Thursday, April 26, 2012

Vampire

I was sitting in a salon one day

Flooded by pheromones and sweet perfume

My hair being coiffed while I stare ahead

When a little taste of death soon appeared

Moving like a dark leopard into view

Thinly clad inside a searing black dress

Cutting her eyes in throat slitting slashes

Nailing everything down in the room

Her draining essence sucking at us all

She enthroned herself upon a high chair

Lifting her long black hair over the back

Letting it fall in a dark veil, she smiled

Her eyes saying all of you mean nothing

Ordering her servant of her desires

Her diamonded hands and ears glittering fire

Opening her phone, dismissing the room

The sight of these vampires is startling

However, it's difficult to pity their victims


They wished and now they receive


© Copyrights G. Jones 2007

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

GPA

It is becoming very clear to me that my fellow citizens spend most of their waking hours worshiping (GPA) greed, power, and attention. It only depends upon their physical, mental, or emotional state to which they have the greatest need, but they dream of all three. I have often pondered how it must feel to them when they reach their end, to finally realize it was for not. That they had overlooked the true reason for their brief period in physical form here on earth.


Sunday, April 22, 2012

The Hut

A soft blowing breeze lifted her sun bleached hair
The sea crashes on the jagged rocks below her perch
Her eyes, the gray shade of a distant floating cloud
She turns on bare feet and cautiously moves away

A seagull sails in the updraft at the cliff’s edge
The small trail snakes upward to a winter meadow
Her mind wanders as she knowingly climbs the path
She pictures the smiling eyes of the Moon Goddess

A rebirth of the God will come with winter winds
The snowy grass baths her feet as she tops the cliff
Her hands brush high weeds as she returns to the hut
She enters by sliding behind a thick tanned hide

A fire burns within the comfortable warm home
The flames lick a clay caldron simmering sweet scents
Her hand lifting a burning stick at fire’s edge
She moves toward the small altar with lighted wand

A shell of ground incense and two candles are lighted
The cup of spring water and fresh herbs are offered
Her soft knees bend as she kneels before the altar
She calls the Goddess and God to her safe circle

Oh, Goddess and God
Please open my eyes to the ancient magic
The wisdom hidden from my kind so long ago
That forever inhabits all of your creations
Within the eternal garden
We know as Earth

© Copyrights G. Jones 2008

The Martyr

She always greets with a quick smile
Sparkling eyes assure her concern
A soft handshake for human touch

Turning away, the smile then fades
Her eyes grow dim and without life
The soft human touch recedes, stone

For deep inside her broken heart
Remains a self-inflicted wound
From long ago, when life began

No matter how grand her fortune
Nothing will erase the awful past
Never accepting happiness

She’ll always remain the martyr

© Copyrights G. Jones 2008

The Man in the Field

                      Inspired by “Haystacks in Province,” by Vincent Van Gogh

Every day he was there
On his knees, standing, or kneeling
Gazing into the sun and the colors
He watched the road, the hay
The horizon and sometimes even me

His eyes followed my bucket
I felt, not uncomfortable, but
As if a passive madness were there
In that field
Watching, always watching

Once I stopped to say Hello
He ignored me
Standing erect, absorbing the sun
 Gazing at the golden hay

He was never in the same place
Sometimes, he was near the road
So close, I thought I could hear his breath
I read his very thoughts as I passed
Thoughts, I would never repeat
The sound of the water sloshing in my pail
And
His mind in rhythm

Yesterday, he was lying in the middle of the field
Staring upward into the sun
Motionless and still
Complete

Today he was gone
His absence left the field seemingly empty
Yet… the haystacks and the scattered straw
The sky, the sun itself
BrighterBrighterAlive

                                                © Copyrights G. Jones 2006