A little church of white washed wood
back when a few chestnuts yet stood
on a Mississippi forested hill
a place that I remember still

The structure raised by congregation
who worked with little hesitation
to build a place to sing and pray
once a week on the Lord's day

Heated by potbelly stove
with wood cut from a nearby grove
in summer cooled by open window
whenever the breeze chose to blow

With sparks of creativity
Ricks' life created a tune,

he finally played his last refrain
in late January, at around noon.

Throughout his life, this man named, Rick
carved out a tune one could sing along,

he was unaware he'd created a symphony
from a simple tune, from a simple song.

But, that is what he precisely did
as his soul reached down, deep to sing;

his proficiency in playing the song in his heart,
countless joys, and memories does that melody, bring.

All of my life I have tried to fly
Soaring high in the great blue skies
Gliding on dreams that were not mine
A domestication of a young life

I lived in dreams innocent and happy
Never asking; “are these my dreams?”
Never wondering where the answers
Truly lie.

Seeing life only through their eyes
And they doing the best they could
To promote the dreams they saw for me
As I fought to become free.

My my my looks like fun
speeding across ocean waters
over blue ripples
under summer sun

The cool wind mixed with warmth
blowing in my hair
under summer clouds
in a red and white boat screaming.

If only I weren't afraid
of the vast waters
enveloping my soul
taking away my breath

pearl eyes
you thin laced
sleeve
a magicians bride
of make believe

the hallow trick of streets
delight you make me
crawl of what and might

I feed you realms
I feed you alms
I slide the press
across your palms

this lamplight torch
that hisses love
in its glass case
home
broken winged
like a dove

puppeteers of realism,

Us puppeteers won’t cry real tears,
they may run down our strings.
Never be concerned about the dolls,
reap or rape what tomorrow brings.

Controlled events leave us carefree,
this we’re taught as we grow,
In summer we’ll have private beaches,
through winter we’ll ski slopes of snow.

Higher we are and here to rule,
it’s what father has done before.
Forget how life treats those fools,
they’ll keep coming back for more.

I dwell in the abstract
web of silence
spinning my net
for a catch
pouncing on a germ
with my quill and tincture
charming it
with an insane desire

Donning it
a pair of silver wings
I free it
from my web of silence
letting it flock
with birds and bees
who don
the colors of my quill

Sex for free
In the grave yard besides
The ones we know,
There’ll be many
Who would want to know
What did we do?
When one was alive
But now there's no shyness,
Nothing left to hide,
Any one with any one,
Can have a joy ride

I’ve known many,
Who have tried?
And
From their graves
Where I left a cell,
They still message
Come have me,
Will Ye

Seren thought I should stream this.........................

Again the cordite fills the air
stinging eyes
bringing shocked cries
causing flashbacks
of fortune's roll call
...Lincoln
...Kennedy
...King
...Wallace
...Sadat
...Reagan
...Lennon

Echos of gunfire
filling a generation
with the feeling of
might have beens

It's not very often
when you or me
love to get in a tangle
but there sure is one
a lover's delight
who wish it'd be often

In a maddening rush
driven by a crush
to get as close as can be
they wriggle and wiggle
in frolic and fun, and
get into a jigsaw squeeze

The tangle of their limbs
as tight as the weeds
keeps them from a fall
while they rock and roll
on a Queen sized bed
from one side to the far