Thistle seeds, though small
Will provide hungry finches
Their favorite feast
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
Author's Note: The Memory Photographs Series
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Vegas Run
The highway air feels good today
Heat a risin’ like, a mirror
The rattlesnakes, on a low bake
Desert sand, rides on the warm wind
Nature’s soundtrack like bees abuzz
A soothing, hypnotic siren
A mind numbing song, stuck on play
Haunting thoughts, keeping well at bay
Birds of prey, circling the distance
A jackrabbit rattles a bush
The taste, of a cool water drink
Refreshes, my dry whiskey throat
Back astride the motorcycle
Racing, toward the sinking sun
A hot date, with a dark beauty
Restore my, Vegas sanity
Ride, daydreaming of neon lights
Hotel room, champagne hot tub, fate
© Copyrights G. Jones 2007
Author's Note: A View From the Wind Series
Heat a risin’ like, a mirror
The rattlesnakes, on a low bake
Desert sand, rides on the warm wind
Nature’s soundtrack like bees abuzz
A soothing, hypnotic siren
A mind numbing song, stuck on play
Haunting thoughts, keeping well at bay
Birds of prey, circling the distance
A jackrabbit rattles a bush
The taste, of a cool water drink
Refreshes, my dry whiskey throat
Back astride the motorcycle
Racing, toward the sinking sun
A hot date, with a dark beauty
Restore my, Vegas sanity
Ride, daydreaming of neon lights
Hotel room, champagne hot tub, fate
© Copyrights G. Jones 2007
Author's Note: A View From the Wind Series
If Poetry Were War
If poetry were war
The form would not portray
Rhyme nor reason
The writer is possessed
By a corrupted muse
Who knows no shame
Thirsting for a power
A need to conquer all
Even to death
The loud and ranting words
Lies to achieve an end
Hidden agendas
If poetry were war
The poem would have no end
Just the ever repeating images
Of death and tears
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
Author's Note: The Path to Consciousness Series
The form would not portray
Rhyme nor reason
The writer is possessed
By a corrupted muse
Who knows no shame
Thirsting for a power
A need to conquer all
Even to death
The loud and ranting words
Lies to achieve an end
Hidden agendas
If poetry were war
The poem would have no end
Just the ever repeating images
Of death and tears
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
Author's Note: The Path to Consciousness Series
Home Sweet Home
A fresh green shine, covers my island home each Spring
An emerald, circled by a sapphire blue sea
Both east and west, guarded by steep snow-capped mountains
This earthly paradise, beneath the lush tall trees
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
Author's Note: The Memory Photographs Series
An emerald, circled by a sapphire blue sea
Both east and west, guarded by steep snow-capped mountains
This earthly paradise, beneath the lush tall trees
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
Author's Note: The Memory Photographs Series
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Liberty, Hong Kong
The streets of, Hong Kong, are bustling this fine morning
Out for tea, noodles, a tattoo, and lots of beer
Luckily, the ship was put to pier side mooring
Dropping my laundry at, The Fleet, I have light gear
In a café, I sip and slurp, while bird watching
Lines of gorgeous cages, sagging above my head
To, Ricky’s Tattoo, through the human mass swimming
Morn, I awake hung over and bandaged in bed
In the shower, I inspect my new dragon
Below in berthing, I adorn my crackerjacks
Up topside for morning quarterdeck watch, I’m on
Spend my time watching the seagulls hover the stacks
Another great port of call in the China Sea
City of Victoria, a fine place to be
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
Author's Note: Sailor's Sonnet Series
Out for tea, noodles, a tattoo, and lots of beer
Luckily, the ship was put to pier side mooring
Dropping my laundry at, The Fleet, I have light gear
In a café, I sip and slurp, while bird watching
Lines of gorgeous cages, sagging above my head
To, Ricky’s Tattoo, through the human mass swimming
Morn, I awake hung over and bandaged in bed
In the shower, I inspect my new dragon
Below in berthing, I adorn my crackerjacks
Up topside for morning quarterdeck watch, I’m on
Spend my time watching the seagulls hover the stacks
Another great port of call in the China Sea
City of Victoria, a fine place to be
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
Author's Note: Sailor's Sonnet Series
Strolling the Bridge
Night in the Persian Gulf can be, very eerie
Steaming along the eastern coast, the bizarre sights
Tall flaming spires from ghostly oil fields, so fiery
It's as if I sail the shores of hell on these nights
The seas part before me in phosphorescent curl
Menacing gun boats prowl the watery darkness
In the masts, shifting albatross silently whirl
Strolling the bridge, coffee cup for my alertness
My mind occupied by my dear wife and our home
Counting the days until I return to her smile
My searching eyes spot a light in the ocean foam
I raise my glasses and judge its distance, a mile
I report the unknown contact down to combat
Thoughts return to her, and the beach, where we sat
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
Author's Note: Sailor's Sonnet Series
Steaming along the eastern coast, the bizarre sights
