livelihood

 

 

Jackals attack the Lion,
It's a bad mistake.

Jackals,
the Vulture's pets,
attack the lion
until it's too late.

Leave the lion be,
see?
Wrapped round vultures wings,
Jackals push until it's too late
Doing bloody, gutwretched things.

Jackal's mess with the Lion
Oh Waukesha is the last bite
Until the Lion has had enough
Extends his claws
The time to strike.

The Vultures, he'll get to later
Jackals never had even known
How wrapped round vulture's wings
they are, until all their chances
are blown.

Waukesha, now, is the last one.
Jackals need not respectability
They'd just ripped and bit,
and cut and tear
until tangled to a t

forty sixteen north nineteen
a jackal drawn from a card
mowed down, now, several young lions,
now,
being evil
for a jackal
ain't hard.

When Big Lion sees, and gets his run
his taste of blood is high
After time and time of
turn the other cheek
he says the time to devour is mine.

Waukesha, Waukesha
Waukesha, Waukesha
Jackals, how have vultures led?
The Lions of life
Lions of the modern world
are uprisen,
pissed,
fiery red.

The Chaos Tourist

 lost or found song/poem draft

The Chaos Tourist

Ravens eat carrion

Real Like Flesh

A fantasy like money

Costs Alliot, lot less.

It's not leave me alone

It's leave me be

I've tales to write

& Lives to Be.

Of course I'm problematic

I want peace, to be

without heat at my back.

or cold at my feet

Yeah I stepped outside

killed someone who

tried to kill me

Fed a couple ravens up

asked them "why can't

they let, ever let

let a man be--"

and of course I'm problematic

I want peace, to be

not wedged between people stones

not staked down at my feet

& I guess it's symptomatic

how could I grasp that in my dreams

Got my lungs and grip miles in

Nurture that today you

can only find in dreams

The people in this world

they teach me nothing true

& I bite my clove

and set my way

reaching star light blue

Setting off

for who knows where

In cold and far, chill

chill blue

Setting off for

who knows where

nurture affords

someone who

#Poetry #Poems #Creations #Wanderers #TreeRoot #METAalgorithm #CensorFireHeart #HumanitysWindow #Digitalage #Pendulum #Raven #Roaming #Resurrect #Myspace #CharacterArt #TheMob #Inquisition #Bohemian #FolkArt #Americana #ThePendulum #ThePendulum #ThePendulum #TheMakersDream #WakingDream #JerseyShore #Prius #Prion #Priapus #Scaper #Boomer #Zoomber #Banktastic #nepotism #Subterfuge #ArchetypeExpresson #StarlightBlue #ProjectLookingGlass #SoulProtection #BrightSpiritus #FeedHipstersToDragons #FundedByTrustFundManHaters #TheBigRascals The Point of the Study of Peace *&* Human Intergral advance in Nervous System Expansion

Pendulum Dash

,

Runner Up for the Pendulum Dash

Head toward the Rain, 

Run out of Breath holy fast

Dread behind and high hopes

In a satchel shook loose

Hang around

In the Skies

Check the time, 

Here way too soon.

Well, wait a while

Til the buzzards

Come walking

On their own

Meet you there

At the right spot

Outside 

Their secret home

They've got a satchel 

And a dial

Tuned to a

contagious plan.

They cut you down

Before you thud

Reaching out

To give a hand

Gonna need

A couple days

Gonna split up

Go several ways

Gonna keep

A satchel wide

Gonna tune out

Contemptuous 

Here's a mountain

Go halfway up

Pull a letter

Out of a tree

Read it silent 

With buzzards elsewhere

Written explanations

'Why they chose me.'

Well son you ain't 

On that list

Of enclosed 

Humanity

You can't dispose of

Wretched pasts

Let lone high hopes

Or burnt debri

So those wicked birds 

Or wicked, they say,

Will sparse the skies

And have their may

They're going to send satchels

Partially open

To all of those

Who just can't pay

Because its going to take the lost

Like you and you

And it takes the lost

Like you and you

To open your eyes to

Financial bloodlust

Who even villify

The buzzards, too.

That's why its raining ashes,

#Mountains #residue #writing #writer #landscapes #rural #Saturate #RuralPhotography #CountryPhotography #drifter #HighLove #Obscene #buzzards #SecretTrails #TheTrial #Poem #Hilltop #FridayFun #Kal #ergi #WakeUp #youreDreaming #Skies #Cascade #Stories 

Say What the Script Says

"Soil,
I built a house made of twigs. My ears were stuffed with cotton balls and then wrapped with saline garb.
The burp of some worldwide creature-snarl crashed the  house in no time.
It was not the house that God built.

My eyes, they were also wrapped over.

The great mother of the night wrapped me in her skies
weeks long enough to squeeze me out as some birth.

What I was, nobody did say.
So I was handed a pick axe*

and I dug, and chipped at, without seeing, not knowing what.
The central nervous system basked in wonder.
Could be I was building a house!

No-- this was not so.

With a fury and bad taste in my mouth I ripped off the bandages and wraps
and drove off
with a storm in sight.
It was hellish and thick with more electric grey
than anything I had ever seen-electric-grey

and the pin-sheer pouring beads pinged
My naked flesh was agitated
the cold had me feel alive.
It would not let up, nor should it have.
It could have washed me away from me but it did not
it could have knocked down this house.

For so long there was torture and laughter from the intensity
of that which would not let up
and the distances and the geographies
were foreign and indecipherable.

We do not believe in angry gods these days so it was tough to
know what to call of these stirrers-up.
Probably a bad wrap at the day of DOW Jones, forever away.

However, what once were visible skies and low clouds
came to be a viscous coverage
and I was through it and within it and being spit-around
and gobbled up and clinging on and hanging on
for my life, feeling something all beyond.

Was a pilot. May-day may-fucking-day. It was a tease.
Rumble was affair and all that could be seen were yellow
road-line squiggles and the up-pelt of hammering blasts.
This was a manic baptism and the cause of disappearance to many isles.
I wanted to go under but had kept clinging on, and accelerating.
This happened for probably a couple of hundred of years, or so.

It finally-- came to be where an exit was up ahead. Some change in
the skies tapestry.
It blinked off
and as bright as day again
I was whipped out of the hellinistic peltering
with a stiff back-bone.

Needed a side-road, I prowled upon many
but the manic traffic
only let me get the one I did.

The one that I found was spectacular
with open fields and vivifying sights.
There were no worthless desires there
or thoughts of outer-time.
Just there and what could be seen
was enough.

My wanton lusts for hot wet pussy and a fancy title before my name
were left somewhere way back beyond
for a few moments
and the argyle faces I had seen before that storm
with crooning freeze frames
managed to take a holt, too.

Stepping onto my feet,
I wrapped my ears and eyes with saline garb
and planned to built.

*this is what is done when uncertainty is abound. You are given a pick-axe and made good-use-of.

-The General Lo."

photo 08/16  words 10/22/2016 free-'writ as stress'reliever

Today we eat well

Today we feast,
We shall eat well.
Meals fit for beast,
Our stomachs will swell.
No mere mouse
or shrew will do
We caught the chickens
and hens that flew.

Stray felines from the city
come march along
For fancy milk
and drinking songs
With tails puffed high
and sharpened teeth
We prowl the fields,
we'll dine then sleep.

No city flats,
but open lands
There's Easter hare
and Christmas hams.
So come along
with whiskers wide
Tonight's the night,
we dance and stride

Yes, Come forth, here
with birds to chase
Count our stripes
Enjoy the taste.

 Cheers.

Without humor we're doomed.