Little Round Mind Tamers

These past four years,
My life has been dictated to me
In so many ways.
Events deemed that it be so,
And the need, to them,
Just steadily grows,
And the doctor, well, he prescribes,
He prescribes to me
What he calls "little round mind tamers."

What can I say but that I have a few chinks,
A few chinks in my armor, but don't we all?
I never know from one day to the next
Whether I'll be nice or a just a bastard.
Oh well. Guess there ain't nothing I can do.
The doctor, well, he apparently doesn't think so,
For he continues to write on his little tablet,
Prescribing me all these weird, strange things.
I beg and I cry, but I just can't get no relief.
I think that I'm just transforming into one giant pill,
And I suppose I'll be relegated to yet another day,
Another day of ingesting the "little round mind tamers."

Life never gets any simpler,
But, in fact, just keeps growing more insane,
And I think about all the times
I could've flown away.
Perhaps that would've been better,
For there'd be no more cares or worries,
But I was held back by the doctor.
The doctor, well, as I said before,
He writes many prescriptions,
And though I don't like it, I have been force-fed.
No, life never, ever gets easier,
And shit goes on all the time,
Despite those "little round mind tamers."

We Suffer Because He Suffered For Us

Today, I let go of one link to my past.
I see the pages of my history turning,
And all I know is I'm holding on,
Clinging desperately to what I have,
For I know that there won't always be
Another tomorrow to look forward to.
I look at my surving elders and see
That they, too, shall eventually meet
The old man's same painful fate,
The same fate that Jesus met on Calvary.

Once, I was a boy, too young to see
The time in a bottle running down on me.
All the while, Mother Nature was ticking,
Picking and choosing at her will,
But now I'm grown up, and suddenly I see
Perhaps that's the cruelest trick in the book.
As much as He died for us, so I believe,
We live life so we'll feel His pain.

My mother was there for me as a young one.
She wiped away my tears when I would cry,
And today, at age 24, I sat at the old man's funeral,
And she was there, holding my hand as she used to.
I knew right then that I was not alone in the world,
That other people older than me know it, too.
Part of believing in the Savior, as I said before,
Is the fact that we suffer because of Him,
For Him, we suffer because He suffered for us...

...or so I believe.

The Dark Side

You see me all the time, so it seems.
Yet, you only really do in the light.
You haven't really had yourself a glimpse
Of what goes bump in the night,
Of what haunts my very soul.
Everybody has the key to open Pandora's Box,
But I don't think you want to, anyhow.

I've got a dark side, my friends,
Measured using trigonometric guns.
Never do I display this horror
To people's faces, oh no.
I've got a dark side, and it's sure dark.
I've got a dark side to hide.
I've got a dark side, and I don't confide
To anyone other than myself.

The things I see I keep to myself.
The things I do, well, I'll never tell.
I have secrets you'll never pry from me.
I'll carry them, in fact, until the day I die.
I'm a young man with an already tortured heart,
Which means there's many more years to hold on.
Years means tears, which means torture, all the same,
Feeling that way, wanting to cry, every second of the game.

I've got a dark side, black as a hole,
Where all my troubles seem to run and hide.
I've got a dark side, how I've sinned and sinned,
So much, though I've been saved, I may still go to hell.
Well, what can I do? What can I say to that?
I've got a dark side, and it's made me a nervous wreck.
I don't know what to do or what I have left,
For I've got a dark side, my penalty, a noose around my neck.

The devil is flashing a twisted, hideous grin.
He does so because he knows I'll sin again.
I've just apparently got a big ol' shovel,
And I'm apparently digging myself a deep one.
What can I say other than life's a bitch?
It'll probably be the dark side where I'll die.
No matter what I do, regardless of how hard I try,
I still sin, according to God, because of the leader of the lie.

Saying Goodbye Is Never Easy To Do

When I was a boy, I was told this would happen,
That there'd come a time when he and I must part ways.
Well, that day has arrived, my friend,
And I have to say, I have never felt such a sensation.
If all one has to say is, "Goodbye, ol' friend,"
He or she might as well haven't said anything at all,
But if you put the pen to the paper, with some thought,
I think that eloquence will bleed through beautifully.

Saying goodbye is never as easy as they make it out to be.
I know, because I've tried that a time or two, in fact.
Preachers say they hear you from God's side,
And claim that we should take great pride,
But honestly, I still feel so damn insufficient in doing so.
My parents tell me that he's now incandescent
With an angelic glow, and that he has no regrets,
And yet, he left me here to face the cold, cruel reality of life.
I guess there's more bitterness involved than I truly comprehend.

I wrote him a poem, telling him what he meant to me,
What he did, fighting for freedom, creating his family,
Ushering a new world order, if you will, all at the cost of emotion.
All I had to do was combat tears, not with fists but with resolve,
And I thought, "Boy, those pills sure are being put to the test."
Tonight, I'll be speaking to the bees of the swarm,
And I'll be making my best attempt to be warm,
But I'll need all of my personal strength.
The man meant too damn much to me
For someone to simply slap a generic poem into his pamphlet
When I can write one that is from the heart.
I know I can write and say something flattering,
But I want to make sure it sounds right,
But whatever I do, I will keep in my mind
That saying goodbye is never easy to do.

Vixens Like This Woman

She walked right in and stole his heart.
She didn't even leave a note, much less a sign.
The other women? Well, they were just left a guessin'.
They never knew they hadn't a chance.

This woman, this bombshell, she was wild.
She dominates him in so many ways.
I don't think he ever had so much drive
As he did when she got him in the car.

This woman, she was nothing else if not a wildcat.
She never knew the meaning behind the world "no."
This man she had was her latest beefy feast.
She had an insatiable drive, and she loved to go to town.

