Intuition

 

Listen to me,

Let me guide you,

When truths try to hide from you,

Let my voice,

Help you make a choice.

 

I’m your gut feeling,

A part of you,

That you may not believe in,

But if you’d maybe stop to listen,

I could become the one,

On which you most depend.

 

I’m that impression in your mind,

That’s more like just an inkling,

Though not coming off too forceful,

My message is still powerful,

It can save you from countless circumstances,

And prevent you from taking needless chances.

 

When I send shivers down your spine,

It’s not just some nobody,

Feeding you a line,

Don’t discount it,

But take the warning,

To save yourself from mourning.

 

Proceed with caution,

When I send a premonition,

Consider seriously,

Before proceeding,

When you’re met,

With that foreboding feeling.

 

If you feel me in your bones,

There’s a reason for their moans and groans,

It’s paramount you pay attention,

Else your soul stop singing,

And funeral bells begin ringing.

 

I know I’ve raised your suspicions,

And given you a hunch,

In a bunch of situations,

When your mind seemed out to lunch,

Now here,

Accept a final warning,

Take heed,

So your eyes open come morning.

Before

What is done,

And what should be done,

Too many times,

Are two different things.

 

Life at this time,

Has lost its shine,

Do people’s dirty little tricks,

Too make your stomach sick?

 

Let us rewind,

Hundreds of years,

So as to get away,

From so many vile liberal minds.

 

I’ve been known to wonder,

Why wasn’t I born,

Way back when?

Eventually though,

It’s concluded,

That I was,

But then,

Like everyone does,

I was reincarnated,

Time and again,

Until now here I am,

Part of this modern world,

That’s congested with hatred.

 

How many previous,

Lives did I lead?

What did I get up to?

And did I succeed?

Does that even matter?

To these I’ve no answer.

 

I’m sure there were many,

Some in the times when being rich,

Required barely more than a penny,

And other souls were so far off,

That a walk to visit neighbors,

Would wear a hole in one’s socks.

 

I hereby suggest someone,

Invent a spell,

That can take a body back,

To when things were simple,

To when for the most part,

Society was civil,

Rather than sinful.

 

I beg of you,

Let me go back,

To whenever it was,

That my first life was lived,

Modern conveniences be damned,

The peace would more than make up,

For what I would lack.

 

 

 

 

 

Moose On A Mission

Here is the story of a moose,

Who heard some people,

Like eating pies of chocolate mousse,

And so went about searching,

To find the Chocolate moose,

So as to save them from the fate,

Of ending up,

On people’s plates.

 

“They must be bitter and cold,

Like the winter months,

To think of eating one of us”,

Thought the Regular moose.

 

A make of moose called Chocolate?

He’d never heard of that,

It must indeed,

Be a rare breed,

Or he’d have heard,

Of at least one herd.

 

This particular moose,

His name was Deuce,

He was born and raised,

In the North Country,

In deep woods running along,

Interstate Ninety-Three.

 

It occurred to him,

That Chocolate moose,

Might not even live,

In a forest with birch and spruce,

Maybe they were farther off,

Where palms grew,

In flatlands of sand.

 

“Aha”!,

Thought Deuce,

“I can disguise my search,

For the Chocolate moose,

I’ll tell the whole forest,

I’m going on a vacation,

And I don’t know for how long,

Will be the duration”.

 

So he got his affairs in order,

And made sure to grab,

His lucky quarter,

Then he was off,

His undertaking a secret,

So his friends wouldn’t scoff.

 

He did not know,

Whether to look high or low,

As he’d never seen one before,

He did not know,

To what size,

A Chocolate moose might grow.

 

Every so often,

He would stop to speak,

With whatever woods creature,

Had a minute to spare,

He had conversations with ants and with bears,

But none had heard,

Of a Chocolate moose,

Living anywhere near there.

 

It took him a week to get to Florida,

Walking half the days,

And all through the nights,

Where he inquired with all the exotics,

Although they made him quake with fright,

But after quite some time,

Seeing no new leads,

He acknowledged it was time to head,

And in another two weeks,

Arrived in California.

