Tag: poems

In honor of the International Day of Peace, making a special post for this.
I wrote these words as part of my contribution to La Familia:

Peace will come the day we forget how to drop the bombs or make the guns,
When we get along underneath the same old sun,
Singing songs in holy unison no matter where we’re from,
Yes, peace will come. Peace will come. Pray before the day is done.

My friend, Fred Ross-Perry was inspired by them and expanded it into these lyrics, and the song:

Peace will come, and it won’t be long
When we forget how to drop the bombs
When we forget how to make the guns
That’s when peace will come

Peace will come when we get along
When we get along underneath the sun
All together under that same old sun
That’s when peace will come

Peace will come when we’re singing songs
Singing in holy unison
Singing no matter where we’re from
That’s when peace will come

Yes, Peace will come, and it won’t be long
We’ll help each other to be strong
And we’ll work until the day is done,
That’s when peace will come.

Peace Poems Poetry

Grey, with fellow Enid musicians Steven Harwood and Mike Harbour, turned four of my poems (Perceptions, Chameleon, Unexnon, My My) from my first book Tea & Sprockets into this song which will appears on Grey’s latest album, Booze & Psychedelics.

Click here to listen if the embed doesn’t appear.

Below are the four poems that make up the lyrics to the song.

Perceptions

Lying in the leaves,
Music flowing through her bones,
Thoughts, ideas swell inside,
Visual creation.
It needs no explanation.
Springtime day at noon,
Life begins to bloom,
Kicking stones straight down,
Laughing now.
She’s such a clown.
World is ending.
She cares not.
Life blooms on.
That’s her sole thought.
Drumming on,
Marching on,
They shoot.
She feels not.
They’ve died.
She knows not.
They’re in pain.
Alone. Forgot.

Chameleon

In a new world
devoid of devotion
to tradition and song
lost in illusion
forgetting the wrongs
of a generation’s past.

Into the night
we step into darkness
seeking the light
of the sun and the moon
forgiving the world
for it’s only doomed.

Sadly awaking
I look to my left
seeing the dragons
breathing fire at dawn
clutching my chest
beginnings are gone.

Strong evolution
revolutions gone past
escaping the prison
of timing and space
into the reasons
we all leave this place.

Nonsensical murmurs
of the front porch light
piercing mosquitoes
illuminating misdeeds
from men who seek evil
but play good in the light.

My My

My my.
What do I actually care?
Because I don’t!
Not in this vast darkness
in the infinite corridors
of my mind.

I cannot care.
For when I cease
to care, my
my head is free!
Yes, freedom
slowly cut out
surgically removed
from
the national
conscience.

Subconscious are my,
my thoughts.
Silent protest on
the lawn
picketing—fences.

The dull ache.
The notion.
Yearning.
Screaming.
SHUT UP!

Alas, refrain!
Impolite.
Innocence.
There is no right
to silence.

Silence your pain.
Memories.
Screaming.
Aching.
Nervous breaking.
Flood.

Unexnon

I am uncertain.
Day to day.
Are you true?
Why do I ponder?
No importance.
I trust your words.
Your actions confuse me.
Sanity is but a dream.
Nonexistent. Labeled.
Tell me who I am.
Who are you?
I cannot say what I want for I do not know.
I walk among earthquakes,
pondering the purpose, but not seeing one.
Joy is fleeting.
Why do you use me so?
No, I like it. Overwhelmed. No time.
Have I misjudged everyone?
Or is the world more skeptical than I?
I am a fool.
Damn my inhibitions.
They lead me into a cage.
Trapped for no reasons.
Destined for a lonely world.
Thousands walking.
Paths collide. We are blind.
I fear what you’d think.
Do you know?
I retract my harsh words.
You were right.

Poems from the book Tea & Sprockets

East Maine Noms

In the downtown of Enid–
that’s my old home town–
stands a hungry railroad bridge of great renown.
He’s 11’4″ from his teeth to the ground.

If you’re a trucker you best avoid East Maine Street,
because that old bridge is after a treat.
He’ll open you up like a can of sardines,
because for the noms, he’s quite keen.

He’s chewed on a cookie truck–
followed by a soda truck to wash it all down.
It doesn’t matter if your cargo’s edible.
He’s got a taste for yummy scrap metal.
His teeth are ready to chomp on down.

Most bridges say, “Don’t feed the troll,”
but this bridge has got its own soul,
and he’s ready to make you roll!

So if you find yourself on East Maine,
staring into its mighty white teeth,
you’d best turn your rig around,
or all the local folks are going to laugh you out of town,
along with your autograph upon a ticket
that says, “Pay attention, clown!”

Let’s all raise a toast,
to the shark bridge our town created,
as he opens a semi of beer with that smile serrated.

Oklahoma Poems Poems from the book Id Biscuits Poetry

RPM

This poem is pro-art, anti-war and anti-gun,
and if you don’t agree with me,
well, you ain’t got to read it, son.