Guys like him are always dreaming of vixens like this woman.
Hell, you can drive to a bar, and not find any wasted ones like her.
She just had this adrenaline pumping, and a hunger between her legs
For the piece that only a raised man can provide for her to feed upon.

Vixens like this woman are indeed an anomaly.
Most are more subtle, tend to conceal their true desires,
But not this one, oh no, she just strolls towards her next meal
To quench her thirst, to tide her appetite for her lustful soul.

Live To Be Free

Why do the old ones ask the young
Our reasons for doing things hurriedly?
Perhaps that, I'll never know.
After all, they have less time left here on Earth
To enjoy the fruits God bears.
As for me, I just live to be free.

Time flies when you're having fun,
And so I enjoy my days in the sun.
I like to travel to far away lands,
Ridin' around and raisin' hell.
I can't picture anything better than that.
There's no limit to what the imagination can do,
And yet, we are restricted, constricted,
Held back by the old bastion of society,
Stodgy in their black suits and shoes,
And so pompous at heart, too,
And they rule the world with an iron fist.
They bring us to our knees,
Say, "Kneel down before your kings,
For you shall live beneath our thumbs,"
And thus, we are forced to live minus our dignity
With the rest of the lame swarm.
Yet, I'll be damned if I don't just live to be free.

Still, my heart holds fire,
And one day, it'll be my turn,
And if I have it my way,
Life will always be in the fast lane.
Why slow down and relax
When, indeed, the same time passes on
Whether you live it at hell's speed
Or if you slow it to a crawl?
Well, I guess I'll never know
The answer to that quandry,
And thus, I'll just live to be free.

Saving Grace

So many times, I've found myself looking down The Cliff.
So many times, I know I could've jumped.
Yet somehow, all those times had the same ending,
And I'm sitting here, telling you all about it.

So many years since the dog days tried to take me down.
So many years since the dog days nearly marched triumphant.
So many years, so many tears, many thoughts, and oh, the fears,
But all I had to do was rely on my saving grace.

They say a good woman can pull a desperate man from the abyss,
That she can woo him, make him feel like what he never thought what he is,
But I contend that women are so overrated,
That they merely are nothing but contentious, so damn jealous.

I found a sheet of paper and a pen with which to write.
I began writing lyrics, and sure, y'all have the right to read,
But that was not the reason why I chose to write artistic prose,
For why I chose to write is all balled up in me.

Selfish reasons, they are why I write what I say.
Some folks are offended, and some might even think I'm an absurdist,
But one thing's for certain, and that's that I didn't jump off of The Cliff.
I needed my saving grace, and now she needs me.

Let Him Take You Away

(Written in 2001and edited in 2006. In honor of my late great uncle, Ulysses Grant Henderson, Jr.)

When I was a boy, a trip to your place
Always brought me great joy
And cracked a smile on my bright-eyed, puppy face.
When you left me, I couldn't comprehend why...why you had died.
You left this world too soon for me, and therefore, I cried,
And so I began my long, personal journey
To a far away land for the answers to my inquiry,
For angels to reply to my prayers.
And so they spoke, and it is answered by them
That my uncle had to leave this realm of the living to ascend His sky
Because his duties here Earth were finished..

My uncle, oh thank God, you've found the way to eternal peace,
The path to Shangri-La, the road to Divine Grace,
And whilst you are commuting to his table to drink His wine,
All your pain exits your body, and you begin living The Enchanted Life.
Oh, how I do miss you. That I cannot help,
But this I do know for certain now:
The Holy Spirit carried you away, and soon,
We will meet again in God's Glorious Kingdom
As angels in the midst of His presence.
Dying is so sad, but I take solace in knowing
That we'll all live in eternity in due time.
Because you've left my world, I have been crying,
But now I know your pain is gone.

Look! His arms are open to you, dear uncle,
Go know His strength. Go know His truth.
Reach for the Divine Lights, dear uncle,
Let Him take you away.
Don't stay here for me. Look who awaits you.
It is your childhood anew, the clamoring with siblings.
It is the love of your parents.
It is the playful nature of your two sons horsing around.
You're home. Eternity has warmly embraced you.
Go. Go. Go be with Him. Don't hesitate for my sake.
This is your time, the time of your life.
Your life has now, at last, truly begun.
Let Him take you away.

Point Of Passage

It was just another day for this son,
But the last for another man, many years my elder.
Logic might dictate that I have many years ahead of me,
And yet, we humans have been known to be wrong.
He lived a long, fulfilling life, so I've read and I'm told,
And then, he began to feel a whole lot of pain in his body,
And held on tight until the handle broke off the bar.

The pain should be gone with his deliverence.
If I were him, there'd be no turning back.
He can watch over his beautiful children and their young 'uns,
And he can do so, at no cost other than the grace of God.

I wonder if, at the point of passage, his life flashed before his eyes.
Was he sentient enough, then, to do that?
I just want to know what his pains were like.
Could he have stayed? Did he have to go away?
I want to know about the other side,
The side of lore, the side of legacy, what we're told is home of truth.
If I can know of what the other side is, I'll better be prepared
For the passage into the hereafter when I die.

He left this world in pain and agony,
But now he's in His Light.
There'll be no more grunts, groans and tears in the night
But joy and perpetual happiness abound.
His body deteriorated to where simple humans could not reach,
And left this realm, and entered the point of passage to the next.

Note To My Readers, 01/18/2006

Howdy, folks! (and if you're an insanely lusty and beautiful woman, "Hello, darlin'!) -

Well, it's yet another day in the Hundred Acre Wood, and the human race hasn't blown itself up yet. That's the good news. The bad news? Hmmm...can't think of any, which means that's a good thing!

