Thursday, May 10, 2012

Music Dreams

 
To those who daydream
Dice clicking in loaded hands, empty pledge
Hair-shaking wetness on steamed windowpanes
Fingernail file passing on painted edge
Eye lashes blinking against flashing lanes

Grey Fedora and white knuckles knocking
Urgent business with platinum blonde and lace
Neon crackle and alley cat loving
Dark passageway to dead end people place

Sunglasses sparkle above ruby lips
Be the lovely handmaid of French delight
Scarf trailing red over twilight cool hips
Secret midnight panther fading from sight

Endless shelves of knowledge tempting poets muse
Hidden, private visions he dares to peruse
 
© Copyrights G. Jones 2006
 







Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Something Missing























He would often wonder why he was so blue
There didn't seem to be anything wrong
But, sometimes he got a feeling, like he had the flu
He'd felt empty and spent, certainly not strong
Frequently, he'd catch himself just thinking
In my existence, there is something missing
Often times, he felt there was a thing he wasn’t seeing
Like a great secret, hidden from his presence
“What could it be?” he thought.
Everything he had, money, a big white house
Fancy car, a sailboat, a nice dog, and lots of toys
He'd the best of jobs, a pretty wife, but he felt like a louse!
He just sat at home, and refused to go out with the boys
He'd started to feel defenseless, and even a bit paranoid
He just moped around the house, or fall asleep with a book
The grass started to get long and his wife became annoyed
Everything was perfect, but he felt like a big fish on a hook
“I have to do something about this!” he screamed at the trees
One day, he was searching for something in the closet, when
He heard someone calling his name, from under his bed
This was strange, because he was alone and his wife wasn’t in
Until he heard it once again, he’d thought it was in his head
“Who is under that bed?” he spoke with a tiny squeak
He stood up and walked toward the bed, stopped, waited
There isn’t anyone under the bed, he thought
He peered underneath the bed, because he felt he should
Lying underneath, was the old shotgun he’d bought
“Oh yeah, I’d forgotten that,” he whispered to himself
He tried to reach for it, but it had been pushed to far under
He went for his wife’s broom to use for a lever
Returning, he poked with the broom and spun the gun asunder
He poked once more, and accidentally hit the trigger

© Copyright G. Jones 2012
Photo by covertress.blogspot.com

The Talking Monkeys



Long ago, the I Am, decided to make the monkeys talk
They possessed wonderful opposing thumbs, now they could reason

But, once they began to practice talking and then questioning
They realized that one day they would inevitable all die

So, they had to think of a place they would go after their death
It was decided that each monkey must return to their God

There were many Gods from which the wise talking monkeys could choose
Of course, all were the same, I Am, was called by many odd names

By this time, I Am, had left them to flourish upon their world
For I Am, was a child, and had long grown bored with the monkeys

One day, a boy monkey noticed that other monkeys watched him
The cunning talking monkeys wanted to be wiser then he

So, he and his girl companion fabricated some clothing
Then they told the others what was theirs, and to leave it alone

All the talking monkeys, collected their own possessions to keep
The more fine trinkets they owed, the more powerful they became

The monkeys began to dress and speak differently also
The girl monkeys, shaved and painted their faces with bright colors

Monkeys united into opposing groups about the land
To protect their families, property, and prized possessions

A few monkeys thought they could gain power by killing rivals
They attacked their neighbors and took all their possessions and lands

Soon all the monkeys were in larger groups, waring for more power
Sometimes, they even did it in the name of their God, I Am

The monkeys grew wise and resourceful over the centuries
They were sure, they ruled their world and all the creatures within it

Then, I Am remembered the monkeys and became curious
He blew the stardust from their box, and slowly opened the lid

With much surprise, he found the box was empty and very dark
Nothing was left inside, but particles of fine cosmic dust

So, I am tossed the box into his great fire and watched it burn
And the talking monkeys returned to where they had all began


© Copyrights G. Jones 2012

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Bout What's Obvious to the Eye



You’re one of them people that think they’re, real cool
But man, I have seen a lot of fools, just like you

I’ve seen people get killed for nothing, in this town
And people die, without ever having lived
Ever time I look into your, pretty smiling face
Your eyes hit me like a twenty pound hammer
I’ve got red socks and sharp suspenders
A motorcycle and a double barreled shotgun for fun
How about we dance baby, on your heated seat
And wear Santa caps and ignore other people's fate
We both know that Mickey Mouse’s hands tell lies
Let’s play with our eight grade pickled frog brains
And watch police dogs sniff for hidden explosives
While we drink absinthe and eat chocolate cheesecake
Let us genuflect before coffee and Benedicts
While the mortgage rates drop and the foreclosures climb
Come on baby, straddle my motorcycle seat
Let’s blow this place and let the NewsChick sing

Bout what's obvious to eye


© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
Photo by stickslip.wordpress.com

Sunday, May 6, 2012

Hangover















Rat a tat tat tat
What do ya think about that
Brushing the cobwebs outta my senses
Woke up all alone, without your kisses


Pieces of my gear all over your place
Naked with a new tattoo and a aching face
Grabbing my things I spit in the sink
My eyes not focused on your child like sleep


Watching your lovely tummy raise and fall, with each breath
While I slide one leg and hop into my denim jeans
Taking a peek through the blinds of your place
As I pull on my worn and scuffed chaps
I see my bike, sitting under a big ole maple tree


I take the last cold beer from your fridge
Your panties, I find under the crooked bed
I tuck them into my leather jacket pocket
I run my hand gently through your long, sweat filled hair
While taking a moment to remember your laugh
I rinse the taste of you down slow


Softy, I lay the empty bottle in the trash
Pulling on my jacket and checking for my keys
I stop for a smoke, pulling one from your pack
Blowing smoke rings, observing the dirt on the bottom of your, sweet feet
Stepping outside, the screen door slips and slams
I hear you cough and shift in the bed


Crushing the smoking butt and straddling my bike
I look back at your window and smile
I fire up and kick her in gear
Later babe, it was fun and real
Hitting the road for work with the wind in my face
Shaking my head and thinking, no, unreal



@ Copyrights G. Jones 2010