All Kinds

It takes all kinds, they say,
To make the world go round,
Not sure how cash fits in the formula,
Need that, too, some propound,

But what happens if all kinds aren't there?
Like, if some disappear?
Those that work hard to keep the system strong,
Who pull their weight, work hard from there to here.

Who makes sure that there is a good supply,
Of all the lazy bones?
Without them, for sure, the world would stop, too,
Who would buy all the phones?

What about you?
What if you were not here?
Will the world stop spinning, 'soon as you're gone?
Or're there plenty of your kind, so 've'no fear!

Help Me

The brain is just working,
The coffee's kicking in,
The bagel, cream cheese, cucumber's eaten,
And begun digestion,

The people 'side me's driving me crazy,
Frivolous business talk,
I can't listen but still can't help myself,
Maybe I'll decide to cut my ears off,

Or maybe stand up and sit somewhere else,
What are the pros and cons?
W'thout ears, one less thing to worry about,
Though, can't hear the ocean,

But getting up?!
Too early in the day,
I should be in bed dreaming sugar plums,
I'm sorry, I can't hear a word you say.

Colors

As long as I recall,
My parents always liked,
Driving north to the woods in autumn months,
While they were both alive,

The colors of the leaves were the reason,
They were just magical,
An array of shades that must have linked them,
A visit to a place, ethereal.

They probably would get out of the car,
Then hold hands and just look,
Foray down a trail, eyes everywhere,
Just them, I was ne'er took.

Now it's just him,
I think, chilled by the air,
E'en if I drive him to their exact spot,
I know that I can never take him there.

Falling

I think another break,

Espec'lly on such days,

When words escape me 'bout the election,

Or one-game-winning Jays,

When all I want is to continue what,

Is burning on my mind,

To wit, the story brewing constantly,

About the faith of one 'mongst human kind,

Which is the point of doing anything,

Much less this thing right here,

My mind is already on something else,

So far and yet so near,

Like everything,

You just need to reach out,

It's there, just sweep away the distractions,

Your only obstacle is your own doubt.

North and South

The U.S. Civil War,

It was a gruesome sight,

With musket balls, sabres, and bayonets,

Two armies of great might,

Each fighting on their own soil for what's right,

As every soldier does,

Oceans of their blood in the veins of trees,

That were still saplings during the fracas. 

Thousands of men lost in the blink of eyes,

Torn apart, blown to hell,

This is the history of a nation,

That some say does quite well,

While others not,

Depends what 'quite well' means,

Relative freedom for a good handful,

Not much has changed since the good ol' eighteens. 

Delayed

Last time I plum forgot,
So engrossed in The Fall,
Finding out what happens with Flannel, 'cept,
When the Jays threw meatballs.

To engage in this most 'portant of tasks,
To miss, to cause regret,
Itself time spent outside of real'ty,
To look back, contemplate and then reflect,

All the while, still the pains of this body,
I'll let you guess what kind,
Then let you reflect on what you had guessed,
Inside, what do you find?

Wait! Don't tell me,
I do not want to know,
It's enough I managed to get this down,
I've still got other 'portant tasks to go.

You're Still There

Remember who you are,
You are in there, somewhere,
There was a time when it was natural,
When life was not a dare,

Just something that you did, like falling down,
Then you'd stand up again,
Rememb'ring the jaunt that preceded it,
The injuries sustained negligent,

Basking in the light only youth can cast,
Ere you were led to age,
Grew a crust 'round you of forgetfulness,
To hide what you let fade.

But it's still there,
You have not disappeared,
The world you were born in has never left,
Nor has your passion, despite what you feared.

Roll The Dice

It's ne'er a good ide'er,
Hoping to roll doubles,
Chance is called chance 'cause there's no guarantee,
You won't land in trouble,

Much more thought and planning is e'er required,
'fyou want to get ahead,
Examples of those who win lotteries,
Are only meant to cull the lazy heads,

Who're happy ending when and wherever,
I am that guy, sometimes,
Though it's always with some resignation,
That I'm not meant to thrive,

That it's all chance,
Also a culling tool,
You'd be surprised how much is act'lly planned,
By the most seemingly thoughtless mogul.

In The Basement

Listening to Bowie,

Scary Monsters with kids,

Lego and dolls moving 'round as I write,

They've been playing so long,

Individually, with their friend, mind,

Four world's in the basement,

One battle base preparing for war,

A house with a family as it was meant,

My foot tapping to Up The Hill Backwards,

Do the words reach their ears?

How long can this go on, then I hear said,

"Dad, I am bored to tears."

So there you go,

Solitude's just so fun,

But as David says its just the vacuum,

'Cre'ted by the arrival of freedom'.

Sixth Sense

Can you have a sixth sense,
Snapshots of the future,
Telling you how the next moment will feel,
With a surety that's real,

If you are open to that sort of thing?
It needs self-awareness,
And a conscious decision to believe,
That there is an emanation from things,

Drenched in emotions waiting to be felt,
Hovering like a scent,
Maybe it's a scent, triggering your brain,
If you are of that bent,

If an'one is,
Or maybe we all are,
And like failing to use your sense of sight,
It is not a world of which you're aware.

Realizing Your Vision

There's safety in numbers,
Like in an angry mob,
You become faceless, 'specially in a mask,
Or a work-a-day job,

With the comfort of sharing a vision,
For a common future,
The prospect of being the first union,
To fin'lly propose the perfect culture,

Though, obtaining the vision is diff'rent,
Than trying to live it,
The limiting factor of idea,
Is it's not real, is it?

It's just a wish,
Existing in your mind,
You stumbled upon it, seeking comfort,
From the physical blows of humankind.

The F'ers

Rebellion is nat'ral,
In any age or world,
E'en if a chicken is in ev'ry pot,
No flag is left unfurled,

For it is a matter of perspective,
Limited by nothing,
This freedom with which we e'er chain ourselves,
Is brandished by those who're born with cunning,

They'll not wait 'til Sunday for their chicken,
Nor care if you have it,
Every chicken in their pot suits them fine,
You're nothing, by habit.

Nothing to do,
With upbringing, you see,
That assumes nurture preceded freedom,
But how can you rear by choice when not free?

The Fall

Another one's started,
Juices starting to flow,
Grounded more firmly in the place I live,
No gov'ment overthrow,

More a revolution from the inside,
With no replacement plan,
A freefall down a bottomless abyss,
Instigated by love gargantuan,

Born, too, of the revolution's effect,
And the questions it raised,
Like how one find the strength for change at all,
When all act so amazed,

At change, itself,
As if the world's perfect,
And all one has to do is keep the faith,
So on your deathbed you see t'was worth it.

Double Agent

You can't think it is good,
No matter who you are,
That an agent can represent seller,
Of a house, and buyer,

Except, I would think, the agent herself,
For the int'rest conflict,
Like asking for and giving your own raise,
You never leave that office thinking, 'dick',

"I'm willing to pay this much for the house,"
"You are, well let me check.
"Well, they will take it, but let me just see,
"If others will jack up the price first," (dick).

It's illegal,
Well, should be, to be fair,
But houses, used cars or Walmart check-out,
Best th'law can do is say buyer beware.