This poem is inspired by Dan Nichols, Pete Seeger, and the Yehuda Amichai quote below:

Don’t stop after beating the swords
into plowshares, don’t stop! Go on beating
and make musical instruments out of them.
Whoever wants to make war again
will have to turn them into plowshares first.
– Yehuda Amichai

RPM

Every word, every note, and every work of art,
Fills the world with joy, and that’s a start.

What kind of souls do not love music?
I can’t say I know a single one.
So give everyone a guitar, a banjo, or a drum,
In exchange for every single weapon.

Maybe if we gave everyone an instrument,
Then they couldn’t hold a gun.
They’d be too busy making music,
To start a fight with anyone.

You wouldn’t have to start a draft,
To form this giant marching band.
Every kid would want to join fast,
Carrying songs within their hearts.

We’d all have to learn to work together,
To fill the world up with a new song.
We’d be too busy writing lyrics,
To even think of making bombs.

This band would only sing of peace,
When it danced through every land.
You can’t be bothered with words of hatred,
When you’re busy singing, man.

Now people may still argue about genre or composition,
But all the wars’ll go out the door,
When they’re not soldiers but musicians.

In this new world we’d settle scores,
With giant battles of bands not bullets.
Instead of declaring another war,
All enemies would have to sing a duet.

It’d be a world of song leaders,
Uniting every person in song.
Instead of pompous world leaders,
Who don’t know right from wrong.

No more will die, and rhythmic feet will fly,
From these new musical traditions.
So let’s stop making guns, start making art,
And we’ll make a new revolution.

If I could make some changes, I tell you what I’d do.
Throw away the guns and the bombs and the war,
Keep the love from me to you. Lots of love from me to you.

“Jeremiah was a Bullfrog” as adapted by
Sharon, Lois, and Bram, for “Band on the Run”
Season 4, Episode 13

Peace Poems Poems from the book Id Biscuits Poetry

Today’s November Poem A Day prompt was festivities.

A Festive Apology

I am sorry that I cannot join in the festivities for I am not feeling well.
My wallet is quite empty, and my back–it hurts like hell.
I already went out once this week, and that’s about all I can take,
for weighing cost-benefit analysis, I see everything that’s at stake.
I’d really love to join you on every every little jaunt,
but my life currently can’t give me all I want.
Since the start of winter I’ve seen exponential gains
in the varying levels of my chronic pain,
so I will just lay here and try to watch the news,
and if I am lucky, maybe take a little snooze.
You might find it a bit disrespectful and somewhat out of whack,
if instead of joining you I stay home and make a snack.
Please forgive me, dear friend, if I do not make the trek
that would increase our friendship from a tiny speck.
I’ll still live vicariously through photos that you post,
even if your company is what I desire most.
I hope that you will fill your days with a lot of fun.
I’ll be under my blanket until there is more sun.
It’s not that I am not interested, but merely that I lack
the funds and necessary stamina to do anything but slack.

Poems from the book Poet Loiterer Poetry

Today’s prompt was Once Upon A [blank]. First thing that came to mind was dog. I had fun writing this.

Once Upon a Dog

Once upon a dog,
There lived a lonely flea.
He was busy chewing
Like a beaver on a log.

The flea kept busy gnawing,
Until one day dog had enough.
His giant paws were tired.
Scratching was too tough.

Dog tried rolling on the carpet.
He tried jumping in the mud.
He even tried taking a bath,
But this flea just wouldn’t budge.

Even on that windy day,
As cat challenged him to race,
When dog took off running,
the flea stayed upon his face.

One day as dog was riding,
His tongue flapping in the wind,
He saw a beacon of hope,
And leaped onto the road.

Dog ran beyond the gravel,
Towards the warehouse parking
Where a giant sign lit in neon,
Glowed the words “Flea Market.”

Dog came across four Bulldogs,
They barked, “What do you want?”
Dog yipped and yapped excitedly,
“Please, get this fellow off of me!”

The Bulldogs burst into laughter,
They rolled around with glee,
Before carefully explaining,
“Man, we don’t buy fleas.”

But at that very same time,
Flea looked out from dog’s ear,
He saw an amazing sight,
And a smile did appear.

Beyond them sat an old poodle,
And above that poodle’s head,
There was a fancy poster.
“Join the flea circus!” It said.

Without a second thought,
Flea bounced up in excitement,
He jumped from dog to dog.
All the while dreaming of his newfound job.

He wandered to the poodle,
And was greeted by many fleas.
Snuggled on the poodle’s head,
He was now happy as can be.

Poems from the book Poet Loiterer Poetry

Today’s #NovPAD theme was Unity and Division. And I’m apparently hungry.

United Divided by Chocolate

it was ironic
that dividing
the chocolate bar
reunited two
old friends
who thought
it was
the end

Poems from the book Poet Loiterer Poetry