A Poem by 1SP

Man, it feels like the good life,
When you have a good thing,
Blessed is he who finds a good wife,
Because he found a good thing.

A piece of me that was missing from my rib cage,
Warm and welcomed, I felt it in our first embrace;
No need to endure this wilderness all alone,
Let me return you to paradise where you belong.

Time to crown you my queen,
And I am starting with this ring…

I know you had your demons
I know that you knew too,
I only wish I could have known
Where you were driven to.

I'd seen the river rising
I's seen the storm clouds form,
And the ever present shadows
Where darkness seemed to swarm.

Perhaps you never knew
I loved you as you were,
Now all I have are memories
That will never leave nor blur.

I'll never say goodbye to you
You are with me in my soul,
If only we had one more time
Before the darkness took its toll.

all knees and elbows;
I remember that awkward stage,
feeling out of faze in my body
when being graceful was the rage.

a faint hunger in my belly
growing to an aching roar.
watching the dancers with their
inspired movements on the floor.

how I longed to join them
letting the music move me
carrying me along in rhythm
finding notes of ecstasy.

hanging back, watching from the wings
listening, hearing the music of the time
caught up in the lights and the words
of the lyrical passages of rhyme

It seemed as if I had molted
Crawled out of a chitinous shell
Armor long since grown too small
Became a paralyzing hell

Tender flesh now sits exposed
Defenseless to the passing time
Without restraint now, something grows
In the corners of my mind

Corpuscles flowing freely through
Vessels throbbing in plain sight
My Metamorphosis begins
Each and every lonely night

Every morning I’m reborn
Into an opportunity
The wild world keeps turning
Let’s hope it turns for me

I'm making a blanket
a simple task you say
I know it might seem easy
But its not working out that way
I learnt a few stiches
and I got underway
I can't read a pattern
I don't learn that way
I started out on YouTube
And I've finally found my way
So I'm making a lovely blanket
Thats taking forever and a day!
I think I'm now an addict
for crochet
And for yarn
I'm not really worried
What could be the harm?
But I'm staying up late

Venom filled fangs
Bite through tainted lips
Once gentle finger tips
Twist into crooked razor blades
Stabbing its victims in the back

Phony appearances
The audience's delight
Behind closed doors
It's fight or flight
A narcissistic paradise

Bruises on the soul that never heal
The monster is alive and well
Feeding off open wounds
Finding new dreams to steal
Welcome to never ending hell

Judas Iscariot

Judas Iscariot, belongs in a chariot
To heaven, and not into hell.
Because Judas Iscariot, would be doing so well
If Jesus was as just, as he.

Jesus belonged on the cross, he was wrong
He lied, and Judas - blame free.
Judas Iscariot - the burden he carried,
Was banished, and not set free

He did what was right, didn’t put up a fight
And look what happened to he...
The story’s moral - that karma is fake
And when your brave, you die for God’s sake…

The earth was once a virgin
and on my hut birds sings
What must have happened to the trees
They cry this hurrible sound, ripping heart from cage
Even in 1974 I still reminiscence this touch
a fragrance as pure like  heaven itself, this cool breeze
not this dark wallowing poisons everywhere.

We have disvirgined the earth brutally
She now bleeds dark blood, red tears
death now a blessing bestowed to yams
hunger hovering, maybe science I should blame
oh earth,
but please your anger hold still.

After reading the novel titled
Broken English by Paul L Gaus...

accentuating, exhibiting, incorporating...
the Amish, whose long history of farming
with horses and mules, dates back
to when horse-drawn plows
first used to break up the earth.

While some newer Amish farms
use tractor-drawn equipment,
many Amish farmers still prefer
to use horse-drawn implements.

I expected to find you, all these years later,
Bad tempered, craggy, vile breathed as before -
Generous with your opinions, but not your silence,
A noisy roar of a man,

But once, when you found me,
Distraught by some sorrow
Unable to speak, so you did not,
But hollowed me with gentleness,
Wiping my face, as if I were a child,
With a piece of rank cloth, smelling of engines and cars
And pot, and this, and that - the scent of a singular man
Living life on an oily rag.