Stolen

It was there-- mine to own, view, hold, ignore, chew.
An idea of a concept of an image of a thought.
It bounced around my brain for days, weeks, months, material or inane.
At times I owned it, proud, embarassingly hauty; i would view it like a rare relic display; Holding it closely, in my mind as it grew, I planned its societal debut. Often ignoring its persistent call for attention to focus on matters of survival and love, only to consume it wholly chewing it up.

The crime was quick, I think, or at least slick. The theif left no evidence of entry forced or slighly achieved. No bait and switch with which I was decieved. No catalyst, it seems, at all. Like dying in one's sleep. It was mine, mine to keep. But when I tried to locate the image, concept, thought, idea, or mere hint of the notion, it was gone. Obviously stolen.

Nonsense

You say my words are nonsense since you sense nothing coherently meant.
I'm likely to get bent; A dent in a line of poetic postulation adds depth without intellectual, elitist, elucidation.

They're only as deep you take them; silly rhythmic rhymes or societal commentaries about the times. Once the poet releases the verse, it's the readers who take it and make it theirs.

The messages are included in one size fits all helpings with a choose your own option--
Kind of like adjustable base ball cap shopping; the product's for your head---leave it or take it or leave it read, instead.

The nature of the thing brings you into the mess, so guess what the "nonsense" says about you? The light bulb is probably warming up, and it might just light, right?

The words aren't the issue, they communicate, straight. If nonsense is your only contribution to the interaction, then perhaps lacking value, meaning, reason, logic, and thought is characteristic of you rather than of the meaning you sought.

Allied

Enough said-- go to bed. Cause with you and me,
it's whatever-- no it's nothing-- it can't be, see.
Nothing fits in the in between spaces--its part of the design.
There's nothing between you and me, us, we.

Words, deeds, desires, needs, mischief, evil, bad, bad notions.
Arguments imagined or battles exploded in the confines of a few spare moments.
Essentially, every bit is irrelevant, already outdated, only disguised as complicated.
Painted up big to strain the market's limits, like a new car off the lot depreciated.

Cause little can touch us, and nothing gets in, friend.
It only suffers self inflicted harm, but that's the charm, don't you agree?
Building up or back possibility with each moment passing into history
more to know, more to connect, more to understand, learn and reflect

Respect, strength, support, trust
the necessities of survival
Love, laughter, dependence, lust
the fuel for revival.

So, whatever its appearance, manifestation, threat,
It can go wherever except the one place it just can't get.
So there's nothing between us, you and me, but elements of we, see?

Nil

Chop the pop cause you can't stop.
Hop for slop; please one drop?
Stop. New prop. Lop just like a cop.
Clean the mop of spilled drink.

One deep, deep sink.
Think of the creep
Seep in the drink.
Kink to leap; you're the creep.

Lazy, maybe crazy, but not hazy.
Bouquets of daisy flavored pictures of once when was;
Telling you just because.
Fuzz? That's what we does.

Diminished to Nil.
Up hill spills.
Crack kills.
Be still.

Sit and watch an hour or two.
You've nothing better to do
Poisoned by your desire
Burnt out without fire.

Ringy, thingy finger mesh
two lives--one flesh
Who knows you know why what's best.
Tried and cried and flailed that test.

Not failed, silly to wail.
Jack's not tumbling
After all the stumbling
Just Who lost the pail?

Be nimble too quick
to judge
grown cold and sick
Gasp! Not the pudge!

Math's too ugly for too cute me.
What's one less century?
I remember times you no longer see.
What's the hurry, fury, scurry?

We'll get it right in one life or another.
Not my father, nor my brother.
Was my friend, conspirator, crutch.
Nil's too much.

Such is life and life is good.
Keep smiling as pretty girls should.
Light of mind and kind of sweet--
Remembering the summer heat.

I could go on like this all day.
Say what I like and what I may.
But it all adds up from my view
to nil plus forever plus me plus you.

What's a hamster brain to do,
but stew and chew and chew.

Trading Up, Putting Out and Giving In (Bubble Gum and an ICKY STICKY Sole)

Trading in to trade up.
A trade, a maid, a love story, a rut.
Given half until its due; learned faith for blasphemy and one equals two.
Given in or giving up--you tell me what's up.
A muse to amuse a hampster confused.
Putting out-- put it in---Put up with my version of sin.


Wait, I can say it again.


Traded in or disguised as up.
Dependency on another, faith of a mother. Shutter!
The sum of the parts can be greater than the whole
loads of promises as far as promises go.
A child on hip, a cigarette in lips, a vile in jeans
adds up to numbers without letters it seems.

Trading out of the aliance made--
Everything bright will fade.
Bad energy and additude
and really its still new, but lude.

Before the trade, had it made. Self reliant with one on which to lean.
Would offer it all, and gave more, bonds too strong to break now strain.
But giving in was beyond the worst we could do when you for me was as I for you.
Who knew?

When I didn't rate it or deserve it was served.
When I didn't need, a straight tap feed.
When I earned a higher rank, the line went tight then--yank!
Especially when need was spoke. Depend on me you silly bloke how can you falter when
you have it all under control. Give me a little bubble gum chum and I'll give you an icky sticky sole.
Independence keeps you too high. Depend on me, down here, live a little and see,
dependency is impossible without concent.
It's not broken, but sure looks bent. Maybe a little kinky, perverse power hungry,
power struggle, padded with a smuggle snuggle.

So what's the trouble? Traded up rather than in. Put up rather than out. Gave in and might give up.
I've told you, don't ask what's up.

If it's wrong or broke speak up, clear some smoke--it's worth more than a bit
I'm dim, but sadly, this time, it's not my wit.
Dark days replaced by bright big nights. Anything but fights.
Not asking anymore.
Permission keeps tension on bonds that hardly bend.

Put in for a friend, trade down for lost things found. Worse than giving in and more than giving up, imagine if I give out.

That's not what it's all supposed to be about; rank, bonds, struggles, clout--and I'm out.

(Typed quickly for all my friendly editors out there. Will proof read later but had to get it done while the baby still slept.)

Success

Eyes water, straining to see. Long days melt, grow to industrious evenings, which only evolve, shaping themselves as late nights without slumber.
Wonder if the intention shall be realized. Food gives required fuel, but results in an ache, buring in the gut. Fearing an abyss of a rut, encouraged by a mere kiss without gratifiying smut.

"Worth it?" the tired mind's wonder. "Success shall be like found treasure to plunder. But to fail..." In dark recessses the tired mind wails.

The evaluation looms near, smiling through despair built upon fear, time brings you there.

Tired eyes stare, assessed mind hopes not to care. And the battle won, in retrospect still not fun. The elation of celebration explodes, stress erodes. Alone responsibile, alone successful, credit because it's due.

Our murder is proud of our hero, you.

Have Landed

Rustling feathers no longer ruffled,
parting beak for contented breath,
have landed, understands sister crow
as she draws family to her breast.

Nest in order, plans followed through,
mate and nestling, with her safe
have landed with morning dew
closer, cozy, on cue.

Fancy of flight delighted frenzy
comfort of home required respite
despite wunderlust cravings
each belongs to the other each night.

As is should ever be.
Head poised high with pride
revere enough to bend knee.
Home, have landed, sweetness, my guide.

Thank you....