Delicious pleasures
Leave the fool in dismal need
Attempting to embrace life
Lying in cheap robes
At the harlot’s feet
Bottom times
© Copyrights G. Jones 2006
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Boat People
To those who keep the seas free
They place themselves board tiny boats at sea,
floating alone, hoping for savior's mast.
Their homes overran by threshing V.C.
We approached, fearful faces were made fast.
Their hungry eyes looking upward for trust,
one by one we hauled them aboard, swing and hoist.
There were women, children, and old men, we must!
A tent city constructed, their tears moist.
We sank their boat when they were safe aboard.
Grenades to the hull and below she sank.
We sailed them to Hong Kong, for free room and board.
Leaving them, we knew for freedom they thank.
People seek out freedom from oppression.
My shipmates and I survive a lesson.
© Copyrights G. Jones 2006
Author's Comments:
"This is an event I experienced during the end of the Vietnam War, when thousands of "Boat People" fled Vietnam for freedom. My destroyer happened to rescue 417 of them that particular day from an attack by Thai pirates."
They place themselves board tiny boats at sea,
floating alone, hoping for savior's mast.
Their homes overran by threshing V.C.
We approached, fearful faces were made fast.
Their hungry eyes looking upward for trust,
one by one we hauled them aboard, swing and hoist.
There were women, children, and old men, we must!
A tent city constructed, their tears moist.
We sank their boat when they were safe aboard.
Grenades to the hull and below she sank.
We sailed them to Hong Kong, for free room and board.
Leaving them, we knew for freedom they thank.
People seek out freedom from oppression.
My shipmates and I survive a lesson.
© Copyrights G. Jones 2006
Author's Comments:
"This is an event I experienced during the end of the Vietnam War, when thousands of "Boat People" fled Vietnam for freedom. My destroyer happened to rescue 417 of them that particular day from an attack by Thai pirates."
Paper Mache
For those who teach of dragons
No, don't be silly, it couldn't have moved.
Although, for a fraction of a second,
did one of the legs and the long spiked tail
seem to shift and relax,
then, again, frozen into place?
Working late at my desk this evening,
starting to see things, I suppose.
Relax...
It was just the sound of my silver pen scribbling.
Click!!!
Whatever that was, I don't want to know.
I think I will just finish this at home.
The question is, making it to the door.
Would it allow me to just walk out? Leave?
Was the head tilted this way before?
No...
Okay...
Okay...
Placing papers in my briefcase
and finishing the last of my cold coffee.
Moving for the door, reaching for the light!
and finishing the last of my cold coffee.
Moving for the door, reaching for the light!
Click!!!
Blackness, then it has me.
the dragon
Blackness, then it has me.
the dragon
© Copyrights G. Jones 2006
Author's Comments:
"Teachers working late"
My students had created a twelve foot long, three foot wide, three foot tall paper mache dragon in the back of my classroom.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Have a Great Day
I suppose for me
Love, was never to be
I have prayed to believe!
Each time, leaving me to aggrieve
Left to love only me
My aching heart to bleed
Some days, when I awake
Upward I drag, for other’s sake
Each dreary day, but a remake
Creating the same, dreary heartbreak
A make believe love, my mind will bake
By day’s end, to realize it is all just a fake
One night, when I’m drunk
I will work up the spunk
Placing my gun to my head, like a punk
Until then, I’ll go through the motions
Applying dye and anti-aging potions
I’ll smile, and say with an honest face
Have a great day!
