The Rolling Seas

 

When the time arrives for me to depart

From the sunlit harbors of the living

Take me aboard a navy fighting ship

And carry me back again to the sea

Order the boatswain to construct a skid

Made of wood and painted with fresh white paint

Build it to hold a gray weighted coffin

Draped by Old Glory with her stars and stripes

Cruise the coast of my beloved home Whidbey

Until full abreast with Ebey’s Landing

Muster the funeral party astern

Play taps and slide me into the blue drink

Let the storm-flecked waves of the rolling seas

Pass this old sailor in his final sleep

© Copyrights G. Jones 2006

 

There Once was a Time

There once was a time when he cared

But, that has long since passed

Now he spends his days killing time

Sure, he had it all figured out

The world was his to be conquered

The immortal knight, the brave king

Once, he was filled with his duty

His sharp mind and his body lean

No task for him was too daunting

Lately, projects go unfinished

Pills for depression are taken

Cocktail hours arrive earlier

Failure was once not an option

Like clockwork, his plans were achieved

The best of his profession, he

There once was a time

But, that has long since passed

 

© Copyrights G. Jones 2012

 

 

The Street

The clown, with his red cherub face

A maggot twisting, in his brain

The jack-booted leather Christian

With dull razorblades, down his spine

Staring down, from high windows

The taste of gin, upon their tongues

Lusty fire crackling, in red eyes

Peering, through a glowing skylight

Her luscious body lies reclined

Naked, upon a soft, red divan

Bathed, by the nocturnal moonlight

Dark hair, caressing full breasts

Wineglass in her ruby nailed hand

Cigarette smoke hanging like a mist

Within a glassed, fishbowl perch

She’s well aware of her voyeurs

In the concrete valley below
A wood fire, perfumed grey fog

Creeps, through the emerald city

Soft street sounds, echoing upward

A lone saxophone, serenades

The battered open case, lying

Before white patent leather shoes

A hooded figure at the keys

With faded, fingerless gloves

The sound of blues, bathing the air
Reflecting off tall, smoky windows

A yellow cab, slowly crawls to a halt

Door popped, by a finely dressed doorman

He receives, a firm diamonded hand

Stiletto heels, strike concrete

She walks the carpeted runway

The cipher locked door clicks

A crisp, fresh, twenty is passed

The green silked image melts inside

A close siren screams, and hearts skip

Gunshots ring, and distant tires squeal

The saxophone player pauses, for a breath

The clown and Christian, shift their lusty gaze

© Copyrights G. Jones 2012

Where the Beast Can't Follow

Born into the raw flesh of the physical world

We are placed in the burning fire of refinement

Each lifetime in this world is a spirit lesson

The world of the beast contains the rapist and saint

During one life we’ll be the hateful abuser

Next time we will be the helpless and torn victim

It is the nature of the beast



Evidence of the nearly completed spirit

Are the children who die at a very young age

They are always calm and serene comforting us

There’s not much more refining for them to complete

They’re prepared to start a much more complex journey

Beyond the world of the burning lustful raw flesh


Where the beast can’t follow


© Copyrights G. Jones 2012

I

 

!

And

I now

begin to

newly dwell in

a cold vacant space

behind the long shadows

of blind spinning solitude

accompanied by the soft

stinging silence in my

drying empty tears

of love’s soundless

throbbing heart’s

last stark

beat.

!

 

© Copyrights G. Jones 2012

Author's Note: The Path to Consciousness Series

Falling Through the Clouds

Several thoughts enter one’s mind while falling through the clouds
It, without doubt, gives a singular perception of life
Reality rising nearer, your focus sharpening

The knowledge of being without a parachute, there, lurking
After awhile, the inevitable is accepted
With the enjoyment of the passing clouds and splendid view

The clouds of financial worth and personal possessions
Social status, career accomplishment, and self-esteem
Loves, family, friends, and vitally important contacts

When the ride down lastly comes to its termination
The meaninglessness of those passing clouds
Suddenly becomes glaringly obvious to us all

© Copyrights G. Jones 2012

Weird Town

 

Ever come down here to weird town?

We would love to have you for a, permanent visit

Take in some of our long winded pundits

Or enjoy a nice put down from our elitist citizenry

We’ll serve you fine coffee and salmon sandwiches

While convincing you, the goal is to try and be just like us

Let us steer you into the sure path of the mindless consumer

We'll teach you fear and to live safety, with your head in the sand

Soon, the country, America, is going be fixed, permanently

Battling the forces of evil, is what makes us feel so grand

Brainwashing your children to depend only upon us

We want our lies to be their, everlasting faith

To feed on their endless greed and attention needs

It makes us wealthy, self important, and unquestionably sane

Long after our untimely deaths, we'll always leave a mark

Our legacy is our people, forever unconsciously enslaved

So come on down to weird town, legal or illegal

We’re here to serve every need, and make your dreams

© Copyrights G. Jones 2012