quoted, "Let them eat cake,"?
If you were, well, things have come full-circle.
I think apathy has its just desserts.
Without a doubt, you're tasting yours now.

Pushing Buttons Behind A Cash Register

I spend my life everyday this way,
At work, definitely not at play.
As my days become numbered,
I wonder if I'll go on from here
To something more grand
Than just perpetually pushing buttons
Behind a cash register.

There's some substance to me, you see.
I'm not just some ol' fool.
People accuse me of wasting my life
Because I'm twenty-four and working in a store.
But I'm working really hard to achieve my goals,
And they don't include this virtual prison.
They don't include pushing buttons
Behind a cash register.

Life has thrown me a few curves,
And several times, I have struck out.
I've found myself flat on my face
In a dry, parched desert known as the mental wasteland.
So many of my old buddies from the day
Have gone on to grander things in life,
While I have remained here, static.
However, I intend to match their accomplishments
With my wit and desire to achieve,
Because my plans don't include pushing buttons
Behind a cash register for the rest of my days.

All The Little People

Daddys bring home the money,
And so much is expected of them.
In their hands, they possess a key
Of fates glorious or grim.

Their wives come out onto the scene
All decked out to greet their men,
And bring their children, from toddler to teen,
To gather the family again.

Christmas time, kids want toys,
And Santa's got a doozy of a list,
But daddys all have this one ploy
With alternatives in the midst.

And all the little people will be sad,
And get mad at Santa for his shortcomings,
And this will lead to a rising from each little lad
Which will result in multiple pummelings.

When all is said and done,
When the dust has settled,
The children will quit smelling blood, have fun
And commence onward as if nothing had rippled.

A Journey Into The Mind Of Joey, A Sociopath

Joey was walking, whistling a tune.
He looked like a normal champ, and, indeed, a chap he was.
Joey stared at all the visual stimuli around him,
And thought they were awfully peculiar.
He saw a park bench beneath a series of trees,
And a man and a woman kissing beneath with grace and ease.
At this, he noticed that there was a hardware store across the way,
And he entered the store to purchase some tools.
A sicle here, shovel and chainsaw there, which should do the trick,
And he hauled anus back over to the park to fix what he sees as broken.

Joey smiled a boyish grin,
For after all, he was going to play with his toys.
DOWN! Comes the sicle through the back of the lady's neck,
And forward she falls; you'd swear a flood was along the Texas/Oklahoma line.
Next came the man, and he didn't look a bit happy
Because he scared Joey, tried to hurt the infantile man.
But never falter and never fear, for with a twitch, Mommy's there,
And she takes care of her sonny. The man suddenly had no face,
Proving the theory that people can be faceless.
What now? They were down on the ground, swimming in a bath of rouge.
Well, there were the trees, and Mommy didn't like trees blocking her way.
So, down it went! Splintered was the bench and crushed was the couple.

Now comes the really hard part: what could he do with the bodies?
Well, the best guess was that he took them to his backyard.
He turned to his daddy and asked, "What's for supper?"
And daddy said, "Why, ribs! Shoulder roast! Whatever you wants!"
Daddy cooked dinner, and definitely didn't disappoint.
After picking his teeth clean, Joey dug a ditch,
And buried the leftovers from dinner.
Cumbersome, but it was worth it.
After everything was said and done, he painted a message on a wooden slab
So he could provide them with a tombstone.
On it, he expresses some of his sweetest sentiments ever conceived
In honor of true love:

To Jack and Jill, I enjoyed our times we spent together. Dinner was great.
-Love, Joey

Lucy

You've been gone so long,
Ten years, too damn long.
In that time, I've become lost,
Tired, weary, and without prospects.
Fall is back, but it's been here before,
So many times without my love at hand.
The leaves have changed to a beautiful color;
Won't you do the same for me?

Please come home to me, Lucy,
Please come home for the holidays.
I long for your love, my dear,
Just come home, you shan't ever fear,
For I'll make the time worth while.
All you need to do is hit that dial.
You've been gone a long, long time,
So long, it should be a crime.
I love you, my dear, sweet Lucy;
Won't you come home to me tonight?

I've seen many women come and go
Since I last saw you when you were home,
But I haven't seen star shine so bright
As the one in the form of you.
Lucy, you etched a place in my heart
In the days when we used to frolic,
But then you took flight,
My heart turned to stone,
And I was ice cold to the rest of the world.

Please come home to me, Lucy,
Please come home for the holidays.
Please come back to show your love,
For we're a match deemed worthy from up above.
You've been gone a long, long time,
So long, it should be a crime.
I love you, my dear, sweet Lucy;
Won't you come home to me tonight?

You're Not Some Old Song

Playing through my records,
Reminiscing of you.
Shedding a tear or two
All because I miss you so much.

Oh, I remember those times
When we used to kiss and stuff.
Lord, how precious they were,
And how I long for them all over again.
I regret my mistakes with you,
For they pushed you away from me.
I'm on my knees here, baby doll,
Just begging you to come back, you see.

You're not some old song, darling,
Because you really mean so much to me.
I never knew separation was such sweet sorrow.
I never thought we could ever be through.
Love is quite strange, that much is true,
For it stems straight from the heart.
You complete me, warm my soul,
And set my spirit free.

And as I told you before, my love,
You're not some old song I sing.
You're no lost relic inside a jukebox,
But a star who perpetually shines on.
Sometimes, no often, you mistaken me,
As something other than genuine,
But all I ask is that you give me the keys
And just let me into your heart.

All The Reasons Why I Can't Have You

Oh, how beautiful you are,
How perfect for me you would be,
But it appears you're a shooting star
And simply aren't meant for me.

You, my fair lady, are gold,
Of a higher calling in life,
But that, my dear, is an old tale told
Since the beginning of human strife.
You are a mixer of elixers for the ill,
And the pecuniary rewards are grand,
Precluding me from my life's greatest thrill,
And relegating me to the desert to wafe in the sand.

They say love knows no boundaries,
But I know that's not true.
There are many stories
Such as the one I have for you.
Take my love for you, woman,
A love so true, yet cruel.
What I feel is no more than a slogan,
Proving that I've been a fool.

I usually don't read Marx, but he might have a point,
For apparently one and one don't always add to two.
Oh well, whatever. You're just here to disappoint,
And I now know all the reasons why I can't have you.

A Season For Dying

The holidays are coming.
So what? Who cares? "Not I," said the Little Pig.
I have no one to enjoy this time of year with.
I sit in my room, staring out a shiny window,
Looking at all the happy once-upon-a-time cherubs,
And I wonder if I could be one of those.

The leaves have fallen from the trees,
And the days have grown more gray.
I never realized that things could be so drab.
A little liquor will do for me, will do for me real good,
Drinking away my sorrows for the loss of summer's sweat,
Numbing the pain that is there, to make me forget.

If you ask me my opinion, I'll give it to you, in fact,
That I consider this personally a season for dying,
And that I never can explain the reason for joy
Because I don't know what love is, what it is, in fact.
Looking at all the people, I wonder about their secret
To personal contentment, the warmth to their soul.
Some say it's Jesus, but really, I don't know,
For I said the prayer of salvation, but feel hollow instead.