Tall flaming spires from ghostly oil fields, so fiery
It's as if I sail the shores of hell on these nights
The seas part before me in phosphorescent curl
Menacing gun boats prowl the watery darkness
In the masts, shifting albatross silently whirl
Strolling the bridge, coffee cup for my alertness
My mind occupied by my dear wife and our home
Counting the days until I return to her smile
My searching eyes spot a light in the ocean foam
I raise my glasses and judge its distance, a mile
I report the unknown contact down to combat
Thoughts return to her, and the beach, where we sat
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
Author's Note: Sailor's Sonnet Series
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Cooing Spring
Lovely cooing doves
Is a sweet reminder of
The approaching spring
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
Author's Note: The Memory Photographs Series
Is a sweet reminder of
The approaching spring
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
Author's Note: The Memory Photographs Series
Just Bees
The fading pipedreams of my generation astound me
I laugh now at our childish thoughts of self autonomy
Of the one collective human soul, we were not aware
That we are all within creation’s universal stare
The lies of our fathers, are playing us now once again
Women die daily in wars beyond reason, young men lame
Greedy money pigs now steal, using electric shell game
The rich become even richer, and poor the poor remain
But, nothing is being done that hasn’t been seen prior
Each generation is fooled just the same as ones below
The bees dance to show the way and all begin to follow
And the cycle continues with original desire
What was, will always be, with fresh faces, Kipling says by
Robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul
Gods of the street Main are no different, then those of Wall
One simply lacks the other’s opportunity to lie
From birth, to be driven by a solitary word, me
For us, the world was all about what we wanted to see
Not once, until too late, did we realize we’re just a bee
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
Author's Note: The Path to Consciousness Series
I laugh now at our childish thoughts of self autonomy
Of the one collective human soul, we were not aware
That we are all within creation’s universal stare
The lies of our fathers, are playing us now once again
Women die daily in wars beyond reason, young men lame
Greedy money pigs now steal, using electric shell game
The rich become even richer, and poor the poor remain
But, nothing is being done that hasn’t been seen prior
Each generation is fooled just the same as ones below
The bees dance to show the way and all begin to follow
And the cycle continues with original desire
What was, will always be, with fresh faces, Kipling says by
Robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul
Gods of the street Main are no different, then those of Wall
One simply lacks the other’s opportunity to lie
From birth, to be driven by a solitary word, me
For us, the world was all about what we wanted to see
Not once, until too late, did we realize we’re just a bee
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
Author's Note: The Path to Consciousness Series
The Decision
To those who have had to decide
It was early, that spring morning I fled
Waving, crying, and mouthing I love you
Mom and Sis standing there, the tears they shed
Eighteen, scared stiff, and without a clue
Later, I would learn to miss them badly
Feeling melancholy, and on my own
But now, the bus starting forward slowly
My heart breaking, leaving them with a grown
I was overcome, a sad excitement
Not realizing, that the life I had known
Twas now ending, with this one commitment
Nor I thought, of the life they faced alone
A painful decision, young men must make
Life, or remain behind for other’s sake
.
© Copyrights G. Jones 2006
Author's Note: Sailor's Sonnet Series.
It was early, that spring morning I fled
Waving, crying, and mouthing I love you
Mom and Sis standing there, the tears they shed
Eighteen, scared stiff, and without a clue
Later, I would learn to miss them badly
Feeling melancholy, and on my own
But now, the bus starting forward slowly
My heart breaking, leaving them with a grown
I was overcome, a sad excitement
Not realizing, that the life I had known
Twas now ending, with this one commitment
Nor I thought, of the life they faced alone
A painful decision, young men must make
Life, or remain behind for other’s sake
.
© Copyrights G. Jones 2006
Author's Note: Sailor's Sonnet Series.
The Devil's Basement
Staring upward through tear filled bloodshot blues
She exhales a desperate helpless scream
Her hand rattling a rusted foul toilet
Flushing a terrifying pregnancy
Her tears staining the vile broken tiled floor
Her plight echoed from the devil's basement
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
Author's Note: The In the Weird Series
She exhales a desperate helpless scream
Her hand rattling a rusted foul toilet
Flushing a terrifying pregnancy
Her tears staining the vile broken tiled floor
Her plight echoed from the devil's basement
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
Author's Note: The In the Weird Series
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