I could write about things that are boring
I could write about things that are bleak
I could write about day jobs and dollars and dung
or a bird with a bendy black beak
If I wrote of a dog or a toothy black cog
would anyone read what I said?
Or I penned down some stories of Liberals and Tories
would the audience head off to bed?
What manner of song will amuse you?
What tale will tinkle your toes?
Shall I spill out some letters of lessers and betters
of oppression and say "That's how it goes." ?
I cast all around for a subject
I wrack in my brains for a bone
of a saga so tingling it will get your bell dingling
but all I can think of is stone.
I glance at the paper before me and a shrugging is all that I feel
I could jot down some words like some scattered deer turds
on the snowbank but what's the big deal?
::: 
Then I think of the words of Marv Klassen, 
a chap whom I've always revered.
"Just pick something" he growls. "It need not scald your
bowels. Don't just sit there and stroke on your beard!"
"If you pick up the pen and start scratching , sometimes what springs out there is oil. Oh sure, there'll be drudge and gravel and sludge but as time goes your guts will uncoil. There's all kinds of bland stuff inside you as there is in the minds of all men
but you slam in the tap and let out the crap and the syrup will flow from your pen."
:::
So I'll lay down some ink on the paper and I'll stir up the words deep within. Perhaps what spills forth will urge wind from the north or flutter like chaff on the wind. I think that there's something inside me that rings like a bell in the breeze and the suffering lift up their heads high and the tousled boys say "That's mad steeze!" I know there are words made of mercury that flash like a fish in a pool and when those words splash the forgot feelings flash and a past call shines out like a jewel.
The guy that is worn to a tassel pushes back from his welder or desk; like a breeze on his face or a chatter of grace those words puff at his problems and pesk.
The gal that feels trapped in her treasure or the woman with nothing to show gives a puff and a toss for there's gold in that dross and a leaf like a hope starts to grow.
  So get up boy some people are waiting ..sit down with a pencil and pad plunk away with your fingers those clumsy humdingers
Cuz for someone those words won't be bad.

Genuine Microsoft Software

Genuine Microsoft Software

VESPERS

As I lay to rest in my bed my mind walks slowly through the places I have passed that day

I see faces...I hear words.....I touch hands and stroke hair. There are smells and tastes   

  at times I 



//////WINCE//////

as I realize that I have mishandled this one or that one

   and then I fold it all together and put it away as a day I shall never have to see again

In the Morning

In the morning
    before the phone sarts to ring
        before the children are up and doing
             before we have to close the windows to shut out the heat of the day
                 
                         i like that time

The coffee maker chuckles,
    I can hear the small birds at their morning worship

The fridge hums a familiar song to itself under its breath
                              i like that place

Oftentimes there and then



GOD

          comes and visits with me!

Surface or Depths

         I saw a woman today
    on the top shelf of the video store
    Pamela Anderson-hyphen-Lee
   and her eyelashes said "oh Peter"
  and her dainty blouse said "please
  help me.."
    and my shoes stood still
    and my eyes resembled a man
   thinking of something far away

   "For $4.95" breathed her cutoff
   shorts, "I'd be Pamela-hyphen-
   Riley, you wouldn't hurt me any more than Tommy Lee already did.


  and my collar pinched me and said
 "LISTEN to THAT!!!!"
and my pants pocket smirked..
   but I swallowed hard and my collar felt ok again and my shirt pocket
 yelled "HEY down there! YOU are
 NOT in the decision making department"

   so I rented "Sleepless in Seattle"
and Doris and I enjoyed it very much.

A Real Man

What kind of man would let his heart off the leash
and watch it bound from this one to that one...
and back again to the first.
always with a lugubrious dog style panting..
"Notice me ..NOTICE ME"  "Pat my head,
scratch my ears. I'll roll on my back if you scratch me there.
BUT...
is man a dog??

Plato was a Dope

Must I rest for platonic?
I desire TECTONIC, electronic, bionic, SUPERSONIC!!!
Though my mind says "moronic"
still I yearn for that tonic.
It may be demonic and completely Bubonic
yet i crave in my heart parts (the very ionic)
with achings the doctor would classify chronic
to love you with words: I'm a man not laconic
I'll permit no love fluff for that's locked in mnemonic
Though the brashness of crave waves is plainly cyclonic
What's distilled will be true
for a quote that is Donne-ic says
"No man is an island."