To them I will say
© Copyrights G. Jones 2006
Grandma
Old buttons and fragile lace gloves
Soft swinging dress and simple pearls
Residing in a wooded frame
She is only a memory
I’ve oft seen her tired solemn face
In the yellowed and worn pages
Of old family picture books
A reflection of poverty
And a Testament to class
And a Testament to class
© Copyrights G. Jones 2006
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Dark Glory
To the keepers of glory
He can hear the devil locusts humming
Within him is the keeper of glory
Rockets sailing and leaders are marching
Steadily, yearly, the earth grows darker
Heart heated by the five points is unfit
Flowing stripes are faded, like his eyes
But, these days, he can no longer feel it
The sound of locust grows, his conscience cries
He has been the keeper for so long now
He asks himself if it really exists
He feels the cold sweat running from his brow
“Be strong, be strong,” from his lips he insists
With a thumb resting on a star, he feels
Dying embers in the heart that baffles
What could make it a flame? What once was steel
It's beyond repair, he knows a shambles
The soldiers take the field without honor
He wishes for deafness, cloudy blindness
So not to bare witness to the story
As his world spins into this dark glory
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
I
He can hear the devil locusts humming
Within him is the keeper of glory
Rockets sailing and leaders are marching
Steadily, yearly, the earth grows darker
Heart heated by the five points is unfit
Flowing stripes are faded, like his eyes
But, these days, he can no longer feel it
The sound of locust grows, his conscience cries
He has been the keeper for so long now
He asks himself if it really exists
He feels the cold sweat running from his brow
“Be strong, be strong,” from his lips he insists
With a thumb resting on a star, he feels
Dying embers in the heart that baffles
What could make it a flame? What once was steel
It's beyond repair, he knows a shambles
The soldiers take the field without honor
He wishes for deafness, cloudy blindness
So not to bare witness to the story
As his world spins into this dark glory
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
I
Bonehead
To the clueless
They came for you with their white jump suits and nets
Changing your known reality
Washed and disinfected
Special jacket
Had to teach you to obey the laws of God and society
You desperately pleaded with her
Hold on! Wait!
Not yet!
They strapped you down to a large flat wooden table
The long needle went deep
As the masked man
Said, she lied
You slowly went limp, while a mouse whispered a fable
A fat red rubber ball went
Into your mouth
You cried
The skin was slowly peeled back from your white skull
A shiny drill cut a small hole
In your pretty head
Just right
Taking a metal rod, they slid it into your brain real tight
You could feel your mind
Take a long sweet
Vacation flight
Then you're home and again living your precious life
Not in the least bit are you
Aware that everything
Had changed
You're about right now, only a couple more treatments
The one you love most
Will call them again
Next month
© Copyrights 2012 G. Jones
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
From Her to You
He'd stopped the car on the road near the railing's end
A haze hung in the air above the city below
Halfway down the hill, he'd finished relieving himself
A sharp reflection had caught the corner of his eye
The sound of a zip echoed, he continued stumbling along
His path, a bit tricky, over garbage bags and loose cans
After some effort, he’d made his way about half way there
That’s when he noticed the object of concern, a diamond
It was attached to a gold wedding band, his wife’s
He’d presented it to her, twenty years ago today
The ring was on the finger of a thin pale hand
Frozen, staring at the hand, his heart rate increased
He forced himself forward, slowly and purposely
More came into view, an outstretched arm, bruised and pale
Then, all of the sudden, the face, lifeless eyes watching him
Upon seeing the face, he swiftly rushed forward, panting
He reached the body, its overweight nudeness gleaming
He'd dumped it an hour before, from the car above
His wife looked up at him, in her usual vacant stare
Bending down beside her, taking her outstretched hand in his
Looking up toward the car, he twisted the ring free
After securing it, he stuffed it into his pocket
Carefully he made his way up the hill, back to the car
He'd begun to sweat, his breathing labored
The driver’s door slammed, he sighed heavily
Fumbling his pocket, he retrieved the prized ring
He reached and dropped it into the hand of his frowning lover
“There Baby, from her to you,” he breathlessly gleamed
Copyright G. Jones 2012
A haze hung in the air above the city below
Halfway down the hill, he'd finished relieving himself
A sharp reflection had caught the corner of his eye
The sound of a zip echoed, he continued stumbling along
His path, a bit tricky, over garbage bags and loose cans
After some effort, he’d made his way about half way there
That’s when he noticed the object of concern, a diamond
It was attached to a gold wedding band, his wife’s
He’d presented it to her, twenty years ago today
The ring was on the finger of a thin pale hand