 

Needing to gather his thoughts,

That first night after dark,

He made his way,

To a beach in Malibu,

And took a swim until,

He worked out his muscle knots.

 

All throughout the next few days,

He asked spiders, sharks, and lions,

And after being satisfied,

That they were not lying,

He started to trek back east,

But no,

He was not ready to admit defeat!

There must be a way,

To locate the Chocolate moose,

And keep them from dying!

 

Now Deuce decided,

That to not have at least a little fun,

Would be outright retarded,

Enough chatting with those,

Who gave him the creeps,

He would visit,

The City That Never Sleeps.

 

Now,

The answers we seek,

Tend to be revealed,

At the most unusual of times,

And so it was this time,

For after searching weeks and weeks,

He learned that eating Chocolate mousse,

Was not even a crime.

 

Deuce arrived in New York City,

At the start of a busy weekend,

He made his way to Central Park,

Where he found some woods,

And napped ’til almost dark.

 

About the time he woke,

A voice on the nearby trail spoke,

Said she to her chum,

“After that run,

My favorite chocolate mousse,

Would go down so yum”!

 

“Oh this is too easy”!

Thought dear little Deuce,

“I’ll follow them,

And be led right to these Chocolate moose”!

 

And so,

From a safe distance behind,

He kept the ladies in his sight,

Hoping with all his might,

That the Chocolate moose she hoped to devour,

Had not yet been prepared,

In the pastry made of butter and flour.

 

Really,

He did not know where he was expecting,

To find this unheard of breed,

But to be sure,

It did seem strange to collect it,

From a bakery.

 

Yet that is where they were,

And as it was a pleasant evening,

The business had propped open the door,

So he heard them make the order,

Then watched them go take a seat,

At the table in the corner.

 

Moving then,

To stand at the wall,

Where he could hide behind,

The two decorative pines,

While looking in an open window,

It pretty near blew his mind,

When the food was brought,

For there was no meat,

It was actually a sweet!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Independence Day 2020

The Earth is beautiful,

But the World is one hot mess,

Are we all fuct?

Have you all given up?

 

Because I was born,

The same way I’ll die,

And that is free,

One hundred percent,

Not just to some degree.

 

Some people seem to know,

Just what buttons to press,

To start another war,

It about makes me envious,

Of those about to go knocking,

On death’s door.

 

Before all the land was settled up,

The pioneers had the right idea,

They were wild and free,

And lived off the land,

Never submitting to laughable laws,

Of another man.

 

Slow and steady,

The years passed by,

The population grew,

And everyone thought,

They knew what was best to do.

 

Now there is this piece of shit,

Known as politics,

No matter how far you travel,

There’s no escaping it,

They’re at your local grocery store,

And at the nearby sea shore,

Face it,

Once you’ve dared,

Walk out your door,

You’re not free,

And nothing’s fair.

 

Now here I sit,

Trying to make,

Some sense of it,

It’s looking like half are lying,

Just to set the others crying,

It won’t be long,

And the tables will turn,

Somehow everybody’s right,

Though both sides say,

The other is wrong.

 

This year,

Freedom is not ringing,

It really hasn’t for some time,

Well last I checked,

My taxes are paid,

So I’ll do as I please,

In this supposed Home Of The Brave.

 

Excuses to sidepass unconstitutional rules,

Should not be essential,

And a possible arrest,

Should not even have potential,

I ask,

Why celebrate the Fourth,

If you don’t discern its worth,

And if you do indeed identify,

Rather than fall prey to political lies,

You should act free,

And you should act brave,

Until you are called,

To your grave.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If Only I Could Raise The Dead

*************************

 

Forever grateful I would be,

If you would but come back to me,

Haunt my life,

Make it again worthwhile,

And bring upon my lips a smile.

 

Feel free to be a weekend visitor,

Or a constant in my world,

I’ll take anything my friend,

Just to unite with you again.

 

*************************

 

If you feel like coming home,

I won’t tell anyone you’re here,

So next time you decide to roam,

I hope you end up near.