I wanted to add a little note to you, my faithful readers (though few and far between), to forewarn those of you who may object to some of the content (e.g. foul language, blasphemous themes, and just the general dark themes some of my work dabbles into) that has been published on this blog. I want to make one thing abundantly clearly to everyone who reads this: this is not for the faint of heart, and what you read is, really, the bearing of my soul. I think that even the most devout of Christians, for which I am one, will admit that they have their inner "demons" which haunt them in their waking hours and in their dreams. For me, take what the average person has and multiply it times ten. I have a medical condition known in today's medical field as Bipolar Disorder, or better described by its old fashioned name, manic depression. I think that most of you will take note that I'll have a few poems written in a sequence that are, say, more on the positivistic side of "Is-The-Glass-Half-Full-Or-Half-Empty" sphere, while others are definitely anthetical. Sometimes, I'll even have one love poem followed by one that is just, well, for lack of a more intellectual phrase, "bitchy and hateful." I really worry about that sometimes, feeling that people read into my patterns and think, "Boy, that Henderson kid, he sure is an A-1 Nut Boy," when in reality, I'm not. To tell you the truth, poetry has saved my life, because on many occasions I would begin writing down a poem when I felt like committing suicide (Suicidal tendancies is a hallmark symptom of the depressed "pole" of the mood spectrum, which is divided into two poles, mania and depression.) . I put my ideas down on paper, and guess what? I'm still here.

You know, some people have asked me why I haven't considered going into journalism because they've felt that I had some kind of talent in both my creative and persuasive writing mechanics, and these people are teachers who my mother works with who have read my work. I'm really honored and flattered by the fact that these highly educated and esteemed people would say such nice things, but I really have other ambitions. I don't feel like that being a jouralist is my calling in life. What I want to do is to teach history in either a high school or college. However, I have been giving some serious thought and consideration to attempt being published. I have been writing poetry now since September of 2000, around the time I gave up playing the trombone, and I feel that, as good as I was on my instrument, I am light years ahead of that in the current state of my honed writing skills. Who knows? Maybe I will make some money off of this, and maybe I can live a good life, help out my family with living a high standard quality of living, and donate money to the two charities which really hit close to home with me: The Autism Society of America, and The Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance. All my life, I have felt that I've had some serious shortcomings, whether it was because of my weight, the fact that I was not an athlete, the fact that I was not one of the ones in the "clique," and now because of my mental illness, and that because of the shortcomings, I have had to find ways to prove myself and my worth as a human being to people. In essence, all I have ever wanted people to realize is, really, summed up in this one statement: I am not a bad person, just different, and all I want to do is to blend in with the rest of you who consider yourselves "normal." Apparently, though, achieving "normality" comprises of achieving the ultimate, the unattainable, the awesome, or, as was discussed in my Ethics class, simply something called "The Good." Whatever the case may be, I feel that maybe now I have found that some mystical force, namely God, has given me the "golden touch." I just hope and pray that I use it wisely and wield that gift judiciously, and that I don't meet the same fate as the monarch of myth, King Midas, met, for after all, one can have too much of a good thing.

Some say I'm an intellectual. Maybe they're right, and maybe they're wrong, but one thing's for certain: I just want to be free.

At Home With Creation

See this pen here with which I write?
I write to create memories for the future to read,
For I will not live on for eternity
Unlike The Savior, Jesus Christ.
I do, however, have a legacy to give,
And those are memories which I cherish, wish to pass on.

Today, I saw a man of the highest caliber
Suffering even as he would take a breath.
In a way, I felt a pain deep inside me,
For I wanted to lift his burdens,
But only God can do that, so I'm told,
Only He can unlock him from his shackles.
Oh bless you, bless you, oh God of the world,
For the man would be dehumanized without you.

Then the day came when the man passed on,
And I felt a terrible void within my body, my spirit, my soul,
But I take solace in knowing that You, God,
Have opened The Pearly Gates of Heaven for him.
Here, now, at last, he lies in state, so still, so peacefully,
Not feeling any pain from the cruelities of the living realm.
He is now at home with Creation itself,
Back where we all come from,
And, ultimately with God's Grace, will return.

(He Was A Member Of) The Greatest Generation

In Loving Tribute to Uncle Ken. You really were like a grandfather to me.

He was special, but he was no actor with a Hollywood star.
He was special, but he wasn't into the rock 'n roll scene or fancy cars.
He was special, but he didn't have a fortune or a yacht or wings.
He was special, yet was that in ways far greater to me,
For you see, my friends, he was a member of the greatest generation there'll ever be.

He was born in the heart of the mountainous Carolina country,
Grew up in the midst of hardship, economic depression,
Then war came screaming and knocking for the brave to bear arms and fight,
And he answered the heated calls to duty for freedom's sake.
He was no longer an innocent man, but now became a man of the world.

Yes, he was a member of the greatest generation,
The greatest generation, by far, I have ever seen.
He helped push back the armies of what Nostradamus called the second coming of the antichrist
Until the evil hoard came crashing down, until they were soundly defeated,
And when they were crushed, he helped lift the flag of liberty to display the dawn of a new age,
And the oppressed fell upon wounded knees, crying in thankfulness
Because guys like this simple Carolina country boy cared,
And thanked God for these battered but not broken heroes.
As I see it, my friends, men like him were the guardian angels of the earth,
The proof in the pudding that this was, indeed, the greatest generation.

But that was not all God had placed on his plate, oh no sirree,
For a far greater force than what he had witnessed in the trenches across the pond beckoned.
He fell in love with a dandy of a lady, then settled down and raised four daughters,
And he began living the very essence of the American dream.
Call his children "baby boomers." Call them what you will,
For if it weren't for people like him, we all would simply not be.

Decades passed, and he had the pleasure of enjoying his grandchildren and great-grandchildren,
Even being so lucky as to live to see the rarity of a great-great grandchild.
His hair grew white, and his face had a few more lines, but the smile was unmistakable.
He lapped up all this attention for the rest of his blessed days
Until the time came when God called him from above,
And said onto him, "Your work here is done."
He needed no exit strategy. His work here was, indeed, finished,
And he was more than prepared to meet The Lord.
As a very wise man once said onto a nation full of mourners,
"(He) has slipped the surly bonds of Earth to touch the face of God."