Frozen, staring at the hand, his heart rate increased
He forced himself forward, slowly and purposely
More came into view, an outstretched arm, bruised and pale
Then, all of the sudden, the face, lifeless eyes watching him
Upon seeing the face, he swiftly rushed forward, panting
He reached the body, its overweight nudeness gleaming
He'd dumped it an hour before, from the car above
His wife looked up at him, in her usual vacant stare
Bending down beside her, taking her outstretched hand in his
Looking up toward the car, he twisted the ring free
After securing it, he stuffed it into his pocket
Carefully he made his way up the hill, back to the car
He'd begun to sweat, his breathing labored
The driver’s door slammed, he sighed heavily
Fumbling his pocket, he retrieved the prized ring
He reached and dropped it into the hand of his frowning lover
“There Baby, from her to you,” he breathlessly gleamed
Copyright G. Jones 2012
Everlasting Toad
Inspired by the novel, Tuck Everlasting, by Natalie Babbitt
Within a deep forest beneath a towering tree
Runs an everlasting stream of immortality
Bubbling amid shattered and ancient stones
From it, a bottle is filled and later spilled
Upon the back of a fearful frog
Condemning him to an eternal hop
Often he passes the grave of the young girl
That has long grown old and passed away
She had refused to partake, in that same bottle
She spilled it upon the grey hide of the lovely toad
Ensuring him a never ending bounce, forever freezing him
In place, within the cycle of life, living each day, just to be
Spending his time diving beneath a million wheels
Upon a red hot suicidal highway, hoping for relief
Dreaming of one day joining her in an everlasting sleep
© Copyrights G. Jones 2007
Within a deep forest beneath a towering tree
Runs an everlasting stream of immortality
Bubbling amid shattered and ancient stones
From it, a bottle is filled and later spilled
Upon the back of a fearful frog
Condemning him to an eternal hop
Often he passes the grave of the young girl
That has long grown old and passed away
She had refused to partake, in that same bottle
She spilled it upon the grey hide of the lovely toad
Ensuring him a never ending bounce, forever freezing him
In place, within the cycle of life, living each day, just to be
Spending his time diving beneath a million wheels
Upon a red hot suicidal highway, hoping for relief
Dreaming of one day joining her in an everlasting sleep
© Copyrights G. Jones 2007
The Muse's Goblet
Muse's heady impressions flowing
Fires a torch of creative passions
Martini and music slowly evokes
Unheard song of broken imagery
From the invisible goblet pours
Into my brain's river
Of ideas
Penned
By
My
Poetic form
Another series of rhythmic
Lines take shape upon written page
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
Fires a torch of creative passions
Martini and music slowly evokes
Unheard song of broken imagery
From the invisible goblet pours
Into my brain's river
Of ideas
Penned
By
My
Poetic form
Another series of rhythmic
Lines take shape upon written page
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
Wind of the Early Morn
The majestic scene atop the eastern mountains
Sunrise piercing a slender crimson golden path
Tapering downward into the calm turquoise Sound
As I glide through the cool wind of the early morn
Sunrise piercing a slender crimson golden path
Tapering downward into the calm turquoise Sound
As I glide through the cool wind of the early morn
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
Monday, June 4, 2012
Bewitched
Fixed in your eyes, arms, and legs
As though I’m in a dream state
Shadows dance around our bed
Reflections of your desires
Reflections of your desires
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
Sunday, June 3, 2012
She Rock
She be soft and smooth, but true within
She has much of many things
She has scars from passion and passage
She be reflective and reflected upon
She be a story of love and war
She has felt the lips of fish
She has been skipped and collected
She be pet or weight of sentiment
She be whatever a mind needs her to be
She has always been true within
She Rock
© Copyrights G. Jones 2006
Her Decision
The dank city was quite
With an occasional
Horn or distant siren
Everything dripping damp
A heavy rain had just ceased
Washing away soot and grime
The sound of Salsa from somewhere
Fire escape music serenade
Echoes down the concrete canyon
As she sat watching and listening
Attention focused across the way
An Italian restaurant front view
A pair seated near a street side window
There was a woman that looked near her age
Her date, much older and slightly graying
She tried to guess at their conversation
As a cigarette burned between her nails
A single raindrop lands upon her head
After a short time, the couple leaves
She follows them, keeping her distance
Stopping, when they enter a hotel
Turning, she begins the long walk home
Pulling her jacket closed, zipping
Tears start to run from her tired eyes
She had suspected for some time
Her best friend and her own father
She thought of her naïve mother
Soon she reached her apartment
Fumbling for the key, shaking
Rush, slamming the bathroom door
Horn or distant siren
Everything dripping damp
A heavy rain had just ceased
Washing away soot and grime
