SAME SONG, DIFFERENT VERSE

take some intuitive action
grind into a fine powder
suck it up through nose
the world will be yours

with a sharp slap
a new day awakens
pushing up a sleepy sun
starting a new day
inviting children to play

soft into light of day
branches gently sway
sparrows busy at play

while running off with his mouth,
swallowed his teeth, his tongue,
and all those defaming words
falling from his antisocial mouth,
letting him know he is not the boss. 

leader seeking leadership
position.
rates negotiable.
will lead for candy. 
ice cream works.

what is stoic, that we need
stand back, staring blankly,
incoherently at distant nothing,
while time decides our fate?

it is time, then. time is stoic.
certainly not heroic.

this photo came from Pinterest with a color invert.

if you have not tried Pinterest, you should.

the color invert came from Photo Explosion, version 5.

TRAIL OF RED

as soon as sudden happens,

sudden is done and gone.

there is no pass go.

there is no go straight to jail.

there is, in fact, a gaping hole

reminding us where once upon a time

sudden was, in fact, alive and well;

fast and sassy and rambunctious
as all of hell. 

an alligator in the bath

indicates something horribly wrong

with the plumbing.

and why the cat is missing,

and what happened

to that missing leather shoe.

while thinking outside one's self,

considered a felony in some cultures,

only considered a misdemeanor 

in a more civilized setting of

who gives a fart and carry on

as though frivolous is new standard

in a new sitcom featuring who is

screwing whom and who knew.

will not be held responsible for diarrhea
anyone occurs while reading this.

when attempting to improve perfection,
many times perfection gets screwed up so badly
perfection will never again be perfect.

take their words;
twist  their words around a bit;
and a bit more.

maybe a little bit more.
now those words are yours.
yours to give a home.

yours to write a poem or two.
yours to live with until time
and distance do you part.

until then, then. 

PIMPLE ON HIS

had a pimple on his butt,

just would not pop, pop, pop.

no, nasty whopper pimple,

until she brought a knife.

took that knife to his nasty

unstoppable pimple,

hanging there off his butt.

when she got done using

that knife, much more was

missing than he bargained for.

beware of women bearing knifes. 

the game is to use each other

until we each have what

we want from each other;

then the hell with each,

going about our lives

as if we've never known

the other ever existed.

graveyard for old poems;

where old poets go to visit,

reminiscing over old poems.

ah, just tripe-tap that sucker.
we'll catch first cloud heading
the hell out of here.

first foreboding cloudbank.
just another aging poet
drowning in words.

poems piled up higher than any
thoughts could ever abide.
while cloudbanks drift on by,
waving bye-bye.

ALWAYS A CHANCE

there is always, always a chance

today's stink will linger

far into and possibly far past

all coming tomorrows 

into that dark and cloudy

unknown where no

righteous human would 

ever dare go. 

we should prepare ourselves

for a rumpus tomorrow.

when that does not happen,

and of course it won't,

just sleep it off.

there is always, always

another tomorrow 

followed by another day,

and another day after that

day after days until infinitely 

has had enough and defaults

the entire rigmarole.

and, without exception,

we forge ahead

into whatever it is

forging ahead

holds in store for us
without cry or whimper,
forging ahead we must go.

one must know one's priorities 
that one's priorities
do not become one's enemy
tearing one down, down and out.

pigs are gathering.
methinks there be a riot brewing.
more food and cleaner pigpens,
all assuming issues. 

if our poetry does not drive us mad,
it will, in all probability, kill us.

AT CROSS PURPOSE

at cross purpose

with one's own self

comes back around

biting one in their conscience

feeding off one's innocence
dragging one down

idle chitchat among those

having nothing to say

preferring to be elsewhere

having it their own way
live to fight another day

unthinking passion

becomes treacherous 

blind love waning

whatever it takes.

whatever it takes, friends,

neighbors, alligators

and the such.

whatever ti takes;

just get up and do it.

get up and get it done.

whatever.....

DAYDREAMS

got to watch out for snakes.

snakes as big as daydreams.

daydreams as big as any

nightmares we've ever had.

bigger than those snakes

we're watching out for

while we're daydreaming 

of really bit bad snakes and such.

winter in all its nakedness.

and all the sheer cold beauty

that comes with winter season.

have grown quite tired of myth

and all mania accompanying

that mythological world 

and all the weirdness therein.

he has fangs.

she's okay with that as

long as he doesn't try kiss.

that would be just to weird,

causing her to take drastic action;

and he's so damned protective

of  his lovely set of fangs.

well, he is a snake, so....

in the middle of nothing,

time and world

progress dangerously slow.

AND SO IT GOES

yesterday is gone.
today is here with all
yesterday's problems.
what of tomorrow?
will we sing the blues?

ecstatic over much
of nothing.

prone to criminal 
tendencies.

cede nothing;
make them earn
every darn inch;

advantage be thus.
advantage be ours.

time and place for everything;
everything in its place.
between life and death
is where we all live. 

but at this time of my
December life,
have little time for
decorum trait.

leave decorum for 
young folks debate.

largest portion of life is deliberate;
remaining portion is only by change,
considered misdemeanor offense.
or just rollover and fart.