Thursday, July 5, 2012
Mental Masturbation
My own mental masturbation
It keeps me from going insane
Is there anybody out there?
Is what Pink Floyd has asked today
I do feel comfortably numb
Just weeding my garden each day
My dry lips silently moving
Reciting old mistakes I've made
Thinking myself rather twisted
But, in a harmless sort of way
With impatient hunger I crave
As if running for a closing gate
Searching for the true path to take
Over egos with feet in their grave
Pushing my life to its shrinking limit
While remaining here in my place
Older and even more confused
Mental masturbation, is my fate!
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
Author's Note: The In the Weird Series
And the Radio Played
The old Ford truck was dusting the gravel roads that day
I was listening to some pounding seventies hits
My second bottle was about empty by my thirst
Nothing much else to do on a hot dry southern day
But drive, drink, and listen to the AM radio
Cruising the hills, hairpin curves, and old wooden bridges
On this particular day, I was feeling just fine
A pint of vodka, grapefruit juice, and a little weed
Lived so far back in the woods, that was my company
A troubled, poor loner, with an old blue pick-up truck
I had driven those back roads over a hundred times
A stop at a bootlegger and a lovely dream ride
This particular day, the tie rod end just broke loose
The steering wheel spun like a top in my fumbling hands
I dived in the floorboard as we went end over end
My Ford and I landed stuck between two cedar trees
I remember the quite ‘cept for the radio
Doors were stuck, so I kicked out the windshield and crawled free
After hiking about halfway up the embankment
I heard the radio still playing back in the truck
It was a Lynyrd Skynyrd classic, my favorite
“Gimme Back My Bullets”
So, I went back down the hill to where the old Ford sat
I climbed on the hood and reached through the shattered windshield
I shut the ignition off and pocketed the keys
As I started back up the embankment, I just laughed
Didn’t matter if the key was on, the truck was totaled
When I reached the road, I flagged an approaching sedan
It was two girls from school looking real scared when they stopped
Trying to look my best with blood running down my face
I said, “You ladies headed my way, by any chance?”
They looked at each other and one of them said, “Where’s that?”
Brushing the broken glass out of my long raven hair
I dusted off my shirt and then tucked it into my jeans
Looking back down at my old truck pinned between those trees
I bent down and looked in the driver’s window and smiled
“Well it don’t matter babe, as long as it’s not here.”
Ended up walking home that day, laughing all the way
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
Author's Note: The Memory Photographs Series
I was listening to some pounding seventies hits
My second bottle was about empty by my thirst
Nothing much else to do on a hot dry southern day
But drive, drink, and listen to the AM radio
Cruising the hills, hairpin curves, and old wooden bridges
On this particular day, I was feeling just fine
A pint of vodka, grapefruit juice, and a little weed
Lived so far back in the woods, that was my company
A troubled, poor loner, with an old blue pick-up truck
I had driven those back roads over a hundred times
A stop at a bootlegger and a lovely dream ride
This particular day, the tie rod end just broke loose
The steering wheel spun like a top in my fumbling hands
I dived in the floorboard as we went end over end
My Ford and I landed stuck between two cedar trees
I remember the quite ‘cept for the radio
Doors were stuck, so I kicked out the windshield and crawled free
After hiking about halfway up the embankment
I heard the radio still playing back in the truck
It was a Lynyrd Skynyrd classic, my favorite
“Gimme Back My Bullets”
So, I went back down the hill to where the old Ford sat
I climbed on the hood and reached through the shattered windshield
I shut the ignition off and pocketed the keys
As I started back up the embankment, I just laughed
Didn’t matter if the key was on, the truck was totaled
When I reached the road, I flagged an approaching sedan
It was two girls from school looking real scared when they stopped
Trying to look my best with blood running down my face
I said, “You ladies headed my way, by any chance?”
They looked at each other and one of them said, “Where’s that?”
Brushing the broken glass out of my long raven hair
I dusted off my shirt and then tucked it into my jeans
Looking back down at my old truck pinned between those trees
I bent down and looked in the driver’s window and smiled
“Well it don’t matter babe, as long as it’s not here.”
