Ramifications Of Remaining Silent

First impressions,
Aren’t always right,
I’ve found sweet expressions,
Sometimes hide unsaid confessions,
Someone you think,
Will be a love,
You may have to tell,
To go fly a kite,
Though with an old enemy,
You may eventually,
End up friendly,
Sharing a similar destiny.

We’ve all got things,
We keep hush-hush,
Just remember though,
They’re not all,
Little innocent secrets,
Once we know,
They can deal quite the blow.

Meeting others,
For the very first time,
Lately I’ve learned,
To keep this in mind.

It used to be fun,
Getting to know new someones,
But recently I’ve had to realize,
Enough is enough,
Better to criticize,
Than have wool once again,
Pulled over my eyes.

You think you know,
All there is to know,
About that hoe,
And her friend Joe,
About your beau,
And your long-time foe,
But this so-called knowledge,
Is likely laced with lies,
Just half-truths,
The rest of which,
You’ve chosen to blind your eyes.

Knowing everyone’s complete history,
What they may have done,
And how they actually feel,
It would change both your stories,
And neither of you will ever know,
If it would cause the other,
To become cheery or sorry.

A silver lining……….
Not all untold thoughts,
Are ones that bring things,
Such as shame or strife,
Some if you were to find out,
Would probably change for the better,
Your whole way or walk of life.

For sure,
If more people,
Would become less paranoid,
And make their thoughts speakable,
Rather than keep them classified,
It’s possible we’d attract more like minds,
And with one another,
Become overjoyed,
Rather than always being annoyed.

.

Made Possible By Snowmen

A Christmas wreath,
Flying through the air like a frisbee,
Grabbed by an unseen hand,
Settled on top of,
A pudgy snowman.

The snowman shook her head,
She was confused,
Feeling something around her head,
She reached up to unseat it,
But it had become fused.

Her head began to tingle,
Where the wreath sat,
And then the bells attached,
The wind made them start to jingle.

Every year,
The very same wreath,
Floats down from the air,
And picks out a snowman,
To help with Mrs. Santa’s Plan.

Someone at the North Pole needs a snowman,
One that isn’t made,
Of their magic snow,
So Mrs. Clause sends out this wreath,
To gather one that she can’t reach.

During Mr. Clause’s,
Christmas Eve run,
Mrs. Santa has things,
She needs to get done,
For something in particular,
She’ll need the help of this one.

You see snow from the outside,
Is the only thing,
That can make things go unseen,
And she wants to hide.

No!
It’s not like that!
She’s not doing anything shady,
But those elves are nosy,
And she wants time to herself,
For a cozy evening,
Like a regular old lady.

So up and away,
Flew the snowman,
And when she landed,
In that Far North Land,
She was greeted by the twin,
Of Santa’s famous deer Vixen.

“My Lord”!
She exclaimed,
Upon looking around,
“I’ve never seen,
So many like myself before”!

“Ah, but they’re not like you”,
Said the twin of Vixen,
“Ours are made with stuff magical,
And cannot do the job,
We’ve collected you to do”.

And so in the short time it took,
To deliver her,
To the Clause’s door,
He provided swiftly,
A brief North Pole history.

Mrs. Clause heard them coming,
And threw open the door,
Calling out a merry greeting,
Around the mouthful of Christmas cookie,
She was eating.

Now Vixen’s twin plodded off,
And the non-magical snowman,
Was left with just Mrs. Clause,
Who explained she needed a night to relax,
A total break,
From the whole Christmas act.

“The elves would take this as a sign,
Of great disrespect,
And my husband would worry,
I wasn’t taking our job seriously,
So year after year,
I bring one of you here,
For the snow you’re made of,
Gives off a poison shine,
And if elves look upon it,
Their eyes go temporarily blind”.

So the non-magical snowman,
Was asked by Mrs. Clause to guard,
Posted right at the property’s edge,
So the elves’ views of the place,
For the next twenty-four hours,
Would be barred.

All throughout the coming day,
That woman had a ball,
She had,
After all,
Waited a whole year,
For this day to fall.

Half was spent lazing about,
Watching un-Christmassy things on her telly,
Then she cooked and ate unhealthy cuisine,
Like sausages with sour kraut,
Before taking time out,
To read a book,
Instead of being,
The elves’ cook.

Peeking out her front window,
She saw the non-magical snowman,
Was still there keeping watch,
But the time was up,
On this trick,
She must get ready,
For the arrival of St. Nick.

It would be another year,
Before she would again be clear,
Of dear Mr. Clause,
And before he showed his face,
The evidence of what happens in his wake,
She must be sure to erase.

For of course Santa Himself,
Would be able to see through,
The non-magical snowman,
As he’s much more powerful than an elf.

