~~♥~~

I used to think men
should be more like books
Both you cannot
judge by looks...

If I didn't want to finish reading
I put it down... no heart was bleeding

A book will never fuss or fight
It will stay with you
through the night...

It doesn't smoke. It doesn't drink.
It won't leave toothpaste
in the sink!

It doesn't binge... it don't eat...
It won't leave up the toilet seat!

It don't forget. It doesn't mope.
It won't hog the TV remote!

It doesn't have to have
The last say...
It doesn't have legs

to walk away.

But it's not soft. It isn't warm.
It doesn't keep you
safe from harm.

Even though it makes no fuss
It can't think. It can't discuss.

Even though it has its charms
it can't hold you in its arms.

It doesn't pine. It doesn't miss.
It can't hug and it can't kiss.

So now I think on it again...
... I think BOOKS should be
             more like MEN!!!


SoulSurvivor
2/20/2015

Back behind Gianni's bar
The Bluesman sings his tunes
To all the local n'er do wells
And to the stars and to the moon

His voice is coarse as forty grit
His playing smooths it out
He plays upon an orange crate
Comfort is not what he's about

Bluesman, Bluesman play a song
One sung just for me
One that paints pictures in my head
A song that I can see

Buskers, lined the concourse
The street where he was not
This was just a place for tourist fare
He was where the world forgot

His tunes were sung for no one but
Himself and to the air
Out front, that was another world
Bluesman, did not live out there

A crowd has gathered slowly
More of a group, than a real crowd
They heard about the bluesman
And out front was too **** loud

In back, you heard the feelings
Felt the music, heard the strings
You experienced the atmosphere
That a good old bluesman brings

Out of the crowd of fandom
Working his way through the mass
Was a young, tousled haired boy
Everybody let him pass

He rocked in one position
He felt the music ebb and flow
He looked where the notes were airborne
He saw the music go

The bluesman sat and watched him
playing stories, telling tales
Of drunks in old Las Vegas
And of sailors fighting gales

the young boy stood and rocked some
always looking at the air
He wasn't looking at the bluesman
He didn't know that he was there

He walked up to the old man
staring out into the space
that streamed the bluesmans music
right into the young boys face

the bluesman watched intently
As the young lad touched his hand
And he held the bluesmans old guitar
He became a member of the band

The boy moved even closer
If that were possible at all
He was feeling the sweet music
He was having quite a ball

The crowd watched as the bluesman
and the boy became as one
The boy resting his head now
On the guitar, having fun

He couldn't see the bluesman
But the music, it was there
The boy was blind, autistic
He saw the notes that filled the air

The bluesman kept on playing
For that was what the bluesman did
He was playing for the starry sky
And for this wondrous little kid

His mother came and held him
She took the bluesman by the hand
She said thank you for the music
For letting him be in your band

In a voice as smooth as Bourbon
The bluesman told her that her son
Could come and feel the music
The music makes us one

Bluesman, Bluesman play a song
One that's only just for me
Bluesman, Bluesman play a song
That only I can see....

Stores were being heldup
The crime wave was big news
The culprit showed up naked
Wearing a smile and some shoes
No one would be able
To identify the crook
No one saw her face to well
They really never looked
The cops kept working on it
They chased down every lead
But none of them were helpful
Giving evidence they'd need
All they knew,....a woman
would come in and she'd flash
Her ***** at the man working
And she'd make off with the cash
Fourteen stores and stations
Were hit by this bold *****
But without her even knowing
Her plan had a small wrench
I take you to the latest store
Where the police have come to see
Why the woman ran without the cash
Let's listen in...shall we?

"we heard sir, that you've cracked our case"
"you're the first person to see her face"
"Of courth I did you silly goose"
He held out his hand "just call me Bruce'
"She shouldn't be too hard to find"
"If there's one thing I know, it's a bare behind"
"You see, when she found I was gay"
"That's when she turned and ran away"
"She won't get too far on those heels"
"She left on foot, she had no wheels"
The questions then came fast and quick
All answered, smoothly...and real slick
"First, I noticed that her shoes"
"Were cheap, bad knock off Jimmy Choos"
"The lining of her coat was stained"
"And her hair colour, not much remained"
"She had a note pinned to her *******"
"I didn't care, you might have guessed"
"She held a bag, said fill it up"
"I'd say she was a full D cup"
"I told her I don't think so dear"
"I think that gave away I'm queer"
"I mean, no earrings or a matching purse"
"Some style please....but, I've seen worse"
"She should not be too far away"
"Her shoes aren't runners, they're made to play"
"Blond hair, bad roots, ends were frizzy too"
"Fingernails all badly done, a rotten shade of blue"
"I hope I have helped you boys"
"Are those cuffs real?...I like your toys"

