working an area in town with this brother who after knocking on door and finding no one home , he stands behind small tree and has piss on front lawn.fairdinkim.i hope they weren't peeping through binds,but then again better the piss than the shit mags we were going to leave..
One could make a list
a jw child picking the householders flowers while mama witnesses
a man who must stop for chicken everytime he's out in service
You can't leave out the naked or the gun toteing householders
the animals a large rat on the shoulder, biting ferrets, ferocious dogs being held back, cockroaches crawling towards your bag.
hoarders who invite you in and you have to crawl over the stacks of newspapers and magazines wondering what lurks below
the sea once held this youngster's heart within its mighty bosom.i loved and cherished the sea, stretching outward beyond infinity.
i took to the e'er dreary landscape, the dank surroundings soothing me, enveloping me in crawling mists that were more welcomed to me than the evaporating rays of a cavorting summer sun.i, however, am no longer that pensive lad who found comfort in the dark and cold and deep blue sea.
today, a man in the physical sense, i no longer possess that childlike fascination with my former abode.
I love the ocean and I live a block away and everyday I sit on my balcony with my coffee.
i am approaching 76 years old.
i can clearly recall that awake!
statement and similar during the pre-1975 hype -- "staying alive in '75", et al.
new light new light makes it right
whenever things get really tight
call it out renew the fight
new light still puts the end in sight
i feel a sadness so deep that friends wonder why my art and my blinds remain undrawn.. gone is the muse who promised me solacewhile guys played ball and climbed tall trees.. a blank canvas before me says, "here's your life, where has it gone?".
is it too late to become what imight have become .
.
Oh how cryptic he can be
ambiguous as the rolling sea
elliptical as his native tree
puzzling as the killer bee
Emily we need you now
you're understanding please endow
a tree a bird a large sea cow
meow meow meow meow
i feel a sadness so deep that friends wonder why my art and my blinds remain undrawn.. gone is the muse who promised me solacewhile guys played ball and climbed tall trees.. a blank canvas before me says, "here's your life, where has it gone?".
is it too late to become what imight have become .
.
What happened to old Errol flynn
concealed by some elusive jinn
some leprechaun's shenanigan
a poet's inner sanctum whim
he's drawn the curtains of his mind
who knows what mysteries he'll find
then Emily began to talk
a bird came down the walk
no longer do i fear the night.i move about, yet unnoticed, toeyes that once sent daggers.
and to ears that heard the worstbut never the best of who i was.. dark is good; it hides the shapethat i've become and shields mefrom scolding tongues of hateful.
men who themselves are immuneto the little pains of folk like me.. i love the shadows but haunt theday, to remind myself that light hasworth but no more a place for me..
Archy and Mehitabel
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_jozs6lgqyi.
the beegees were awesome, and our scientology bro travolta had the best white man moves, period.. stay alive, baby.. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i_izvabhexy.
Looking back through all those music worlds beach boys, bob dylan, bee gees it was all good.
you have left me.. .
it may as well be the moon where you have taken up residence.. .
i gaze upon beauty supernal -- heaven's vault -- and imagine you there, on the moon, a speck upon the bright and glassy plate of a night sky.
I was inspired by the mullioned pane
i noticed this on reddit.
they shouldn't have all the fun.
ill get it started.
The bunker elder with his pack
waiting for the big attack
this moment they have savored well
dogs waiting for the dinner bell
you have left me.. .
it may as well be the moon where you have taken up residence.. .
i gaze upon beauty supernal -- heaven's vault -- and imagine you there, on the moon, a speck upon the bright and glassy plate of a night sky.
It's quiet on the plains in Spain
Oh will it rain Oh will it rain
She gazes through her mullioned pane
and drinks a glass of fine champagne
His heartbreak she does not embrace
It's written on her ridged face
He rises from his easy chair
bedeviled by her hardened stare
