.
                                   molehill
                                molehill mol
                               e hill molehill
                              molehill moleh
                               molehill mol
                               lhill molehill
                               molehill mol
                               ehill molehill
                               molehill mol
                      molehill            molehill
                 molehill mole     hill molehill
                molehill  moleh  ill molehill m
                  olehill mole        hill  molehill
                        mole                    hill

You're all bark and no bite
How could something wrong feel so right
Wish we could've had just one night
But it wasn't in the cards

I'm alone here while you need space
Stuck between a rock and a hard place
It's the closest thing to any embrace
That I'll ever feel

Whether mountain or molehill
Tears are falling in my milk spill
I swallow down another hard pill
From my half empty glass

Vicarious atonement
Another happiness postponement
Damaged heart and stolen moments
Back to square one

If I were a witch; I'd cast a spell,
And put an end to lies men tell.
I wouldn't enchant their ****** nose,
But the place from where ***** flows.
I'd raise my wand, purse my lips,
And call the World to witness this,

"When men lie without a flinch
Their ***** shall shorten by an inch
And if they try to spin a tale
Their ***** shall, decrease in scale
And if they raise a deceitful stink
Lo and behold, their **** will shrink
Every time they make up lies
Their ***** will contract in size"

Making a molehill out of a mountain,
Will affect their natural fountain.

And planet Venus in the sky will look bigger than the ***** in their fly.

They will have to altogether give up lying if they don’t want their manhood dying

Make a mountain of math homework
seem merely a molehill.
Lay down the laws
of long division.

Teach yoga when we yawned,
sing loud when we slept.
Become a fellow fourth grader;
be the class clown.

Tie severed friendships
broken on the playground;
add new knots.
Be the judge,
but appoint us as jury.

Ease my fears
as the sky grew dark.
Let us listen to the radio
as New York burned.

Dare us to dig deeper, illuminate
our minds. Respect
our voices, accept our flaws.
And above all else,

let us teach her.



-With apologies to Elizabeth Homes

The molehill got bigger
Behind the red crimson barn. Gramp's gun today will have some fun. Shooting away at the furry rat bustard's!
Their holes have made my crop's a sickly figure
Creating my land into disaster
As a creating poet I'll write of the hole digger's
As a grandpa,
I'll shoot their brain out of their head's.
Mole day
Today their dead!

Do birds question their existance?
Do bees think they're alive?
Does the walrus fight the resistance?
Do horses just survive?

Does the grass give a rat's ***?
Do the trees even care?
Do the shrubs think the bushes are crass?
Do the flowers curse and swear?

Do the rolling plains feel plain?
Do the mountains feel like a molehill?
Does the ocean just go through the motion?
Do the valleys lay in alleys like road ****?

Does the Earth feel worth?
Does Uranus feel hanus?
Does Jupiter hate its girth?

Our Universe is the worst!

Mountain deterioration

Molehill sized problem
In view of others eyes,
Then why is it that mine
A mountain do divine?

Insistent drowning thoughts
Craving dreaded  loneliness
For alone there is no hate,
But too much time to contemplate.

A crowd of people
Yet to understand,
Their molehill can be climbed
My mountain is alive!

It grows and walks away
A steady pace I cannot match,
I chip away with building hate
Willing it to deteriorate.

If I can conquer this mountain
And start afresh anew,
Then this depression ruling high
Will be expelled with no forlorn goodbye.

But no.
My problems seem too large.
And that mountain in my mind,
I can never leave behind.

It stays,
It looms,
Depression booms.

My mountain will not deteriorate.

Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush
That overhung a molehill large and round,
I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush
Sing hymns to sunrise, and I drank the sound
With joy; and often, an intruding guest,
I watched her secret toil from day to day—
How true she warped the moss to form a nest,
And modelled it within with wood and clay;
And by and by, like heath-bells gilt with dew,
There lay her shining eggs, as bright as flowers,
Ink-spotted over shells of greeny blue;
And there I witnessed, in the sunny hours,
A brood of nature’s minstrels chirp and fly,
Glad as the sunshine and the laughing sky.

If someone tells you they like you
but you don't like them back the same way
how do you let them down gently
what are the words you should say

Do you shoulder the blame for the way that you feel
Do you tell them its you and not them
Do you tell thm they are just moving too fast
that their feelings for you are too prem

Or is it like pulling a plaster
just a swift yank and then it is done
it'll hurt like hell for a minute
but at least they weren't shot with a gun

And maybe I'm making a mountain
from a molehill that doesn't exist
maybe they want to take back what they said
now wouldn't that be a twist

Perhaps they are struggling to tell you
that you're not who they thought you were
that maybe they were a tad hasty
that their words were a mite premature

It seems that whenever I set out
to do the right thing I am cursed
to hurt those whos feelings I sought to protect
to end up making things worse

So forgive me if I have ever
caused you pain or caused you distress
it was only ever my intention
to do what I thought was best

And now as this play draws to an end
and reaches the final act
time will tell if we managed
to get out with our friendship intact.

The frog half fearful jumps across the path,
And little mouse that leaves its hole at eve
Nimbles with timid dread beneath the swath;
My rustling steps awhile their joys deceive,
Till past, and then the cricket sings more strong,
And grasshoppers in merry moods still wear
The short night weary with their fretting song.
Up from behind the molehill jumps the hare,
Cheat of his chosen bed, and from the bank
The yellowhammer flutters in short fears
From off its nest hid in the grasses rank,
And drops again when no more noise it hears.
Thus nature’s human link and endless thrall,
Proud man, still seems the enemy of all.

So moles are digging
Up the lawn
Creating holes in empty space and earth and dirt

And I with you love am

On a sheepskin rug
In Devon

In a cottage, holed by moles
In Devon,
Mystic land

And I am inside you
And your leg
Your thigh
Is burning
From log fire

Red and blue and white

Moles and woodsmoke
In Devon
In love

And everyone gone
But us two

And Louis Armstrong

What a wonderful world
Over and over the needle
Flows music to our ear-holes

In front of fire
On fire we are
On the rug

Sheepskin tickle
And if I knew
Your thigh was burning
I would have thrown
The young hard body of mine
Onto the fire to save you, love

To save forever this memory
And if I die
No matter

When you, happy
Take me
Inside you.

Life can, perhaps, be
Better

But no imagination
Nor Louis
Nor mole
May persuade me such

And you
And I
Love by

The fireside