The cops put out an APB
To catch this woman on the loose
You see they never want to
Go back and talk to Bruce
So, if you want to rob a store
Now, listen for this.....wait...
Make sure the man who's working there
Is sure as shooting...STRAIGHT~~~

I fell into a bottle
Four Presidents ago
looking for the hidden song
Just before a show

Once I thought I found it
I was in about half way
When I took the stage I found out
I was far too drunk to play

Every bottle has a song
somewhere deep inside
I haven't found one yet though
but, ****...i know I've tried

Each line upon my weary face
And scar upon my fingers
is the end result of searching for
the song that always lingers

If it isn't in one bottle
in the next it may be there
so for now, i'll just keep searching
for the song that isn't there

there's songs in other places too
too dark for me to go
some find songs inside a needle
those aren't songs I want to know

I come by my songs honestly
my scars show I've looked deep
But, when I'm almost there and see it
That's kinda when I fall asleep

when I'm sober, I can't find them
once I'm drinking, then I hear
The song calling from a bottle
I'm like an alcoholic seer

I know I'll find the right one
And it just may be today
I only hope I find it
Before I'm too **** drunk to play

I only hope I find it
Before I'm too **** drunk to play

"Save me, Jesus," Lord, I cry
Lift me on Heaven's ray.
No longer in this awful world
Does my heart long to stay.

This wretched thing that I have done
A face so wrought with tears
My soul for now must bear the cross
For all my wretched years.

Take this cross from me, oh Lord
'Tis such a thing to bear
For all my senseless wanderings,
I seem to be nowhere.

A step here, a stumble there
My journey's taking me
Onto a road that leads somewhere
I never want to be.

Take me, Lord and take me now
So far away from here.
I know my wretched cries have reached
The Haven-Heaven's ears.

Jesus, thanks to you, I walk
Upon the narrow road.
No longer towards the devil's teeth
The broader, evil road.

I walk in my Jesus' arms
A Haven I know well.
He steers me on the narrow path
Now go I not to hell.

Through this narrow escapade,
I have learned to see
My savior never left my side
He's always been with me.

And through this trial'd walk of life
My burdens weigh still more
But every day I learn again
It's held still by my Lord.

Jim Brady was a local man
His life was non-descript
He was not on local radar
In fact, he was a blip
He moved around but no-one knew
Just who Jim Brady was
they knew not where he came from
They didn't know his flaws
He worked under the table
He wasn't on the grid
But of all the money that Jim made
He gave most to his kids
He worked nights at Giannis
In the kitchen, ***** stuff
He cleaned up after closing
The work here...it was tough
But Jim, worked hard and honest
Earned his money every day
And Gianni, as a favour
Off the records he would pay
Jim Brady was a soldier
He was broken...and no good
But Gianni, saw his life light
And he did what all men should
He gave Jim work and fed him
Kept him clean and made a life
For Jim had come home injured
But it was internal strife
Jim's mind was torn and tattered
Simple thoughts could cause him pain
Jim Brady was a soldier
But would never serve again
He had trouble with his anger
He was not quite in control
But Gianni saw a soldier
Who needed help out of a hole
Gianni ran a restaurant
Been there for 30 years
He helped all those who knew him
Through the smiles and the tears
He housed the ones who needed
Just to get off of the streets
He fed the tired and hungry
And he performed other feats
Gianni was a hero
To all in this poor town
He would never turn a man away
If he knew that he was down
When Jim came in one evening
Gianni read his face
He said "Son, I'll help you"
"And you're now working in this place"
Jim lived by the water
The noises kept him calm
But on nights of wild weather
He stay at Giannis, nice and warm
Loud noises brought the nightmares
Put the pictures in his head
Of the IED explosion
And of his three companions dead
He went to get some treatment
But the VA said "You're fine"
"there's more important cases
than just you out in the line"
He was shuffled home to start again
A damaged, broken man
But with issues like poor Jim did have
He tried as one man can
His marriage broke down quickly
His wife was not to blame
But Jim came home with issues
And the **** war was to blame
He looked for help at every turn
But no-one would help out
Until he met Gianni
Jim's new hero I won't doubt
He gave him work and money
Jim then gained some self esteem
He wasn't Jim the soldier
But, you could see who he had been
His pride was back, his head was high
But still he had the dreams
There was nothing that they knew of
To alleviate the screams
But Gianni, still the hero
Thought "I know what might just work"
He introduced Jim to The Bluesman
He also has a minor quirk
The Bluesman as you seem to know
Lives out behind and plays
His music in the alley
Where he spends most of his days
Gianni helped The Bluesman
Maybe he could now help Jim
It could be The Bluesman's music
Might just be right for him
Most nights when Jim was working
He'd leave the window open some
Just to let Bluesman's music
Find the kitchen . make Jim hum
Jim liked The Bluesman's music
It painted pictures in his head
But this time they were joyful ones
Not pictures of the dead
They helped him come to terms with things
That made his life a mess
They did what others couldn't do
His problems were addressed
With Gianni and The Bluesman
Jim moved on and did quite well
Funny how a restauranteur
And music man could bring Jim back from hell.