So, as the sands of time descend though the hourglass
And our heroes of yesteryear grow more and more rare,
For us to forget men like him of the greatest generation,
Well, that would just be the greatest folly of all.

A Dark Shade Of Gray

He locked me up, threw away the key,
That guard, all too willing to spite me.
I worked hard, did the best I could,
But he chopped down my foundation of wood.
I oft wonder if there is any life left to me,
For I feel as if I'm dying, The Lord's Will it be.

I stare at the lines barracading me in.
The Joker is ubiquitous, always has that stupid grin.
Apparently, though, his is not all that laughs,
But all else, too, including lions, tigers, bears and giraffes.
What did I do? What did I say?
It doesn't matter, for here, I'll grow old and gray.

I pray often, usually with the pen,
In the best way I know how to, to help me cope with my original sin.
Apparently, my prayer for salvation isn't enough
That it'll guarantee me forgiveness here on Earth from that stuff.
Thus, I shall reside myself to many a frostbitten day
And just accept that my life is an extreme dark shade of gray.

Just A Guy Who Speaks His Mind

Once, there was a lady
Who was so very fair.
Her name was Sadie,
And she had long, black hair.
Like a revolving door,
She walked into my life,
And we messed around,
And I found out she was a whore,
And that began my perpetual strife.

I oft have given life the finger,
Only to have it say, "Fuck you," right back.
It then punches, gives me a stinger,
And blows off its stack,
And I know, then, I'm in for a-reelin'...
No, not stealin', for I said a-reelin',
A time for suffering because it's a bastard,
But, I don't cut the mustard.
Why the hell should I care or mind?

I'm an opinionated man,
And I say what I think.
I do all this because I think I can,
Or does that thought go down the kitchen sink?
I say something now
But I get slapped in the face.
I guess The Bill of Rights
Ain't no sacred cow after all,
So, with that being said,
Life is a fucking disgrace,
For I'm not one with the swarm,
But instead, one of a kind.
I'm just a guy who speaks his mind.

Calling On Angels (Agents Of God)

The old man led a good life,
A life, not of material riches, but of love,
But now, he is suffering, unable to catch his breath,
And it's nearing his time to die.

His wife talked to God,
And she called on the priest
To come hither, to read the old man his last rites.
Then, from the sky, descending from above,
Were human-like beings with wings on their backs.

Through the wife and priest's prayers,
It was apparent to all
That they were calling on angels,
Angels, agents of The Good Lord,
To deliver the old man
To His Maker in the sky,
And they did so, beautifully so,
And the man peacefully slipped into His arms,
Breathing all his troubles away.

God's Will was now done.
The old man, he didn't hurt anymore.
For him, life is goodness under a perpetual sun,
Because now, he, too, is an agent of God.

(The Cry) No More Lonely Heart

I have often questioned Lord Thy God
If I was put here to suffer
So that all humanity may view.
As is usual, there is no answer
Other than a referral to the oracle, The Bible, in which I'm lead.
Perhaps my ears and eyes aren't receptive
To this form of advice. My vice.

In practice and theory, I can handle
The failures with my jobs, my education,
That, in essence, the fact I'll never amount to much
Is cut-and-dry fine by me.
However, I am only a man,
And can only withstand so much deprevation
From the affections and amourousness
Of members of the beauteous opposite sex.

You may not see it physically in person,
But deep down in my soul, my heart weeps,
Wondering when its will and content shall come to pass.
I don't know the answer to that yet,
And I know not how to search
This earth for the right one
Through all the vermin and scum.
But if and when I find my muse,
You'll know, for I'll be singing another tune,
For my life will have taken a U-turn
In that fast lane toward Enlightenment,
For there will be no more lonely heart for me.

Free (Poem For The Human Spirit)

So many people walking that city street.
I wonder if they have demons in their hearts.
Oh well. I guess it doesn't really matter.
They've got it made. They needn't care about me.

The birds fly above in the sky, gracefully as can be,
Singing harmonious tunes that, well,
I can only assume their feathered peers can comprehend.
Irregardless of their lack of reasoning skills
That humans seemingly do have,
They and the street dwellers below are free as can be.

Everything else surrounding me
Seems unbound by Newton's laws of gravity,
Yet, here I am, shackled to the ground.
I feel the yearning tugging and pulling,
But a greater power than my mind simply won't let me loose.
I suppose, then, that this is my hell on Earth,
My punishment for some unspeakable crime,
For, as Patrick Henry once was quoted,
"Give me liberty or give me death!"
I cry out to give me the latter if I cannot have the former.

And so it is, my friends, apparent partners in crime,
As I end the lamenting of my bondage.
I am left here to assume
That I shall be shackled forever and a day,
Each day growing a bit older and more gray.
But, I shall nev er give up in my plight
In the formation of my underground railroad,
The materialization of a source of my plight.
Still, I will continue to sing of the day of my emancipation,
The day in which fate will simply let me be.

It's All Over Now, Baby Blue

I'm crying...crying all the time for you,
But, unfortunately, I can see so clearly now.
I guess it's all over now, Baby Blue,
So I best make amends somehow.

I suppose I'll go a-huntin' the wilderness
For some fresh blood for me to partake,
But, emotionally, I did regress,
Because I lost you, Baby Blue, for God's sake.

And in this wilderness, I'm searching high,
As well as the fact that I'm searching low,
But unless they're located up in His Sky,
I see nothing, Baby Blue, but you that'll make my love grow.