Let me tell you gladly,
It does not end badly,   
For those flown in to assist,
Mrs. Santa makes damn sure,
They are compensated for helping her,
She turns them magical,
Rather than returning them,
To where the first sign of warmth,
Would have them die a death most tragical.

Godsend

A flood of peace,
Swept through my soul,
It temporarily patched the hole,
And made me feel,
Almost whole.

I was able to sleep,
More than a wink,
Like I hadn’t,
In almost a week.

**********

But let’s back up,
To when thunder struck,
And every imaginable,
Type of hurt,
Made me wish I was under,
Six feet of dirt.

There were hot spots and cold fronts,
But I must be a dunce,
For I held out hope,
That this time I may be taken,
As more than a joke.

The hot spots did not last long,
They were like maybe just the first bar,
And the cold fronts were endured,
As long as the rest of the song went on.

**********

So back now to present time,
I could not think,
There was every negative emotion,
Swirling through my head,
Like a storm out in the ocean.

I tried to calm down,
But as no definitive dreams came,
My mind continued to drown,
Then I remembered a trick,
That can solve any problem,
And the only thing needed,
Is a certain book about two inches thick.

Without a doubt,
It was time for supernatural help,
Answers weren’t coming on their own,
I’d have to conjure them alone.

So out came the giant purple volume,
And I closed my eyes,
To ask about the burden,
Eating me up inside.

I call this my magic eight ball,
And it always answers when I call,
My hands were guided to the exact needed excerpt,
And I was prompted to pay attention most especially,
To the one numbered as twenty.

Oh I don’t know why I was even surprised,
The response was just what I had surmised,
And that night I was able to close my eyes,
And sleep for the first time in ages,
Soundly until the time came to rise.

**********

Now if the patch can hold,
Until the conclusion,
At what’s bound to be,
One hell of a reunion……….

I Sit Here Contemplating……….

What if people looked to their holy bible,
For their sole means of survival,
Instead of giving up,
When on a stroke of bad luck?

What if grass grew pink,
And with lots of kinks,
Would the animals still want it,
For their main cuisine,
If it were not straight and green?

What if there was no sun,
And there had been none,
Ever since the world had begun,
Would there still be such a thing,
As the dark being frightening?

What if people could fly like birds,
But it was normal not absurd,
Would airplanes still have been invented,
Or the idea not have even been presented?

What if the weather were more even,
And there was no such thing as seasons,
If that were so,
Would Earth be mild, hot, or cold?

What if people were not progressive,
And didn’t desire things impressive,
Would we regress back in time,
And if so,
What exactly would be on the line?

What if the pants of a liar,
Truly did catch on fire,
Would the world turn into a great big blazing pit,
Because it would catch everything around it?

What if everyone got along,
And stood united and strong,
Would the world be one big affair,
Or would people still form pairs?

What if the world were colorblind,
And colors had never been defined,
Would it become less challenging to choose,
Things like clothing and shoes,
And could said articles,
Still reflect one’s personality and mood?

What if more people would fight,
For what they know is right,
Instead of following easy street,
Though they know it ends in defeat?

What if coming home,
Were a better option than to roam,
If people were comfortable,
Sticking to their roots,
Would this not prevent,
Quite a bit of disputes?

What if blue did not mean sad,
And red did not mean mad,
Could anything else describe,
These emotions to which our brains subscribe?

What if money,
Wasn’t everyone’s honey,
If it had never been invented,
Would the world be less demented and tormented?

Love, Be Gone!

********************
I don’t like it,
So if that’s what this is,
Its hold on me,
Has got to give.
********************

Oh yes,
You bet it’s true,
Heart disease,
Is a most deadly killer,
But it’s not about that organ failing,
On which I stake my complaints,
I’m meaning more toward,
When it’s bruised and torn,
And makes us want to wail,
Because someone else,
Has made it mourn.

Such a deadly disease,
That eventually,
Befalls us all,
And sad but true,
If it hasn’t yet,
It’ll get you too.

Its fatality rate,
Is not known,
But if I were to debate,
On if it’s high,
I’d push to the affirmative,
As even though,
You may be alive,
You can’t really live.

Though able to move freely,
You’re paralyzed,
From a brain swirling,
With flashbacks of lies.

A smile that,
Goes on for miles,
Suddenly replaced,
With a wan face,
Brought on by nausea,
From that tormented mind,
And now your days are trials.

Years of torture,
Had fucking well better not be my future,
Knock on wood,
That it doesn’t take,
Much time to heal it,
Because I’m sick to death,
Of feeling like shit.

********************
I don’t like it,
So if that’s what this is,
Its hold on me,
Has got to give.
********************

Whose Disciples?

Satan’s here,
The sheep sing and rejoice,
Though that’s not who they think they’re praising,
When they use their voice.

Sound asleep,
Even while wide awake,
Their very soul at stake,
Brainwashed they are,
Worshipping a creep,
Thinking He’s the shepherd of all sheep.

