The Musician

He thinks with his fingers,
He plays with his mind,
He reads with his ears,
And leads while behind.

His art never lingers,
In silence he sings,
To err is but human,
But God to him clings.

He always remembers
As light follows thought,
And fright does not foster,
Despite of this lot.

While I spite the facade
Behind which I be,
Sinful to say that
I too can be he.

Dealer On High

Death He casts across the green,
Or three are flopped, by His great hand;
He may turn or roll a twin,
Or float a river upon the man.

With these ways does He decide,
Sans yellow eyes, who'll rule the world,
And who'll look up to mortal men,
And who their silver spoons will twirl.

Those of us, behind the cream,
Who must fight back with hands made weak,
Fear not for we can still act,
Hearts of talent with faces bleak.

Those of us, sans courtiers,
Who must fight back with numbers base,
Should check or fold when He does tell,
Then raise to twirl our better days.

Of Pressed Rats And Warthogs

I've been extremely busy quizzing and writing college essays. I'd written this before the last couple of posts and had forgotten to put it up. It's actually a song written in a heavy 12-bar blues in A. That's probably why it sounds a bit awkward when read as a poem. Have been meaning to write this for nearly a year now.

Hey Mister Suit & Tie,
How must I pay?
When you took away my land
And killed me yesterday.

Hey Erudition Man,
How must I read?
When you took away my mind
And did but let it bleed

Hey Minister of God
How must I pray?
When my prayer took my brother
To a world far away

Why follow the sharp dressed man when he just looks to please?
Selling tales of Jesus Christ and broken memories.
Why hear the unwise owl when it hoots but fallacies?
Pressing rats with fiddlesticks and ministry decrees.
Why worship the Judas kin when they can't cure disease?
Buying immortality while we die wanting peace

Hey Mister Green & Gold,
How must I live?
Your robin hoods take from me
And to the rich men give

Hey Mister Destiny
How must I go?
The path you paved for me
Now crumbles just for show

And,
Hey third-rate circus clown,
Can I come with you?
We'll fake it through the cream
And die inwardly too

Why work for southern men when the war's already through?
My valley was green before the sun shined black & blue
Why receive gifts that mime apocraphy when I lose?
Empty lyrics I take not, but music I do choose
And why must warthogs dig so hard to find that funny brew?
Black comedy can't be seen and man has killed us too.

Pressed rat and warthog have closed down their shop.
They didn't want to; twas all they had got.
Selling atonal apples, amplified heat,
And pressed rats collection of dog legs and feet.

P.S. - Yes, that last verse is taken from 'Pressed Rat And Warthog' by Cream. It's meant to be spoken (like in the original) over the instrumental outro...

The God That Failed?

A much edited and much enhanced version of a poem I'd written for a school creative writing contest last year.

As nature brought the day to end,
I laid me down to sleep,
But my repose was stolen as
Black thoughts my mind did creep.

My life, I thought, has yet to see,
The sun rise in the dawn,
My life has been the darkest night,
To yet rise to it's morn.

Providence has it in for me,
He's dealt me a bad hand,
While he upon a thought does free
His will upon the land.

I prayed "Oh God! Take back your gift
Take my life and let it be
I have suffered beneath your yoke
You'd know if you were me."

And lo! as these thoughts did escape
From mind into the night,
An apparition did descend
A halo of bright light.

"I've come", said He, "to grant your wish,
To make you, me, today,
I'll take your place upon this earth,
And live in worldly ways."

And presently I did ascend
Up from my night's abode
And He did come down to my size,
Upon my bed he strode.

I felt great power run through me,
The world was mine to take,
Eager was I to find the truth of,
The claim that he did stake.

But soft, I heard a quiet voice,
Mumbling words in my ear,
And I saw that my great new self,
Was whispering a prayer!

He thanked me for my blessings and,
He thanked that I did care,
He thanked and thanked and thanked some more,
And thanked that I was there.

This open show of gratitude,
Was truly lost on me,
Couldn't he feel what I had felt,
Now that this God was me?

And all day long, he did but feel,
The sorrow that maimed me,
He had as friends, not one except,
His friend of misery.

And came home he to that old man,
I was his only one,
Yet a father I'd never known,
Nor did his now new son.

And yet at night he thanked me still,
He thanked me for his life,
He thanked me that he was so blessed,
He thanked me for his life!

Now time had come for us to change,
To our old selves return,
So he did rise, and I did fall,
To gain knowledge I'd earned

"Why do you thank me?" I did ask
"My life is all but black!"
"I thanked for all you granted me,
For all I did not lack."