Oh, but I had caught the perfect catch,
And I let her get away.
There's nothing else in the batch
That makes Baby Blue a shade less than gray.
But, I guess it doesn't matter
What I think or care, so I am digressin'.
My relationship with Baby Blue is in tatters,
So, I might as well quit obsessin'.

It's all over now, Baby Blue.
There's nothing at all I can do.
It's all over now, Baby Blue.
What once was one soul is now two.
It's all over now, Baby Blue,
Oh, it's all over now.
I guess it never was intended
That we were to be each other's sacred cow.

The Rabbit Is The Biggest Whore (But She's One, Too)

I'm a man of the world,
Of Mother Nature's breath,
Seeking the knowledge of the world
That will provide me with skills.
I once loved a woman,
Her name was Nadine,
And she was so beautiful,
But had a closet full of skeletons.
Skeletons have a way
Of making themselves apparent,
And hers came a-knockin' on my door.
They came to me, said,
"Listen, Johnny P., the lady, she ain't clean."

Now, I've learned in my time
The rabbit is the biggest whore,
But she's one, too.
Women often accuse us men
Of being salacious and lascivious,
Of being negligent to their needs,
But I swear, I have always
Put my best into Nadine,
Always fulfilling her each and every desire.
I don't know what else I can do
Short of flipping her the bird and walking off.

Nadine always complains
Of headaches, stomachaches,
As I'm heading out of the house,
And when I offer to stay home to nurse,
She just says go forth, and she'll call a friend.
Well, Dirty Dick just across the hall
Always seems to be peeping around,
And when I return, he's walking out my front door,
And ol' Nadine has this shit-eatin' smile.

Now, I've always been told by my elders
That the rabbit is the biggest whore,
But I confronted Nadine, said to her,
"...but you're one, too."
Apparently, I have trouble
Picking the right ladies
To associate and with whom I fall in love.
She hurt me in more ways than I realize,
And though they say the rabbit's the biggest whore,
I'd swear on a Holy Bible that it's Nadine.

Everyday (The Raging Storm)

Everyday, to me, is a drunken day.
Everyday, to me, constitutes memories wasted.
Everyday, to me, is a cold drift on the horizon.
Everyday, to me, is a shame.

People look at me and look surprised.
They see a large and stocky man.
They "see" I'm a jovial giant among men.
They see that, but hell, they're oh-so wrong.
You see, I'm really confused.
Confused about what, you ask?
Life just seems to get a kick out of me,
Out of driving me crazy,
This raging storm which just perpetuates.

And so I ask unto them,
"Don't you wish you were me?"
They all laugh and grin meekly.
They're the most shallow fools I've ever seen.
I smile because that's what's expected,
To turn the other cheek on the world and its pains.
But inside, there's a raging storm going on,
And my friends, it's never gonna go away.

Everyday, to me, I see sunshine, and I only see black and raining tears.
Everyday, to me, is like a knife piercing my heart and soul.
Everyday, to me, I'm just bleeding, and no tourniquet helps at all.
Everyday, to me, I'm just lying here, drowning in those tears, dying.

I feel like everybody is standing around, staring at me.
I must be a fool, the biggest they've ever seen.
I would take umbrege at that, but really, what's the use?
I just take the curse, the good and the bad, and run with it.
And what do I know? What do I even care?
When I die, the world will be a better place, I'm sure.
I know I'll feel better because this raging storm will have passed.
Lighting always strikes twice, but never thrice.

Everyday, to me, is a source of misery compounded by a million.
Everyday, to me, is really not worth waking up to.
Everyday, to me, is just dribbling me right along.
Everyday, to me, well, is just another day to live and regret.

Phoenix

My days and nights are numbered and confused,
And I'm often questioned if I can differentiate.
To that, I quiz them, "What is two plus two?"
And see if they come up with five.
This ol' soul has gotta get his rest,
For everyday he's awake, it's a pain.
Everyday is a pain, a drudgery at first site.
Life is like living as a phoenix,
And at the end of the day, I can make all right.

In the evening, I fade to black ashes,
One smoldering, blackened heap to hide from doters,
And then I wake up in a blaze of glory,
Only to be tamed by the whip of dogs during the day.
I'm just another slave in this bastard of a world.
Still, there's always something to look forward,
And that's the time that I go home
Away from the cruelties fleshy monsters commit
And extinguish my burning rage.
I can then remember that I'm the phoenix,
And then, I just burn all my troubles away.

I'm one angry feller. If you ask me, it's a perpetual thing.
My doctors ask me why, and I reply, "Hell, I don't know,"
And that is something I say all-of-the-time.
Sometimes I think I'm gonna lose it all,
But other times, I think I could challenge God to a dual.
All-in-all, though, I just wanna be left alone,
Alone to lick my daily wounds from the ubiquitous grind,
So I guess I will hop into bed, fold wings, put out the fire,
And enjoy my nightly sojourn in this makeshift funeral pyre,
For I am the phoenix, the burning of rage with desire.

My Friends Just Don't Understand Me

I wake up every morning just like they do.
I eat, drink and exist just like they do.
I feel things for the opposite sex just like they do,
And yet, my friends just don't understand me.
I have these deep thoughts that just penetrate my soul.
They seem to fight me day and night, and it takes a toll.
I can't seem to make sense, sometimes, of what I believe,
And when I ask, my friends just don't understand me.

When I was a kid, I was a big ol' boy,
Bigger than the rest of the kiddies in my class,
And for that, I was made a pariah of,
Relegated to a form lower than whale shit,
Ridiculed, punched, kicked, all that.
When I fought back, I faced harsh consequences.
The teacher told me to stick my nose against the wall
And count to one hundred and ten. Or whatever.
And when I asked my friends for some help and guidance,
They shrugged their shoulders, stared with glazed eyes.
Well, all I can say is, like today, my friends didn't understand me.

