Grass Turns Yellow For Lack of Sun

She'd be warm in a fuzzy sweater and wearing a Muscovite fur cap
In her kitchen and her bedroom
She would be warm
And she would make me warm
With her smile and her excitement
I'd be compelled to grab her in my arms
My breath would warm her ear
Her word would stoke my furnace
That would be romance. Romance is for the young,
I write this from November
From this place, romance is very far away
Impossible to see with the naked eye
Or in the song of a bird hell-bent on stabbing
Some last dregs of dirt crawling things
On the way back to the nest of twigs and dead grass
Is it any wonder all the superheroes of this planet
MUST wear disguises or be set upon
When they least expect it?
Not only them, but their loved ones also.
No wonder the marriage rate is so low
Among caped crusaders and women flying invisible jets
The same goes for all the washed out and burnt to a crisp
Nothing left to give
So t'would seem to the casual observer
In their times of healing
Must look quite uninspiring
Three days in a tomb or the belly of a whale
Not the most heroic stance
Not the knight readied with lance
To charge the lonely dragon
In it's cavern of solitude
How should we then attend to all the scratches and scrapes we have earned in this endless summer of misspent frivolity? I don't feel the need to mourn the dead, better they should mourn for us, the living. It is us to carry their memory everyday UP & DOWN the hills and freeways. It is us whom must live up to their once upon a time heroisms. Let them come down and show us how to survive this world they have left us. Don't get me started on the interest rates! Let them show US how to form a more perfect union or build a better mouse-trap. This is no small rant and there is implied no recant for the counting of electronically produced snapshots of votings and dotings, for everybody knows a house is not a home without a Boston Terrier and there could not be any US without the All involved and Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without some tofurkey and some mistletoe so we move on into the winter with fond memories in our hearts and beautiful visions sparkling in the prismatic splendor of love's eternal promise of love's eternal flame.

The Rider Approaches

Outcry and aggravation in the heart of the public eye
Here in the Land of the Free decisions are to be made
Brothers against brothers
Sisters against their mothers

Deciding if we'd be better off
Or if the worker should get a free pass
At the taxpayer's expense

The looters are creeping from the shadows
Reliant on suspicions that
the old watch dogs have gone to sleep

It's getting so bad, I went to the Air National Guard
To look for a civil aviation career
Alas, and forsoothe, for la gente, I've been deemed 'Too old',
once again as is always been the case with convenient excuses
As these are applied to the truths Of the public pie

'There's not enough to go around!'
'Everybody wants THAT job!'
'Gotta take what choo can get!'
So on and so forth

This isn't very American, if you ask me
May I review the application for Lewis and Clark?
Didn't any of your silver spoonies get a break
Before they were a half a century old?
Doesn't experience count as education?

We all have a life to live
The operative noun being Life
If you don't support Life
You don't get my vote
If you lurk through the shadowy regions
It'll stick to your clothes and stink up your hair

I don't know anybody who would choose Pain and misery
That must fall under the heading
Of 'whatever floats your boat, ladies.'

After November 6th my prayers will remain the same
That we remain, One nation under God
With Liberty and Justice for all
& we don't start striping
The Constitution down
To a cheap little footnote
In our profit and loss columns

Canto for Invisio-Girl

Have you ever witnessed
On your own
Without the boost given through
Cinematic special effect
A slender woman
Fade away through a wall?
Fascinating as this may sound
I'm fairly certain you may recall
A time-lapsed occurrence
Of nature or technology
The truth of how
It actually plays out

You may remember
You may remember
Upon seeing the finale
Or recounting on conception
How the beginning justifies
The end
Vice the verse
Etc
Ect

When I tell you she has faded
Through these walls
In this place she came to visit
One cold, sparkling winter season
For holidays from her tasks
A place to drop her bags and masks
An unmated gyne
On October's Butterfly Bush

All the folks came out to meet her
As I, in my safari helmet
Strewn about with carcasses
For canvases of Lions, Tigress, and bears,
Did regale her as princess
Of a time when monarchs
Ruled the air

Gee, ain't it funny
How certain walls will
Naturally absorb objects
Resting against the surface
Yet resistant of light and air

You may remember
You may remember
The bitter chill of September
And the forgiveness of abandonment
Spewed from the lips
Of the solid foundation
Of the living God's future bride

I wish this journey was ours
To take together
You may build walls
To protect or defend
You may tell lies
To deflect or offend
Neither could make it better
Or wipe away hours shared

I have stared at the wall every second your face has faded
The orange flecks of your eyes
The pinkness of your lips
Faded into the fingerprints of your hands
Faded now the memory of your kiss
Your long toes
Used for writing flamenco libros
On the logo of your heart

You may remember
You may remember
Yet, dearest, I shan't forget
Of the all the good that you have done
Through out the infinite embrace
Of time's deepest depths

Against the Grain

At times in our lives
When everything spirals
Out of control
& beyond any semblance
There seems a gnawing, nagging dread
Egging us on

It is alright to call me later on
I am not in a bad mood
simply typing with my voice
while we're talking
yes, audiocontrol

I'm putting the words into the device
hopefully the words will turn into something to help
help people to defeat the negativity
wow, they're going through the hardships of life

The words in my room
in my room and im pretty weird
but true
the word my room
my room spirals and embraces
old old
also phone phone
old home, who would hear it ?
we know who
Who would share it ?
moon doom aurora massacre
who would find
Scrambling in front of them,
know inside of them,
sew them in so,
Not let them go,
Who?

It's not brain surgery
It's the healing of the spirit & the mind
Neither intellect nor firepower
Could allow you the peace
Given freely
From the Son of God
Our Lord
& only salvation
Jesus Christ

If you find yourself
In that precarious spot
I'd definitely hope not
Take a prayer break
& ask God for direction
Before you destroy
Yourself
And everyone
In your immediate vicinity

Ceiling Forever Above

Not enough for me
For anyone
To explain the sky
To bring you down
To lift you up

Our horizon runs along
A crashing surf transforms
To lap at the toes
Of dancing sandpipers
Dragging grains of time
To the Earth
Farther below

I hold you in my heart
High above my head
You caress the ocean
Far above crashing shores
Leaving messages tattooed
In Heaven's forever
Reverberating frequency

Weed Control Services

In plain speak: she asked for someone to come and do something
She could not or did not want to do herself
In short, she wanted extra help around the house
Not to complicate the situation
Or confound the present standard
She even attempted to employ a poet
To monitor the property
And dabble in horticultural landscaping
Though never under contract, per se
He stuck in there
As well as could be expected
Even her own children
Had abandoned their birthright
And out rightly broke the fourth commandment
As prescribed by the Creator
Of the known universe

The Girl Above the Tunnel

You might call me a dog
Throw me from the speeding cab
Shout my name during a democratic riot
Imply misconducted deeds to the local authorities
Tie my ankles & wrist to the headboard of the bed
Light a 4 alarm fire comprimising my security deposit
With the landlord, Mr Ted
I'd have to forgive you
Don't you know it true?
Everyone I'd pass; I'd tell 'em
She's not you

Say I'd swim to Hong Kong
rocket over to Budapest
Ride a mythical creature to the Moon
I'd think I'd not swoon
This refrain I'd still croon
She's not you

So proudly I'll stand
With your buttermilk skin in my hand
Replaying your Frankenstien Transzylvania historic
As you try to rope me into your 12 step group
Swinging in the palm trees; playing in the fog
Though I may sound like a frog
Still would I croon
Nothing to worry, my dear
Underdog's not here
I will be your spoon, & still
I'll state it very confidentially
As would the loupe to the jewel
She's not you

pmpope 2012