 

Don’t you worry,

Your place has been saved,

Never to be taken by another,

Now what are you waiting for,

To knock upon my door?

 

I’ve heard that these things happen,

And I know if you appeared again,

Wrongs would right themselves,

And this life full of desolation,

Would soon be dazzlingly bright.

 

It’s a sure-fire bet,

If you’d show your silhouette,

It would brighten my days,

Better than Florida’s sun rays.

 

If you’re waiting on an invitation,

Well here it is:

“You are invited”!

And for more than a vacation,

I’ll see that the way is lighted,

If you be sure your journey gets expedited.

 

 

 

Catastrophic Controversy

Hell is here,

But don’t let that get in the way,

Of living your life today,

Put your angst aside,

And get the fuck outside.

 

Hell is here,

That much closer to Doomsday,

And the Man Downstairs,

Is trying to take,

An early payday.

 

*************************

You won’t find no sugar-coatings here,

I say,

Fucking relax,

Because facts are facts,

Your time is your time,

It is predetermined,

By not your brain nor mine,

If it’s meant to nab you,

You can not halt it,

And if you’re meant to survive,

At the end you will still,

Be fucking ALIVE!

*************************

 

You must realize,

It’s coughing all around us,

Now we’re coated with its germs,

So expecting the worst,

From this curse,

Everyone’s common sense,

Has become paralyzed.

 

Hell is here,

Stupid souls,

Let it take control,

Rather than live and let live,

Blame is thrown at others,

Who just innocently go about their business,

And long after this is done,

They won’t think it’s fun,

When their targets,

Find it fucking impossible,

To forgive.

 

Hell is here,

What was alright,

Has become taboo,

At least to you,

But speak to another,

And you’re told it’s no thing,

Really,

The world is about to recover.

 

Hell is here,

Times are dark,

Days have vibes,

Like the witching hour,

Daunting and full,

Of the Devil’s power.

 

Hell is here,

It’s been a long time comin’

And would you look at that now?

Many who talk a big talk,

Are frantic and running.

 

Hell is here,

It takes just a sneeze,

To knock a once-badass,

To their fucking knees.

 

Hell is here,

And that black-clad bastard,

Is trying to shine,

So let’s not let him get away with tainting,

People and places divine.

 

May You Rest In Peace

*************************

Come,

Take a leap,

And fall asleep,

Enter Dream Land,

Where reality can’t hurt,

But fantasy can……….

*************************

 

Destination: Dream Land,

It’s a second reality,

That hides behind the mask of sleep,

It’s a mixed-up mess,

With Sweet Dreams and Nightmares,

And of course,

We’ve all been there.

 

Smiling merrily,

All of us go voluntarily,

Once we’re tucked in,

And headed off towards Slumber,

One comes for us,

Then we come back,

Either rested or distressed.

 

But even when you’re far away,

You are here to stay,

Your mind has gone some place,

And there,

It your body cannot chase.

 

It’s so funny,

This thing called Sleep,

Every night you journey there,

Wondering if Dreams await,

Or if you’ll come face to face,

With yet another Nightmare.

 

A lucky break,

An escape,

From day-to-day idiocy,

At least that’s what you hope to find,

When you reach the place,

Where Nightmares and Dreams collide.

 

But when you drift off,

You may be disturbed,

By mysterious entities,

That tend to catch you unawares,

And the only avenue of escape,

Is to wake up scared.

 

This state of going dormant,

It’s really quite important,

So try not to feel dread,

Just because you may encounter,

Someone or thing who’s been long dead.

 

No don’t try to fight it,

For if you hesitate,

You may make the Nightmares mad,

And so be met with hostility,

Rather than tranquility.

 

By all means,

Tonight you might see Monsters,

Creeping up from below stairs,

Yet also lurks,

The possibility of Good Fortune,

Sending you Dreams of fuzzy bears.

 

There’s a fifty-fifty chance,

You could Dream of fun or romance,

So relax,

And hope all remains okay,

When you hit the hay.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unseen Storms

I am marked,

By something dark,

It follows me,

Wherever I go,

Making sure high points,

Are followed by lows.