"Old Man Rubenstein",

that's the name they knew him by

He'd worked the shop for fifty years

His friends just called him Cy

Each day he'd enter from the back

For at the front door slept

Someone trying to survive the cold

Inside the store Cy swept

The store had been a fixture

On the street for ninety years

Five Generations of Rubensteins

Had seen the smiles and tears

Of young men getting married

Picking rings out for their brides

And in many cases watching them

As they tried them on inside

The street had changed in fifty years

In ninety, even more

But one thing about Rubensteins

Was their famous tiled floor

In the foyer, just inside the door

There were tiles black and white

They were laid out like a flower

It was really quite a sight

When his Great Great Grandpa

Laid the tiles, it was done by J.C Hardin

To signify each customer

Was welcome "in his garden"

Times had changed since Cy came in

The street was not the same

A lot of stores had moved or closed

The malls all held the blame

With suburbs came progression

And with progression came bad news

Most small stores lost their customers

To chains with modern views

But Rubensteins stayed on the street

Never changing one small bit

They had been right here for ninety years

And this is where they'd sit

The front, I mentioned earlier

Each night became a bed

For someone living on the streets

A place to lay their head

Cy would leave a pillow

And a blanket by the door

It was always there next morning

Nicely folded like before

Other storefronts opened up

At nine...right sharp each day

But, Cy would leave the door shut

Letting his sleeping beauty lay

There wasn't lots of people

Who would shop in Cy's old store

With the way the neighborhood had died

No one came round here no more

With pawn shops open down the road

And two just up the block

The fact that people went to them

To Cy, was not a shock

He really ran the business

To keep himself alive

For he knew that if he closed it

He was sure he'd not survive

His life was wrapped up in the store

Each decade on a shelf

He was quite the story teller

And of stories...he'd a wealth

He sold a ring once to the Mayor

For his engagement years ago

They were still together nowadays

That was forty years or so

Harry Cooper bought his wifes rings

And his son had done as well

He'd bought a special pendant

When he lost his son in Hell

He'd go down to Giannis

And buy his lunch most days

He was never in a hurry

And most times he'd stay and gaze

He'd stare out the front windows

To a time so long before

Then he'd head back to the jewellers

And he'd still use the back door

He thought of times way in the past

When Christmas windows glowed

With displays of rings and Christmas lights

Lit up the whole **** road

But now, the storefront windows

Were protected by strong bars

There were hardly any customers

And even fewer cars

He remembered when a shopping trip

Meant dressing up to shop

But nowadays, a pair of jeans

And a t-shirt as a top

He'd sit inside the storefront

Until about six everyday

Then he'd put out a clean bedroll

And he'd quietly slip away

He'd show up every morning

Through the back door every time

He'd check on his front doorway

And he'd hum a little rhyme

"If friendship is a flower

'And a garden grows in time

I'm glad I have a garden

And you've spent some time in mine"

He'd make sure when he opened

That he'd turn on every light

Then he'd go out side the front door

And sweep away the night..

free me with your worded wings

and I will be yours forever.

a nest of lovers

high out of sight

nestled in a single-heart

beating a poem

of faith

hope

love.

/
Thou Create Spaces
Within Thou
Barren Fields
Garden
It is born
Many trees
Flowers
Fruits
And do Thou
A mistake,
When thou plucks
The Flower
From the tree

The lesson of
Nature
Moves you to
Open Sky
Into the waves
Of Sea
Into the Black Shale
Of Paleozoic
Ripples
And reach the
Thoughts
In the home
Of Star

Now thou have
Learned
To count Stars
Move to
Get beyond,
Of which
May be found
The Edge
Of the Spaces
One Day
/*
@ Musfiq us shaleheen