I Pray

I pray before the candles in the night

Inspired to take a chance upon my fate

Upon my golden cup the pentagram

Tapped by a hazel wand times three

My sturdy hand grasps the sharp silver blade

Burning incense splash the sacred alter

As silken purple robes flow away free

As a full sail upon the gusting sea

Song birds alight upon the fortune wheel

And Lovers await teeming chariots

And hierophants question the religion

Of the bright crescent moon upon the sky

The wind rattles the wooden Wicca men

That hang in the Douglas trees there about

I kneel and pray to the Goddess and God

The Witch’s bell rings and the candles doused

On the lamb’s skin, I stand and meditate

The bamboo flutes tenderly die away

I turn and part the hanging beads to go

Another day the points of five obey

© Copyrights G. Jones 2006

Here, Take My Gun

Here, take my gun and a sip of gin
Let it clean our teeth and fade our hair

Maybe not, I'll need it out here on the run
Besides, your not exactly what you pretend to be

I’ve been watching you for a long time

Through my compass and decided you were east

I knew at that very moment

That the sun doesn't set in your eyes ever

Sometimes I see the world like that

Like it was crystal clear with no illusions

I’m sorry I disturbed you

Have a nice day and pretend you never met me

For I saw the portrait of your life

I found how your essence had been stolen

Because now you’re nothing but a painted clown

Hoping to deceive and finally win an easy life

On second thought, here, take my gun

Don’t you love it here on this road?

© Copyrights G. Jones 2007

The American Dream

Having forgotten their ancient identity

They lived their days in a long perpetual dream

Forever captivated in make believe lives

They practiced from birth until their final demise

From candled solitaires to hooded conductors

In the grandest of temples to tiniest shacks

Constantly grasping for bright and shiny bobbles

They flapped about the hungry lights of attention

Never suspecting the reason for their being

The intricate tapestry in which they resided

Blind to the timeless cosmic beauty that abounds

Unbeknown to them the prize that lies deep within

There existed a small group that knew the secret

Slowly they’d climbed from the sleep of lies and deceit

Soon, they began to take responsibility

Ashamed were they, but relieved to see the real truth

Their nation was built upon greed and consumption

Pillaging the Earth’s resources for their own use

Telling whoever stood in the way, "We’re your friend!"

“We’re here to give you freedom!”, while raping their land

Either through never ending war or puppet kings

Their insidious death grip ever tightening

The unseen matrix ruled by big corporations

The people their zombies of consumerism

The American Dream…

Copyrights @ G. Jones 2012

Cravings

Our cravings cause our soul to lie

We become possessed by our possessions
As long as we let our cravings drive us
They will restrict us from obtaining peace
Our soul bleeds, while in this condition
Our purpose for existence is not being served
Cravings reduce and define all things
Aligning them to our own condition
Cravings are like a garment for our soul

A cheap unfeeling costume cover
Its very nature, displays our shallow needs

We pretend to be something we are not
Craving envelopes our bodies
 A self inflicted dark blindness
That blocks our true divine image

© Copyrights G. Jones 2007
Photo by immersive.es

French Distortion Times Three

To Grey Goose

Cool, sweet distortion is what I crave.

The sweet French variety,

fat olives in abundance,

always serve best.

Problems

of the

long,

hot

day

seem

to just melt away

after just one of these magic potions.

“Shaken, not stirred,” was Bond’s steady reply.

What an ingenious answer to

the action and intrigue.

Even the slope

of the

cool,

slim,

clear

glass

reminds me of a topless,

passionate woman, ready to ease my pain.

Yes, you can keep all your bliss of the inferior.

I take my chilled relief of reality

with olives or onions.

I’m very easy

to please.

Just

chill

it,

add

vermouth

and it must by all means

be thoroughly of the French variety.

© Copyrights G. Jones 2006



Dragonfly's Rest

A paradise is what enters my mind

When I reflect upon my dear estate

A soft bed and breakfast it imitates

Warm, cozy, and filled with precious antiques

Named for the turquoise dragonflies we love

But they are not the only residents

There are chipmunks that live in the woodpile

Douglas squirrels bark for their daily snack

The wise old Bared owls ever on the watch

The black-tailed deer graze quietly at dawn

Bald eagles ever soaring overhead

Bigfoot occasionally visiting

Our lush green lawns and colorful flowers

Towering furs wall our perimeter

A warm fireplace in the winter for heat

A cool pergola in the summer months

Listening to birds and the wind through the trees

The wind chimes and the lone coyote howl

Barbecue slow cooking country styled ribs

Sipping a cool martini and dreaming

God has blessed my dear lovely wife and I

With this wonderful piece of paradise

© Copyrights G. Jones 2006

Alone in a Crowded Room

Sitting absolutely alone

In a round room of riled people

My brain feeling dry as a bone

Staring at a silent steeple

They’re sleeping upon a hill there

In a shadowed silent graveyard

Still, just resting, lacking a care

The smooth granite stones standing guard

Charming clouds floating close above

The sounds of calling gulls and surf

No competing or push and shove

In a plot of well trimmed green turf

Safely absent from the rat race

The constructed reality

With make-believe smiles on each face

Sleeping through perpetuity

A seldom soft fleeting footfall

Leaving intermittent flowers

Stopping for a tad to recall

Then receding like spring showers

Smiling, I return to the room

The backbiting and bickering

Critical deadlines that still loom

People fretting about nothing

© Copyrights G. Jones 2007