The sound of Salsa from somewhere
Fire escape music serenade
Echoes down the concrete canyon
As she sat watching and listening
Attention focused across the way
An Italian restaurant front view
A pair seated near a street side window
There was a woman that looked near her age
Her date, much older and slightly graying
She tried to guess at their conversation
As a cigarette burned between her nails
A single raindrop lands upon her head
After a short time, the couple leaves
She follows them, keeping her distance
Stopping, when they enter a hotel
Turning, she begins the long walk home
Pulling her jacket closed, zipping
Tears start to run from her tired eyes
She had suspected for some time
Her best friend and her own father
She thought of her naïve mother
Soon she reached her apartment
Fumbling for the key, shaking
Rush, slamming the bathroom door
Later, lying in bed
She made her decision
I shall never marry
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
While Crawling Toward the Finish
I had been in a deep dream, searching for a lost puppy
When the clanging alarm startled me to reality
The clear images fading like a burning photograph
Then, a desperate sense of unrecoverable loss
Lying on a couch, the beacon clock, clicking my heartbeat
With no desire in facing the awaiting mundane day
My aching back, reminds me of a night of stooped typing
And my dry mouth, of the many vodka inspirations
Opening my eyes, the room is semi aglow with dawn
Turning, I meet the scrutinizing eyes of porcelain frogs
Sliding roughly to a difficult sitting arrangement
Reaching for a bottle of room temperature water
My tongue dampened, I lean back to remember the reason
Why did I need to be shaken from my unconscious state?
Work, yes, that essential means to maintain my existence
Would I be teaching high school mathematics, English, or science?
Rising to my feet and in route the coffee maker
Now noticing the radio playing in the milieu
Earthquake, fire, shootings, political scandal, and weather
The essentials for the complex human news equation
Leaning over a large bed, I kiss my sleeping wife's brow
Patting the dog’s head, continuing to the master’s bath
Later, while adjusting my suspenders, my wife reminds
Lunch is in the refrigerator, don’t forget the trash
On the short commute, through a cold northwest drizzling rain
I evaluate my current role as middle aged
Spending each day killing time, while crawling toward the finish
In my castle of souvenirs and faded memories
Mowing an endless lawn and shoveling tons of compost
The whisper of worry in my ears, about debt and health
Watching my wife grow old and pets slowly age until death
I laugh, at what seems like, the pure senselessness of it all
During my day, I continue to ponder while teaching
Looking into the young faces of my eager students
They are filled with the exciting beginning of new lives
Far from comprehending the classic middle aged crisis
In the evening, within the walls of my cozy cave
The television news professing the Armageddon
My loving wife sleeping off dinner in her recliner
I freshen my drink and am silently thankful for her
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
The clear images fading like a burning photograph
Then, a desperate sense of unrecoverable loss
Lying on a couch, the beacon clock, clicking my heartbeat
With no desire in facing the awaiting mundane day
My aching back, reminds me of a night of stooped typing
And my dry mouth, of the many vodka inspirations
Opening my eyes, the room is semi aglow with dawn
Turning, I meet the scrutinizing eyes of porcelain frogs
Sliding roughly to a difficult sitting arrangement
Reaching for a bottle of room temperature water
My tongue dampened, I lean back to remember the reason
Why did I need to be shaken from my unconscious state?
Work, yes, that essential means to maintain my existence
Would I be teaching high school mathematics, English, or science?
Rising to my feet and in route the coffee maker
Now noticing the radio playing in the milieu
Earthquake, fire, shootings, political scandal, and weather
The essentials for the complex human news equation
Leaning over a large bed, I kiss my sleeping wife's brow
Patting the dog’s head, continuing to the master’s bath
Later, while adjusting my suspenders, my wife reminds
Lunch is in the refrigerator, don’t forget the trash
On the short commute, through a cold northwest drizzling rain
I evaluate my current role as middle aged
Spending each day killing time, while crawling toward the finish
In my castle of souvenirs and faded memories
Mowing an endless lawn and shoveling tons of compost
The whisper of worry in my ears, about debt and health
Watching my wife grow old and pets slowly age until death
I laugh, at what seems like, the pure senselessness of it all
During my day, I continue to ponder while teaching
Looking into the young faces of my eager students
They are filled with the exciting beginning of new lives
Far from comprehending the classic middle aged crisis
In the evening, within the walls of my cozy cave
The television news professing the Armageddon
My loving wife sleeping off dinner in her recliner
I freshen my drink and am silently thankful for her
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
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