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

 

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

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

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