Glazed faces running fearless in the harvest forest
The brush of the rising crops tingles on the skin
We drop down lying head to head
Following planes with our fingers in the sky.

Your reflection inside mimics my stance outside
Where the smoke from my cigarette
Turns into clouds above my head
Masking the light from the full moon that shines elusively bright.

Distance is crawling between us
Stealing our monumental past
It pollutes our freeness in speech.
Sorrow cant be fixed by ice cream
A day off where i let my mind indulge in far away dreams.

Your voice that was sweet music
Is now NOISE.
I close the bathroom door and wish we were in a book of prose
Where we play faces and turn into toys of mad creation.

i see you again waiting for the man
***** dollar bills crumpled in shaky hands
your veins would collapse if they weren't running sand
high risk life, low demands

unaware with a vacant stare
of your surroundings, like you even care
there's only one reason as to why your here
and it's not to admire yourself in cars passing mirrors

with the man running late the time ticks lunatic fringe
not knowing he's laying dead in some junkies den
the life style he lived finally did him in
and you with no idea soon you'll be following him

because the life of a ****** is no life at all
one step from the ledge with the needles drawl
milk blood to make sure you get it all
one last time before last call...

genuine article, no parts that aren't artist
marvel at the arsenal that startles the smartest
targetting farce barnacles, catharsis, my harness
i harvest the heartless like a shark on a carcass

One asketh the question,
What is this thing called love?
One word I shalt giveth thee......
                                                      ­   SACRIFICE!!!!!!



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

When I've written something deep;
When I really want your attention;
And I need you to read it with emotion,
With my feelings and my voice;
And I'm hoping you get my meaning,
Because I think you need help,
I use asterisks.
Asterisks.
Ever look closely at an asterisk?
Draw one.
Enlarge it on your screen.
Notice any resemblance to anything you own,
Anyone you know?
It looks like the
*Selfie of an *******.

When I was writing my piece, "For Donna(Society has Changed)", I remembered that Corpus Christi has an annual "Buccaneer Day" celebration. My brother and me always dressed up in costume to take in some of the events. Of course, as a kid, and some "adult kids" couldn't be a pirate unless you wore a patch over one eye, a red bandana around your head, and a scar drawn on your face.

There was always a re-enactment of the pirates attacking, boarding, and taking command of a galleon. Then I remembered columnist Dave Barry's creation of "Talk Like a Pirate Day!" With some of the responses to my post, it seems I found the key to unlock that "inner child", releasing more recollections of childhood pleasantries.

Now, all ages seem to be getting in on the act. Taking time off from these stressful times to do something asinine, somewhat ridiculous, but totally enjoyable,  at least for a little while. There doesn't seem to be much of that anymore.


copyright: Richard Riddle 07-28-15