I'm a writer of poetry that's plain for the human eye to see.
I feel that that's the way to my personal expression.
I gave up the trombone back in the day when God said it should go,
But some of my peers called me a fool and laughed at me.
I want to become a teacher, but so many say I shouldn't
Because there's not enough money in it for me.
For me? How do they know what's best for me?
For after all, these are the fools, my friends,
My friends, who earlier didn't understand me.

Now, I am weary of making any new friends.
Sad to think, so my mom, my pa, everyone says.
But the one friend I have, he does the same shit,
He must think I was born yesterday, that I am a stupid git,
That I am a pest, a nuisance, something to be manipulated.
I can't get in touch with him to visit and chat,
And he always dodges me when I call upon him.
I am tired of this, this comradery oppression,
For it has caused untold amounts of depression
Because I can't seem to get him, my friend, to understand me.

Apparently, I'm not appreciated for who I am.
Evidentally, I'm some space cadet, or something-or-other.
Women won't dare look or much less touch me.
The law looks at me as something less than worthy,
And here I am, bearing out to you my soul,
And you're reading this, and I don't know what you think.
Do you feel guilty? Is there a shread of remorse?
It's fucking people like you who put me up to this.
I'm a sentient creature who just wants to fit in,
But I can't, for my friends just don't understand me.

June

June was the month I's born,
But that's not what I'm here to tell.
I'm here to talk of the precedent in my life,
And her name is June.

June! Oh June! Oh when I look at her,
I see things glorified I cannot begin to describe.
June! Oh June! Oh, what can I say?
A simple "I love you" just doesn't say enough.

She came along when I was at a crossroads,
When I was at a fork in the road between Heaven and hell.
I thought at age eighteen I had it all figured out,
But apparently, God had other plans for me.
I was fightin' like a damn fool, tryin' to earn my own lot,
But the power of The Lord was too commanding,
And He sent her to set me free.

June! Oh June! Oh where did she come from?
I went to many bars and met many dames,
But they were apparently not dandy enough
To suit me to God's decree.
June! Oh June! Oh, how I love her!
And yet, that does little to tell of how I feel.

She came to me, it seems, from out of the blue,
But in reality, I met her in my general store.
She was pickin' supplies for a meal that night
To fix for her siblings, mother and ol' man.
We exchanged greetings, and we grew acquainted,
And ultimately, we fell in love.
Yet, I was a cruisin' down the road to hell,
The fire all around me, my soul was black from soot,
My mind needed mending, and here she was
To help me steer in the right direction.

June! Oh June! Thank God for her,
For without her, I wouldn't be seeing the light of day.
I bet she didn't know that I was a poet,
That I could write in verse my feelings for her.
June! Oh June! But I cannot possibly convey my message enough,
I cannot possibly say how much she mean to me.
I cannot disclose my true love to her,
So she'll just have to marry me and see.

Fallin' In Love With Whatever

I'm a-walkin' along the side of the street
Just any ol' day. It don't matter. It don't.
Along my sojourn, I pass woman after woman,
So many oozing pulchratude. Yeah, English with Latin.
I gaze with enchantment at the eye candy before me,
And fall in love with what I did see.

So, what is the matter, you ask?
Would you like to really be in the know?

I am fallin' in love with whatever comes from the trees,
With whatever sells, and whatever just walks.
I am fallin' in love with whatever did agree,
Or if it don't, that is fine by me.
I am fallin' in love with so many vain primadonnas,
Shallow as the kiddies' pool at a public facility.
I am fallin' in love just for the hell of fallin' in love,
And apparently, I just don't give a damn.

I scan these ladies up, and I scan these ladies down,
Down, all around, eyes down to the tippy-toes.
Then comes the part where I hit on these broads.
If you ask their replies, well, it depends on their jobs.
Uptown girls just want to make money,
But money the honest way, you see,
Though I do not flash 'em money, I offer them my services,
And I get a kick in the balls, then a firm rebuke.
Then there are "those" kinds of girls who hang on every corner,
Chomping their gum, dressed two-score-ish,
But I'm a desperate man seeking desperate measures,
And I approach and speak, to which they offer themselves for a buck.
A twenty follows, then two hours of physical charisma,
Eyes spinning 'round and 'round in the back of my head,
And then it ended, and she is out the door and out of my life.
What a bummer. What a doter I am, indeed,
For I was fallin' in love with whatever I did see. For shame!

I got the physical part down, but I failed in my task.
I really wanted love, but apparently it speaks in volumes other than sex.
I can't just walk along the streets of the city
And think that every woman has potential.
There's gotta be chemistry here, or somewhere,
And I don't know where, but I'm gonna die lookin'.

The Road To Nowhere

I am on the high road,
On the road to nowhere
In the mountains of ol' Carolina,
In the clouds where the angels dwell.
Somewhere in the distance,
I hear a shrill-pitched cry,
And then I realize there's something
Behind this long and winding road.

Deep into the wilderness,
I became perplexed,
Though about what, I know not.
A philosopher might say it's nihilistic,
While a mathemetician might say logistic,
But all I really know is that I'm just lost.
Animals howl, and animals growl,
And for all I know, there could be tigers galore,
Coming out to get and eat me for dinner
Along the road to nowhere.

This road will go on forever, I'm convinced,
Because it's the road to nowhere,
The road that neither leads us to Heaven or hell.
It may be way up in the clouds,
Existing clandestinely in their white shrouds,
And I say this, yet it's never so simple as that.
The farmer man down at the turn
Said this was the way to go,
That I must journey deep, up and down,
To find my heart's true content.

I've never known the likes of my lover.
The only woman in my life has been my mother.
Daddy told me life is rough,
That to survive and thrive, I must be tough,
And to say that time is only money is a falacy.
He said to me that there is a path we all must take
Along the road to personal glory, fortune, and righteousness,
And some people call it the road to nowhere,
But it's what you make of it with your God-given Faith.

