When we Met, I thought I would never forget you....
But now... Your face is just a shadow in Time.
The 'lectric touch of our Lips, a feeling so Sublime
But now... Your face is just a shadow in Time.

Meeting on that day, And me without a dime
You didn't seem to care, just being was so fine
I was lost in the look of your Brown Eyed shine
But now... Your face is just a shadow in Time.

Your Irish Soul, and Blazing Portuguese Eyes
Gave looks that were Sunshine, or Stormy Skies
When lightening Flashed from your Eyes
Deep Down in my Soul, I thought I was gonna Die
But now... Your face is just a shadow in Time.

Nights in bed lost in Lust, when we met a 24 Hour bout
Hands and tongues, ******* and Thighs, Long Low Moan & Sighs
R&B;, Stride Piano and the Blues, our passion always was Wild
When we lost it, and that Guy watched And played blues so fine
Unbelieving & Mesmerized, Bending the notes to our moans & Sighs
Will he ever forget that night we Met, jamming with us in 4/4 time
But now... Your face is just a shadow in Time.......JMF 12?4?14

I like to Write about Life,
Living, its not like everybody
Doesn't Do It Daily...
Its a Common ground,
Scattered with what we found.
That touches our Souls Deep
And burden's us, secrets to keep
Some Buried so Deep it's Forgotten

Up and Down, it's Sky and Ground.
Sorrow And Joy, Smiles and Frowns
We all go  through the Crush...
All feeling Flush, Blood pumping Rush
And the Let down of the Rejection.
Good days with Erections....
Others with Misdirection

Burdened with heavy Eyes, til'
We pop up and rise, hope in our eyes
Just to do it all again, like a Soap Opera Plot
With Disappointment never a Thought.
Thats why I write about Life........... JMF 10/11/14

All my life wishing, that
I was struck by lightening

Snow, Soft White and Lovely......
The thing of Childhood imagination
Wind Curling it to Drifts and Excitation
Snow Dancing in a Twirling Ballet
Items covered where ever they lay
It covers the grime and Looks so clean
Yet as deadly as a bullet and twice as Mean...
The Halloween blizzard, we got 3 Feet of snow
A Man in his truck that ended up stuck
He chose to walk it to find Some Gas
You soon find when your snow blind
There is no direction or destination to find
Where they found his truck They Searched
Snow Mobiles on the fields  Searched Avast
Not till Easter Snow melt he was found at Last
10 feet from his truck, well they didn't Know
He was Buried under Snow Plow Furrow.....JMF 2/3/15

. 

Everytime I hear No, its always .......MY FAULT
as the Brain drags me down this train of illogic
Anxiety Loops in unending Circles Spun to the Tragic
What can go wrong, then to feel like.......
Life has ***** me, And why is it always my Fault

The FIST FLEW out of Nowhere, Sucker punched
Slow motion falling as a..........
childs head bounces off the ground
Awaking to throbbing Pain,
my Pants around my Knees,
And why is it always my Fault.......JMF  9/28/14

( by Elizabeth Squires and SilverSilkenTongue in Collaboration)


In an idle ilk the poet
Did **** precious time
Non pursuant twas he
Of that haunting rhyme

The Tap tap tap of his Thumbs
In pulse to the Anxiety that Comes
Resistant and Hesitant this Choice of Word
Like crows on a wire flitting to and fro
Simply to be Assured who is top Bird

He mulled in thought
On his composition
Yet not acting on it
Due to a stalling disposition

Caught in a Web, of Websters Dictionary
Assonance and Consanace Fundimentaly
He Chews each Syllable to Spit out
The Misconstrued Vowels that he Shouts!

By Elizabeth Squires and Silver Silken Tongue
Special Thanks to Ann who suggested Elizabeth and I should Collaborate

