“Me” Time

So busy, like a little bee,
Need to make some time for “me”,
Before myself goes on the lam,
And I forget just who I am,
Before my own identity,
Is just a “me” who used to be.

Most Depressing Songs Ever!

I Dare You

I dare you.
Strip down,
Stand naked in the summer rain,
Late in the evening,
And try to think about even one of your problems.
I dare you.

Apple

I lay there, ripe.
Swollen in the wet grass.
Waiting.
My brightness catches your eye.
You pick me up,
Inspect me for flaws.
Rub me on your sleeve.
And then,
When I’m ready,
You bite hard,
Into my delicate skin,
Concealing the soft,
Yielding flesh inside me.
My sweet juices,
Fill your mouth.
Drip down your chin,
You lap at them,
With your tongue.
Soon, I am devoured to my core.
You fling the rest of me,
Into the woods.
Your task is complete.
And mine.
For I am here,
To sacrifice my flesh.
And return my seeds,
To the earth.

The Fatherly Chain of Forgiveness

The circle turns, the world moves on,
Generations have come and gone,
In some ways it seems we’ve evolved,
In other ways we’ve just revolved,
We’ve handed down from dad to son,
A bag of tricks already spun,
Who knows how far back the chain goes?
With no sign it’s in its death throes,
My granddad not a dad you’d call,
Still dad forgave, mistakes and all,
Then Dad left us with naught to live on,
I learned to forgive and to move on,
It seems now I live my destiny,
Waiting for my sons to forgive me.

Gloomy June

I really hope that Gloomy June,
Will pack her things,
And leave us soon.
But if she doesn’t, that’s okay.
I’m heading out Californee-way.

Lobotomy

One usually associates them with,
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.
McMurphy’s eggs are scrambled,
And he becomes a vegetable omelette.
His body and his brain are then,
Reunited in death.

Real life is far less romantic.
My grandmother once told me the story,
Of her own mother’s lobotomy.
There were no triumphant escapes,
No mercy killings.
Only tragedy.

Her mother had a brain tumor.
In the 1950s, the usual treatment,
For a brain tumor was surgery.
To cut away the tumor,
Along with part of the brain:
A lobotomy.

Unlike McMurphy, she did not,
End up in a vegetative state.
She was not brain dead.
Instead, she was not she.
My grandmother’s mother,
Had become a different person.

She still recognized everyone.
Still knew who she was.
But her personality was altered.
Her affection now indifference.
My grandmother lost her mother,
Before her mother died.

The Nun

There once was a woman quite celibate,
Who picked up men just for the hell of it,
She went to great strains,
Trying to get their brains,
To just come out of their shell a bit.

A Treatise On The Art Of Wooing

1)
When one is entering the courtship dance,
Make every effort to increase your chance,
By trying to reveal the inner you,
(Which is what one does when trying to woo),
Don’t bother shopping to try and impress,
Kind gestures and words get more bang for less,
Gifts should be simple, few and far between,
Chosen or made to show just what you mean,
For the truth is you won’t get very far,
If you can’t cleverly show who you are!

2)
Wooing should not be a strain,
Close your wallet, just use your brain,
For some intrique, some fun, and some laughter,
Will more likely get you what you’re after.

3)
There was a young woman named Kimberly,
Hoped a certain man would woo her you see,
She wanted him to be charming,
Clever and disarming,
And not crass like the other fish in the sea.