I say that the road to nowhere is in Carolina,
But it can be there where you live in Kalamazoo, too.
Truth be told, it's all in your heart,
And your mind and spirit and soul,
Taking its surreptitious toll.
And that, I must say to you, my friends,
Ain't all that bad, no sir, no madame.
You just need to ignite that fire that will set you free.

1989

I was born in 1981,
But I really woke up in 1989.
I never understood what was up with it all
Until God opened up my mind
And suddenly it became all so very clear to me.
So many people asked if I was born yesterday,
And the answer was an emphatic "NO!",
For yesterday, then, was 1988,
But when I woke up, it was 1989.

I can remember my fifth birthday party
At the Showbiz Pizza down West,
And I can remember bits and pieces
Of our trip to Hilton Head Island.
Yes, I remember those from so long ago,
But they occured a few years before
That year of wonders galore,
That year of my awakening, 1989.

I'm an avid baseball fan now. That, everybody knows.
Daddy sat me down when I was a tyke to watch the Yankees go.
He told me they were the best team around,
That Don Mattingly was the best player of 'em all,
And that the Yankees have enjoyed winning championships
Since way on back in '23.
Yes, that may all be true, but I don't remember that far back,
Because, after all, I was born in 1981,
But when I woke up, it was 1989.

I love a good movie, and I love to watch a good actor.
Forrest Gump was a great movie, and Tom Hanks is one of the best.
But at the age of eight, I saw a movie
That blew me off of the seat of my pants.
Batman with Jack Nicholson captured the heart of me,
And no villain can compare to The Joker,
Not even the devil can, you see?
Nor can any actor entertain me as Mr. Nicholson can, Toucan Sam.
You ask why, since it didn't win any Oscars,
And I just have one simple message to convey,
That I saw all this during the summer of '89. That's all I need to say.

Though I was oh, so very young,
I picked up some perspective on the political world.
George Bush, I, was president back then,
Taking over for the great Ronald Reagan.
There was the dismantling of the Berlin Wall,
And the beginning of the collapse of communism. What an overhaul!
The horror which occured in Tienneman Square, Beijing,
And seeing the homeless, vagabond 'Nam vet in D.C.,
Overall, it was all the making of the most inspiring year, for me, at least,
And yet I wondered how much more could be done, or was I being teased?
I was still not sentient enough to read and comprehend
That despite all of this, life is a Godsend,
That life for me was getting better, for I was growing up,
Laying the foundations, the pillars, that would carry me home, fill my cup.
I might not have been born that fabulous year,
But this, I simply gotta say, folks, as I look back and shed a tear:
My humanistization and awakening, it all happened in 1989.

Down That Dark Road

Death would only be so sweet

If God were to reintroduce to me his "special treat."

I grip my pillow each and every night

In anticipation of another fight.

It's been four years, not long enough ago,

When the beast within began to grow.

I've seen the best doctor in the world,

But nothing has cured that with which I've quarreled.

I prayed to The Lord for something like an answer,

But I have doubts which I shouldn't have in that manner.

I'm sitting here, yes, penning this to you,

But my fears, they simply grew and grew.

Will I tread down that dark road again?

Did it occur because of my many a sin?

I pray to you, oh Lord, let me back on my feet,

Don't relegate me again to virtual straps and a seat.

I've toiled laboriously to return to life,

Through much fighting and much, much strife.

See this, Lord? Once I had a frown, but now I grin,

So please, I beseech, don't force me down that dark road again.

I See No Hope For This World

I'm sitting on a bench in Central Park,
Waiting for something to see.
So far, I see no hope for this world,
And I wonder why we should continue to be.
People bicker, steal, maim and murder
All of the fucking time, you see?
Every asshole has his or her answer:
Peaceniks put two fingers in the air,
And evangelists say pray to Jesus, He's the answer,
But so far, I haven't seen nothing, no, nada,
And I see no hope for this world after all.

A man and his pregnant wife walk, hand-in-hand.
They're so happy, while the drunk man in rags is sad.
So far, I see no hope for this world,
And I wonder why we should continue to be.
The inequities of life are bizarre, and pretty fucking scary.
Governments claim they have the answer to our crises,
And impose new laws onto the masses,
But all that does is trample upon the rights of man,
And causes chaos in the streets.
Disharmony, then, must be an inherrent thing,
And I see no hope for this world after all.

I'm a voyeur of the world, seer of all which encompasses me.
I'm taking some notes, scribbling line-by-line.
So far, I see no hope for this world,
And I wonder why we should continue to be.
I see a few people are rich, but more people have far less.
I see parents and their sons and daughters fight, and for what, you ask?
The world goes on, and yet, we as a race will not.
We're scheduled to die sometime on God's grand watch.
However, people don't seem to care or even give a damn for their fellow man,
And I see no hope for this world after all.

We are all slaves of time, all slaves of history,
For we all will fall victim to its infinite number of pages.
So far, I see no hope for this world,
And I wonder why we should continue to be.
Wars are fought between nations for a plethora of reasons,
Most of which, I suspect, are rather foolish.
Why die in combat when we can slip into The Lord's arms peacefully?
To me, that makes more sense, but to others, that doesn't seem right,
Thus, they shall continue to perpetually fight,
And I see no hope for this world after all.

The only time of peace in a body's life, so it seems,
Is the moment of conception, and yet so many wish to kill then.
So far, I see no hope for this world,
And I wonder why we should continue to be.
I ask, "Why we should continue to be?"
Yet, I say that we should let God be who He is.
I mean not to sound as a hypocrite,
But to warn you folks to heed this call,
That to continue these acts of hostility
Toward our fellow man will ultimate pave our way to hell.
We have time to change our ways
If only we would take the time to listen,
But until then, I'll keep preaching,
And I'll see no hope for this world after all.