The Little Skiff Slips through the water, following Swamp Trails.
Soft Light of a Bayou Moon in the Mist, on right the splash of Gator Tail
As it hunts in the Moonlight,  Twinkle of Neon Blares through the reeds,
From a Swamp bar Southeast of Lake Charles, Fiddle and Wash board,
Scrap , over Sweet Chords of Accordian Tunes drifting in the mist, As a
Patron of the Bar stirs coals on the bonfire, Drunken Guests Cut a Rug
On rolled out linoleum, Et Toi a Night of Bon temp Roulle on the Bayou
Inside the door, for some Cat fish and Red Beans & Rice with a cold brew
The Old Juke Box Plays Aaron Nevilles "If Tear Drops were Diamonds"
As the Band takes a Break, fiddle laying at Bars end Winks in Orange
To the flash of the Beer Sign, Uncle Solacess Raises his glass to the Moon
A high toast to La lune ete Amour de Coure, A Drunken Fight breaks out
Old Family issues, the contenders hugging and laughing over fresh Beers
As I Stumble out the door, just as the Zydeco strikes up I crank up the skiff
As I float into the fog, Bon Temp Roulle under Bayou Pale Moonlight
C'est bien de te voir, A bientot Au Revoir Bonne Nuit et Beau Reves....
.......................................................­..........JMF 10/114

The essential inconsequential
Texted, tweeted and emailed
Tumblred and Facebooked
Of each embarrassing moment.
Hollywood star marital atonements,
Selfie in the bathroom,
Selfie in the bar,
Selfie in the shower,
Selfie in the car,
The intrinsic need,
To document each
Major or minor event,
Led many to the public noose
For what they had let loose.
They are tried in the press
And and found wanting.
Wanting more! and wanting more!
Only to satisfy ourselves, that we are
Hash Tag Selfie Me
Truly the center of the universe
....................................JMF 10/5/14

Hot August winds
Blows across dried yellow grass.
The shimmer of heat.
Rippling off the blacktop.
At a roadside Motel.On the
South Dakota Landscape.

I see the arrival of
An Amish family all,
Dressed in Black.
Arrive dragging their
Simple bags into the room
As the door closes.

I head inside to escape the heat
The smell of sulfur.
Rises from the water faucet.
Mixed with the smell of
Bacon and Eggs frying
In an electric skillet.

I head out under the overhang.
To escape the heat and my parents.
Down the way, a boy in Black Hat
Black shirt open,
White Tee showing.

He walks over to meet me.
I show him toys I brought,
Bored in the blasting heat.
We hop across the hot blacktop.
Barefoot trying not to get burned.

Off to the park, We find
The hollowed out carcass.
Of an F-16 Fighter Jet,
We bonded as pilot and copilot
Jetting across the Badlands.

We strafed and bombed.
Enemy installations.
Cutting off troop Supplies.
We blasted the afterburners.
Breaking the sound barrier.
On a hot August afternoon.

If I were a Unicorn nibbling on Roses
I would stomp my Hoof and Snort
That men Exist, I should Suppose
I would shake my Silver Mane
And rake my horn upon a tree
That men could exist, Non-Mythically
Such Tales are whispered by the colts
Unicorns know the very Idea Revolts,
That Unmagical Creatures may be
Walking Upright under the trees
With a Quick Swish of my Tail,
I would Deny the very Myth,
That men should be, indeed
For having no Magic you see
They Lack  the Will to believe
But, never will this Myth Disperse...
Should Men exist 'twould be the worst

When Moonlight wens upon the moore
And Starlight knocks upon your door.
When thrums the hum of Faerie Wings
And the Harpen sound of Elfen strings.
Accompanied by dark Dwarven drums
The music of the night doth come.

A Shaman tends with Force of Night
A Silver Sword of fierce Light.
The wounds flow. The battle bounds
Thunder of Hooves upon the ground.
Tirelessly on the battles fight
But fades away in Mornings light.

And now that morning light is near
I arise from sleep with vision clear.
And the webs of tiredness
Fall from my eyes.
My new day begins
Under the skies…...JMF 11/9/14

Strolling down the dusty road
I reached the path of an abode.
The Black Shamrock an Irish pub
I stopped inside for a pint mug.
One mug topped off with ale
That next to Guiness Stout
Looked pale, A Pilsner in the glass.
And down the bar a drunken fool
Sat staring with blurred eyes and drool.
A sassy colleen tended the bar.
And if your hands were free,
They wouldn't get far, for
If they reach to the wrong place.
You'ld a  bar wenches Slap.
Across your face, and a spot of red
For all to see, that you got the Hand.
Of Molly McGee, a fiddler Bowed.
An Irish Jig, and a penny whistle.
Carried the tune to the drunken crowd
Within the room, a game of darts is made
While cribbage by old farts is played.
And the pints are emptied by the hour.
As the clock rings out in the churches tower
As drunks are Roused, and doors are closed
Old friends will stumble down the road.
All in an Irish night