 

It’s not as bad,

As the Mark Of The Beast,

Or the Wicked Witch,

Of The East,

But still it’s shades of dark,

And they leave a mark.

 

I see it daily at work,

When the old jerks,

Who are running their yappers,

Think that I don’t know,

They’re talking about beaus,

And making it out,

Like I’m some cheap hoe.

 

It’s like there’s some slight horror,

Around even the brightest corner,

Right there in front of my face,

Like an ugly tear,

In a pretty piece of lace.

 

I see it each weekend out,

At some local haunt,

It’s not too bad,

Until I overhear the taunts,

Apparently I’m ugly,

And just not normal,

Though I know it’s fact I’m more pretty,

Than most in my city.

 

It surrounds me for always,

A dark, dark haze,

Is prevalent through,

Otherwise bright rays,

And so being paranoid,

Darkens my days.

 

I see it most everywhere,

And I really try,

Not to care,

But I’m so sick,

Of all the stares,

I know tons of folks,

Who need a shove,

Down a long steep flight of stairs.

 

A speck of thundercloud,

In a seemingly spotless sky,

It seems dead set,

On making me cry,

And so presently,

Here I am,

Just trying not to die,

While I’m alive.

The Proverbial Angel And Devil

There is a battle between good and evil,

It’s raging in everyone’s soul,

It takes two halves,

To make any of us whole,

It goes a little like this:

“Do this,

Or I’ll get pissed”!

And,

“No! Please!

Don’t listen to that!

I smell a rat”!

 

These two whisper battles,

Day in,

And day out,

Trying to win my affections,

So I’ll follow their directions.

 

One so bad,

He should make me mad,

But when he speaks,

I hear happy squeaks,

The opposite so good,

I should maybe knock on wood,

For when he says walk,

I cheerily ask,

For guidance to his flock.

 

I’d be better off,

As a one-man show,

But in each situation,

Inside my skull,

My conscience hears two little voices,

That just won’t dull.

 

What the fuck?

Is there a way,

To shut them up?

They’ve been keeping everyone company,

Since the Dawn Of Time,

Shouldn’t they have expired by now?

I’d think they should be,

Way past their prime.

 

I picture the one having horns,

Bearing a black pitchfork,

The other wearing a white robe,

With twinkling stars,

Hanging from delicate earlobes.

 

They represent the two main things,

That drive this world,

Wicked and righteous,

And as thoughts of both,

Course through all our minds,

It would seem we are all one part sinister,

And another part divine.

 

Does either one,

Ever win?

Can one being be,

One hundred percent,

Just goodness or sin?

I’d say no one is perfect,

We’re really each a mix,

Of halos and that creepy,

Six-six-six.

 

 

 

We Frustrate Me

Nothing but distaste,

For the human race,

When further I think on it,

The more the hate,

Picks up the pace.

 

They strive to thrive,

Headfirst they dive,

Into normalcy,

Also known as crazy,

And what a waste,

It’s not as though,

They’re leaving alive.

 

Flitting about here and there,

And most don’t care,

About a thing,

Unless it’s theirs,

And even then,

It’s hard for some,

Not to act like scum.

 

The other day,

I was at the store,

Everyone was there,

Rich and poor,

Saints and whores,

As well as everything between,

After looking high,

And looking low,

They all had,

One thing in common though,

They all needed something,

Their money couldn’t buy.

 

I’m sick of dealing,

With them and their issues,

There’s the alcoholics,

And there’s the apostolics,

Some are even diabolical,

I wonder,

When the fuck,

Did this psycho mix,

Become typical?

 

Let me tell you,

The whole lot is fuct,

If they keep waiting around,

For a run of good luck,

We each make or break our own fortune,

No one is immune,

Now quit looking so god-damn forlorn,

And go grab a new life,

By the horns.

 

Are you wondering when,

I’ll make my point?

There isn’t one,

Yet this wasn’t written,

Just for the fun.