When I Saw You In My Dreams

It was not so long ago
When I saw you in my dreams.
You lit up the black night sky,
And the stars aligned in flanks
Like tin soldiers on toy battlefields.
Hand-in-hand, we touched,
And blood flowed all through my veins,
Giving me the feeling
Everything was going to be alright.

It was not so long ago
When I saw you in my dreams.
The day time had proven cruel,
For my lover had forsaken me.
My nocturnal journey, courtesy of Mr. Sandman,
Had given me a release
From the hell I incurred on Earth.
The love I found in here,
Here in this realm,
Has made me want to call this
Home-sweet-home to me.

So, this is it then. The final destination,
The end of the path to Shangri-la?
How merry it be so.
Earth was pseudo-love
Compared to what I found here.
Evidentally, it never meant anything more.

BRING-RING-RING! The alarms erupt
As Vesuvius and St. Helens did once,
Showering me with heaps of ash and soot.
Alas, I'm left here in this mess,
Embittered, saddened and teary-eyed,
For all you are is a memory,
Or more like a fantasy,
Of a fictitious love I can't have,
Though, it was not so long ago
When I saw you in my dreams.

(I'd Like To Have) A Muse In My Life

Another day, the sun creeping out
Through the cracks in the clouds,
Yet, all I have experienced is more rain.
Last year brought me nothing but more gloom.
Will the coming year bring me that too?

I see men and women fall in love,
Yet, I'm a man not among other men.
I've seen many women I'd like to have fall for me,
But I never see a woman show me as much as a grin.
I've always been told to be patient and wait for love.
Will the coming year bring me that, you think?

So many of my peers are getting married, having children,
But I seem to be a dull diamond in the rough.
I'm happy for my mates for procreating, perpetuating the human race,
But I'd like to have a crack at it myself.
Dear God, what have I done to deserve this?
This, I really must know, sir.
Dear God, what have I done to deserve this?
To me, nothing ever did occur.

Oh! I'd like to have a lover in my life.
That much is plain for any and all to see.
Oh! I'd like to have a woman to love and cherish,
To raise children, to watch them grow.
Oh! I'd like to have a muse in my life
Just so I'd have someone to write for.
A love would be good to have right now,
Right now, from here, there and everywhere.
I'd like to have a muse in my life
To extinquish the tormenting fire in my soul.

Oh! I'd like to have a family like my parents' had,
The model, the American dream infrastructure.
Who do you know wouldn't want all of that?
Oh! I just want to be a normal part of the human race.
Dear Lord, won't you make that so?
Oh! As I said before to you,
I'd like to have a muse in my life
So she'll open my heart, set my spirit free.
I've always been miserable, and people ask me why,
And all I simply have to say:
I just don't have a muse in my life
To set my spirit free.

Let The Child Sing

(My late birthday gift to Our Lord and Savior. Hope you like it, you BIG DUDE WALKING ON WATER!)

He's so innocent and pure,
And He hasn't done anything a-wrong.
I see something great in Him,
So we should get on our knees to praise.
The world's been so very dark now
Since way back in I-know-not-when.
The weight of the world's upon His shoulders,
So let's gather around Him now.

Let The Child sing to the choir.
Let The Child sing for the world.
God has blessed His Merry Soul
On this, His Birthday, with love.
From His family here on Earth,
From His loyal following all around.
Let the truth be heard, for it must be heard.
Let The Child sing to the choir.

Some people will call Him a charleton,
And that's a folly, my friends,
For The Child is the living incarnation of God here on Earth.
He's come to free us from Lucifer's shackles and chains.
To do so, He must endure the world's greatest pains.
He'll die as an adult the ultimate humanizing death,
But He'll be giving it all up for God, for you and I.
He'll rise from the grave and cleanse us of our sins,
So let's gather up the members of the choir, for He's a-gonna sing.

The New Year's Resolution

It's New Year's Day, indeed, time renewed,
And some people, all they do is break out the booze,
Yet, they fail to recollect and to reflect
Of the failings and the needs of the world.
The world is a-flame,
And what a shame it is
That the world is so shallow
That it is drowning in its own folly.

Drunken fools sing and shout,
They fornicate and paint the town red,
And create plagues to which they cry foul
Because they want their superiors
To continue changing their diapers.
Woe be it to the good lil' child'uns,
For they must suffer The Wrath of God, too.
They'll cry foul, but their calls won't be heard,
For the eyes of justice are, indeed, blind.

Wars commence over silly spats,
Questionably for protection, but more probably, oil,
And then there's genocide, yes indeed, my friends,
Like those who died in Darfur this past year and before.
Racism runs rampant like a pack of rabid dogs,
When, in reality, all are equal in the eyes of God.
Remember fornication, a practice without cause,
Which all too often leads to babies oft not wanted,
And what happens then? Well, let me tell you,
It's abortion, my friend. Abortion, the epidemic.
It's men deciding to play God Almighty themselves,
Stopping the heartbeats of His little angels,
Killing off mankind ever more.

So many things I see are wrong with this world,
And I have hardly started with my ranting.
Yet, I'll cease all of that, and begin a new phase
Because I see that there's some hope for Mother Earth.
It's New Year's Day, and if we heed His warnings well,
We can stop these injustices and create a more perfect place:
If the people who party would just listen,
There might be holy sunshine instead of the impending fire and brimstone.
If the people who behave become activists instead of simply cringing,
The sinners might understand their follies.
If the people who are racists and create war were to cease and desist,
Hate for the neighbor might not be so widespread.
And if people stopped killing babies, having abortions right now,
The voices of the slain could sing The Words of God.

Yes, my friends, 'tis New Year's Day,
And it's time to celebrate a new tomorrow,
But we have so many wrongs to right,
So we best get underway right now.