"I do give you all that you need,
All that of which you ask,
But only when the time is ripe,
When it's the present task.

"So thank me for what you do have
What others still do crave,
When it is time for me to give,
You'll get what I have saved."

Another day did start to end,
More thoughts my mind did creep,
These too kept me from repose as
I laid me down to sleep.

"Sweet Lord, why must I only dwell
On that which I do own?
And not ask why all my neighbors
Do live in larger homes?

"And why must I be grateful for
The less I do possess?
But think that you do love them more
And me you have not blessed?"

The new day shone upon me as
I dwelt in musings deep
But He did not come this time, as
I laid me down to sleep.

Hey Joe

To be sung to the tune of the verses in "Hey Jude". Lyrics are kinda childish but whatever...

Hey Joe, where will you go?
Take a minute to look around you,
The world is spinning under your feet,
And you must begin to turn its way now.

Hey Joe, don't be a fool,
You were made to think like a stranger,
Remember, to exercise your mind,
And you will find, something better.

Hey Joe, please let her go,
If only just for a minute,
You have, the rest of time to love,
And when you wake up, it won't be pretty.

Hey Joe, please put it down,
You must live to, pen your conclusion,
And maybe, it seems to fun to let go,
You better stop, right there and then now,

Hey Joe, what will you do?
You can't live like your fancied pictures,
And after you've wronged what you think is right,
Then we can find, wisdom together.

Lamentations

My first blank verse since "Mother". I don't much like blank verse but I think this is my best blank verse poem. That doesn't prevent it from being shit though, because I suck at writing blank verse. And likewise, the fact that it is shit doesn't preclude it from being posted on a public platform.

The grass is greener on the other side,
Or so the wizened men of yore did say,
And often times I'm left to wonder which,
Side I'd choose had it been my call to make.
Would I remain on this barren field where
The seedlings of joy can never bear fruit?
Consoled by reaping of talent, of thought,
Of rationale, of question? Or would I,
In a trice, be rid of these faculties,
And choose to walk through the valley of green?

There may be justice in this for my line,
Who seem to start at this quirk they've set forth
But there's balance in that disappointment;
I feel it stronger than they ever could.
To smile, to have, to not want, or to fly,
Alas! Couldn't He have chosen some other beings?
Couldn't I enter mortality elsewhere?
Or couldn't I have been blessed with that envied
Contentment which others seem to receive
With such ease? My Lord, He has tainted me.

But He didn't stop there; my exclusion
From the ways of dice hurts me everyday.
Yes, one makes one's own, but to what degree?
Who ever triumphed sans that one favored roll?
In creation, in sustenance, in form,
In time, in setting, in but everything
I defy the laws that the learned men
Framed, improbable to be doubted; yet
Here I stand. Born without a chance to throw
My pair nor earn that chance with passing time.

And why must I carry that extra part
Which I believe I can find no use for?;
I've ne'er been where those that peer around
Me have. Never been weakened by her sight,
Nor her taste, nor that other God's arrows
E'er landed in this tainted soil of black.
I can't feel his lack or that other's want
But only those which are my own do I
Dwell upon, and only that which garners
My unhid gain, my laid-bare profit, do
I consume my mind with. No, there's no use.

In the end, I arrive where I started
Another imperfect circle drawn to
Perfection. Was I cast with the same hands
That did make these singsong faces and these
Human hearts? Did the self-same mind that did
Construe the beauty of winter and the
Wisdom of life create this tainted being
To play a role among roles on this stage?
Never can I feel, nor e'er can I choose,
Like ne'er can I e'er, solve His cruel ruse.

The Infant

It's amazing how awful this poem is and yet I stubbornly refuse to remove it from the blog.

"Those rosy cheeks! That toothless smile!"
"Its vision churns within me bile!"
"Don't you like her infectious laugh?"
"I'd like to saw its throat in half."

"She looks so wonderful tonight,
So cute while dressed in pink and white."
"There are things far beauteous, fool!
Fawn on those, not this thing's drool!"

"Goo-goo ga-ga, oh my, so sweet!"
"Yes, teach it words it'll ne'er meet!"
"She will not understand fair words."
"It'll learn when you stop that speech absurd!"

"I tickle here and tickle there,
Oh my, she reacts to my care!"
"Of course it does you stupid sod,
It's alive for the love of God!"

"So, would you like to play with her?"
"Not till another eighteen years."
"Would you rather sing her to bed?"
"I'd rather smash its balding head."