Ended up walking home that day, laughing all the way
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
Author's Note: The Memory Photographs Series
Blue Heron
The soft beating wings
Of the Heron taking flight
Pasture grass, waving
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
Author's Note: The Memory Photographs Series
Formation Steaming, Arabian Sea
Watching the leader through my destroyer’s, Big Eyes
Waiting for signal to execute and proceed
The flashing light comes. “Execute!” my talker cries
The bridge responds, shifting course and slowing speed
Twenty ships simultaneously make course east
As headings steady, I await the next command
The formation’s wakes clawing the sea like a beast
Another light, I shout the leader’s next demand
These types of close maneuverings, are tricky things
One wrong signal could result in a collision
I rub my eyes, below the engine order rings
Another signal and we dance in precision
Maintaining the columns, we plow, south, south east
All anticipating our next liberty feast
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
Author's Note: Sailor's Sonnet Series
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
The Moment
Chubby cheeks pause milking
From mother’s hanging breast
Heartbeats are balancing
The drunken fan’s bawling
A fist swinging laugher
Pauses to meditate
The batter is ready
Slightly crouched by the plate
Pennants flutter gently
In the afternoon breeze
The pitcher checks first base
Then the delivery
© Copyrights G. Jones 2006
Author's Note: The Memory Photographs Series
From mother’s hanging breast
Heartbeats are balancing
The drunken fan’s bawling
A fist swinging laugher
Pauses to meditate
The batter is ready
Slightly crouched by the plate
Pennants flutter gently
In the afternoon breeze
The pitcher checks first base
Then the delivery
© Copyrights G. Jones 2006
Author's Note: The Memory Photographs Series
Their Last Day
He was lying on his newly mowed grass
Stretched on his back, still running hose in hand
Starring at the sky, an unblinking pawn
A peaceful setting, to finally rest
The grass was soaked from the running water
So, I went to find the faucet to close
Following the hose past lush garden color
Grape vines, and stalks of multicolored rose
There, on the back patio, a table
Upon which a cocktail sat half finished
Twisting the tap, the water now secure
A movement I spy, through the window pane
Sitting in the recliner, a woman
Watching afternoon baseball with a drink
Two brown Labradors sleeping at her feet
They were unaware of their master’s fate
I return to his side and feel for pulse
Silent, still, stiff, and cold, it was too late
Stepping to the front door, I ring the bell
Amid barking dogs, she opens the screen
“Yes. Who are you?” she asked irritated
“I’m here to inform about your husband”
I replied to her, with a friendly smile
“You’re her husband?” she inquired nervously
“Yes,” I replied. “And you must be his wife”
“I have been expecting you, please come in”
“Shall I call my husband in from the yard?”
“I don’t believe that will be required now”
“Are they both gone?” she asked, pouring a drink
Taking the drink, I replied, “Their last day”
© Copyrights G. Jones 2006
Author's Note: The In the Weird Series
Unplugged
Hey, I bother you, just a couple of secs?
Can you please point me towards ole Route 66?
Thanks!
Think I will just cruise down that path for a few miles
I like taking time more than making time these days
No time to peruse, racing down some interstate
I like taking in sights and smells on the scooter
Seems like most people these days are in a hurry to go nowhere
While they’re going there, most are talking on their phones to somebody
When they hang up, it rings; another person does the same to them
Why, does nowhere need to be gotten to so fast on the phone?
I like to listen to things that are in nature
I see lots of people with things plugged in their ears
How do they hear anything in the world that way?
Riding around in them cages, isolated
Well, ole Harley Davidson and I, we'll just cruise
This road has plenty of sites, weather don’t matter
I guess some people don’t understand about life
It’s meant to be lived, learned, and most of all, enjoyed
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
Can you please point me towards ole Route 66?
Thanks!
Think I will just cruise down that path for a few miles
I like taking time more than making time these days
No time to peruse, racing down some interstate
I like taking in sights and smells on the scooter
Seems like most people these days are in a hurry to go nowhere
While they’re going there, most are talking on their phones to somebody
When they hang up, it rings; another person does the same to them
Why, does nowhere need to be gotten to so fast on the phone?
I like to listen to things that are in nature
I see lots of people with things plugged in their ears
How do they hear anything in the world that way?
Riding around in them cages, isolated
Well, ole Harley Davidson and I, we'll just cruise
This road has plenty of sites, weather don’t matter
I guess some people don’t understand about life
It’s meant to be lived, learned, and most of all, enjoyed
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
Author's Note: A View From the Wind Series
The Die Has Been Cast
This morning while strolling
Alone, on a quiet spring morning walk
Alone, on a quiet spring morning walk
I'm reminded of the regularity of our four seasons
Steered by the earth’s preordained path and tilt around the sun
I pause to ponder my own journey down the ambling path of this life
The meandering trail of my struggle to understand the purpose of existence
I've often reflected upon the turns I’ve taken down that long vine-like path
It's become extremely clear, no matter which turn on the lane that I take
Steered by the earth’s preordained path and tilt around the sun
I pause to ponder my own journey down the ambling path of this life
The meandering trail of my struggle to understand the purpose of existence
I've often reflected upon the turns I’ve taken down that long vine-like path
It's become extremely clear, no matter which turn on the lane that I take
I am fated to always return again, to my original path of destiny
A miraculous inherent die, was precast before my voyage was set to begin
I'm merely a rebellious ram, being herded by an invisible watching Sheppard
Feebly trying to separate from the herd to higher grounds and sweet grasses
With an invisible staff in hand, the Sheppard guiding back to the valley
One would think after so many attempts, I would just resign my quest
My resolute heart has grown old, and tires more easily nowadays
Yes, the die has been cast in a strong and tempered steel
And my restless journey will some day end
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
Monday, July 2, 2012
Soul Catcher
Trees are the catchers, of lost human souls
Death, prior to allotted times, entraps them
Their spirits, in nets of clinging branches
Mouthing silent pleas, to earthly passers
Nightly they peer, toward the magnetic stars
All craving, to one day roam the cosmos
Its magnificence calling them, upward
They wail, to reunite with their loved ones
Memories of their earthly existence
Like sirens, ever calling them homeward
Copyrights by G. Jones 2012
Images by flickr.com
Author's Note: The In the Weird Series
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