During this war,
They need His help,
Like never before,
They ask for a handout,
But it’s not who they think,
That has answered their call,
So they’ll need to make one more.

They think He’s come from up high,
But the guy is sly,
No way was He ever,
The One Who Lives In The Sky.

Masquerading,
As the One True Messiah,
And answering pleas,
When times are most dire,
He’s bending,
The unsuspecting,
To do His dirty work,
Going undercover,
Behind Law and Church.

Some gather together,
To glorify His name,
While others alone,
Play into His game,
Either way,
To His famous name they pray,
Thinking it’ll lead them,
To never ending sunny days.

He’s everywhere,
But white as snow – my fucking ass!
……….Religion’s a shady shitshow,
And unnecessary,
This I surely fucking know,
Yes they’ll end up with Him,
But it’ll be Down Below.

Be nice!
Be good!
Behave!
…………But be no one’s fucking slave!

Ruined For Good? …..Let’s Hope Not

Blacker than the Ace Of Spades,
More ornery than the Overseer Of Hades,
It’s convinced its keeper,
This is how said one’s life should stay.

The One who within it beats,
Hears nasty beasts,
Screaming things insane,
That get received,
By its brain.

To said one,
The unseen results are dangerous,
It’s worth a wager,
That said one is full of anger,
Though it’s hidden so well,
An average acquaintance cannot even tell.

No,
Said one wouldn’t want to hurt a soul,
But to attain a goal,
Those who care must go,
And so the hardened heart beats out its message,
And said one ‘teaches them a lesson’.

The dear owner is taxed,
To the max,
He means well,
But the way things come out,
Us who pay close attentions,
Can see the incensed inner hell.

What a fucked up way to live,
From time to time I wonder……..
If my soul was also that color,
Might my mind too bellow like thunder?

C.R.A.Z.Y. …..Or Not…..

A broken brain,
Truly insane,
Or so they think,
And so from associating with you,
They wholly abstain.

A real weirdo,
Talked about to your face,
By insinuation and innuendo,
That has caused the majority,
To give you lots of space.

Psycho is,
As psycho does,
At least that’s the way,
The story goes,
Well fuck it,
May as well give them another reason,
For their woes.

A real show stopper,
Though some would say,
Off your rocker,
But don’t let that stop ya.

Getting the short end of the stick,
Has gotten you labeled a lunatic,
But it’s what makes you tick,
So you should go with it.

Called unbalanced,
And totally just not right,
So their anger,
You unknowingly invite.

Supposedly nutso,
But let that lie go,
‘Cuz it’s not so,
Deranged might be strange,
But your mind is fine,
Don’t let them have you believing,
What they say they’re seeing.

Not identifying as one of them,
Is not necessarily demented,
You have been misrepresented,
But the fibs they have invented,
Have unfortunately been cemented,
And they’re enjoying seeing you tormented.

Weird, But It Works……….

Prayer and whiskey,
Does that combo sound crazy?
Oh but darling, trust me –
It works splendidly!
Now add some sunshine to that mix,
And you got perfection, bitch.

Laying in the sun,
While sipping on a strong, strong drink,
Then thought of a prayer,
Just sent it up,
And the problems disappeared,
Right into thin air.

Even if they were still there,
I would not fucking care,
I wouldn’t feel them anymore,
That’s for fucking sure.

I’ve got that whiskey numbing my blood,
And protection,
From the Lord above,
I’m golden,
Thanks to the outlets I have chosen.

Good to go,
Because I’ve let it go,
The shit show,
Has all but been forgotten,
And it’s fuckin awesome.

The Most Difficult Easy Task In The World

Sort of like the color blue,
He’s acting bold,
Kind of like navy,
Then another day,
I’d describe him as more pastel,
Listless and boring,
With nothing to say.

Snow ,
Whether slushy or fluffy,
Can be compared to her,
She’s much the same,
As the color white,
Because like that,
No matter what’s going down,
Be its consistency boring, annoying, cold, or stuffy,
Her color’s hues barely vary.

One changes face,
To fit the situation,
Everyone is a fan,
Because he always fits,
As the ideal man.

The other is the same,
One hundred percent of the time,
Always speaking her mind,
Fake is not her kind,
She cannot do it,
No matter who would approve it.

Apart anger boils,
And progress spoils,
Then when face to face,
All seems to get erased,
Brains go blank,
The only thing in mind,
Is this attraction they chase.

He feels unworthy,
Of her beauty,
Uncool and past his prime,
And that she may just want,
To bleed him out of,
His last dime.

She feels unaccomplished,
Almost stupid,
Next to him,
He’s so educated and polished,
It leaves her,
Speechless and astonished.

Each day this is left unchecked,
One or both is vexed,
Please guys,
Just meet in the middle,
Once and for all,
Resolve this riddle.