Who is the carrier of the mist?
Who is the harbinger of justice?

I wonder how many sweet reeds
There are that blow in the wind?

The fog, dividing the big square.
The mist, forming a circle.

An encircling protection.
The night has its shades.

We have seen the good mist
Positively rolling along the open field
Towards us
We who make the camaraderie.
“Oh, now that’s a good mist”.

The mist, the fog. Wet dew
Of sustenance
With hope, I bow to you.

Laying alone in a tent,
breathing's heavier, sweat is dripping.
I think I've had too much.

Too many festival treats obtained off
friendly vendors, in it as much as you are,
looking for a good time, at a small cost.

The sun begins to rise, heart races faster,
Emotions both empathetic and sympathetic.
I think I've had too much.

Laying in this tent amongst the other sheep in the same boat around me.
I have accepted my faith
This is my fault, will I notify anyone?
No **** it, I don't want to cause a scene,
I'll let them find out

Too many thoughts rushing through my
head,
too many apologies that will be owed, that I won't around for,
I'm filled with self disgust but maybe,
its for the best.
I think I've had too much

I’m learning how to see
What it means to be alone and not lonely
Trapped in the worries of my mind
Nobody safe to turn and find
I look at eyes in the crowd
Wish I could hear their thoughts out loud
What’s going on inside
Is there anyone who can stand by my side
Take away the holes in the dance floor
And still be something of which I can be sure
I can feel his presence like ghost
And it’s the thing I want the most

We know it by the
Huge blinking lights
From rides that
Tend to make people
Throw
Up
Dairy Queen.

We know it by
Those big, intricate
Winding tatoos
That snake up the arms
Of half of the attendees
That have a message
That I can't read.

We know it by
Little children
Clinging,
Terrified,
To the hands of their
Irresponsible mothers.

And we know it
By inhaling so much
Secondhand smoke
That we're almost positive
That a little lung cancer
Has invaded our privacy.

We know it by
The Herndon Festival.

And we love it.

I promised myself
"I will get there next year!",
With the people I trust though. Not the ones from the crowd.

we will save together,
and re-watch the history,
and plan every outfit, every detail to a tee.

we will travel together, laugh together
and come across unforgettable moments together.
But nothing will be planned once we step in the gates

to realise we are ready.
being Graduated and Free

Hmm, Christmas season has gone, good:
Presents shoved in drawers, some used, some abused,
Some never to see the light of day, until thrown away,
Others worn with delight, played with, till dawn’s first light,
We never even saw church, or thought of god, any god.
Why should we? Religious? Nah, not us, Darwin rules,
We had science in schools, we mocked the fools,
Who even imagined an all seeing deity, with awe,
Punishing and rewarding, everything he saw,
But we ate our fill, partied with skill, just avoided,
The need to ****, especially to ****, so messy,
Never allowing our own family blood to spill,
The clean up is swallowing, such a bitter pill.

Hmm, Easter approaches, we do it all again,
Stretching our family, what an awful strain,
Pretending we like, adore, the snidely sneers,
We just ignore, avoiding the drunk, such a bore,
While those of us, who are close, watch the chaos,
Feel the undertows of love streaming among us,
Binding the salient parts, making a family work,
For the kids, you see, a duty we, must never shirk,
Our only legacy, from the lives we have built,
Making us continue, regardless of the guilt,
Emotional alloys in alcohol flux, so easily spilt,
Another religious festival, who gives a toss?
A land of empty churches, not such a loss.

Hmm, Whitsun lies beyond Easter: what?
What is, Pentecostal; exactly? More rot?
Fifty days, oh yeah, makes sense, sure,
Makes nonsense, have faith, no defence,
We don’t care: get it! Got it? Well good!
No nailed-god; for heathens like us; we hijack,
As Christianity hijacked our paganism, yes!
Copied and pasted their festivals over others,
Took our sacred places, chanted in dulcet tones,
Where we gathered, running naked around stones,
Leaping cleansing fires, bumping ugly bones,
How’d you like that, preacher folk; in shock?
Burn in your created Hell; let heathen Earth rock.

© Paul M Chafer 2014

Trophies for last place,
And a Holiday for every weekend.
A taste of this and that...
OF Italy and Ireland and Asia and Germany
and every township in the county,
and 3 collective Miles of
Portable Toilets,
Strategically Positioned
throughout each event.
cause there is going to be a Lot of ****...

Hooray for whatever we are celebrating this weekend.
Whichever one of the 30 different Woodstocks
Or week long Music Festivals
That exist only so
the Hippest of Hipsters
can congratulate each other
on how Indie they are.

Ya know, it's happy hour somewhere...
Why not party
All Day, Everyday?
Devalue the weekend
Like we have thanksgiving
And New Years.
A Five Kay For the Common Cold,
And We'll even give trophies for last place.
Cause we're all winners here.
and we're all hungry.
And What represents your heritage better than
Pizza or sauerkraut or General Tso's
And endless flowing barrels of refreshing, Ice cold, Domestically brewed and Nationally brand recognized Alcoholic Beverages?

IT's The Great Dumb Down, Charlie Brown!!!
A symptom of the Universe
If there ever was one.
Mass anesthesia to keep us all content
With our collective mediocrities,
our Forfeit Potential,
Our Day Job that doesn't pay very well,
But kind has benefits.
So we stay on.
In fear of nothing better.
It makes feel important.
Like Wheel of Fortune makes us feel smart.
(Wow, you can spell?!)...
Dwindling returns in a world of Beige and Pastels
And the Muted Grays of limestone concrete.
We Accept less and we Get less and we accept less and we Get less
And On And on and on,
till we hit that lowest common cultural denominator,
where your race is what food you eat,
And we all qualify for the special Olympics.

Sleep has not taken me hostage yet
And it is now 5:00am
It probably has not come to me yet because of that monster I drank at the festival
Or maybe the fact that you were there
And I was there but
My heart was not

And my plan was to get ****** up this night
But I wanted to stay sober and remember that you were there