Thursday, August 9, 2012
Food of Gods
The Milky Way is millions of pastures
Earth is one of many being tended
We’re but cattle living for our masters
Our purpose we haven’t comprehended
Bred and manipulated our species
From the beginning our own DNA
Altered to create an alien series
For food and labor, then taken away
They created our religious belief
They’re our Gods and Demons, our nightly spook
A type of monkey we were, with no grief
Now, when you state this faith, you’re labeled kook
They enabled us to create our fate
But we’re the food of Gods, make no mistake
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
Author's Note: The In to the Weird Series
The Mirror
Looking at my wrinkled face in the mirror each day, I laugh
The idea of worrying about when my time on earth ends
It really is comical to me, in a sad kinda way
At my present age, I've outlived both my father and sister
Twenty years past dad and fifteen past my little sis
So, every day I wake up, is just plain gravy to me
I'd worry 'bout being successful until I succeeded
And then continue to become extremely bored with it all
Acquiring a collection of the things thought, so important
They'd filled my life, all there, beautifully mounted and displayed
As soon as one was bagged, it was placed and quickly forgotten
All safely surrounded, by home and beautiful lush gardens
Now, I spend my time in the deepest of thought, wondering why
My day requires a kiss from wife and pat on the dog's head
I work to stay busy, watching coworkers trapped in the game
I turn my head and look in the mirror at my graying head
I smile, listening to the sound of breakfast in the kitchen
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
Author's Note: The Path to Consciousness Series
Love
I was just thinking, while sitting here looking at you
You know what I really believed about my life?
I would smile about how it, really meant nothing
And how I'd found out, it was all just a big scam
My grandpa said, boy, always be true to yourself
To me, that meant, not showing people all my cards
Trusting someone, I thought, left you on the short end
From that time on, I'd never once let my guard down
Mainly, to never let people know, I could love
Cause I just couldn't stand, being hurt anymore
The few times I'd ever come out on top at all
Was when I'd pretend, to be something I wasn't
Life was another chess move, on the board of me
In a one man game, that didn't include a soul
Then one fine day, you climbed on the back of my bike
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
Author's Note: The In the Wind Series
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Tweety
My sweet petite bird, in my hand I keep
Your eternal company, my dear treat
A love and devotion, ever so deep
Morning's light starts, with a beam and a greet
I smile thinking of you, throughout my day
My little queen, in her cottage on isle
Reigning, over monkey and many fowl
Floral and treasure, from athwart the mile
I trek back to you each day, land and sea
By wheels two and four, returning to meet
Lovely greetings, which you do oversee
Tired, I relax to lips, tender and sweet
You’re the one, that ensures my very best
Finding new ways to amuse you, my quest
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Another Port, Another Dancer
I awaken, in the early morning
The sun, shining into your sleeping face
The smell, of your lovely perfumed scent
Untangling from your clinging arms
And your bleached strawberry blonde hair
Looking close at your fine mustache
My elbow, knocks a champagne glass
The sound, of the cheap flute breaking
Stirs your sweet, heartshaped, pale behind
I smile, as the door slowly clicks
Creeping down the hall, like a nun
Off for coffee and cigarettes
Another port, another dancer
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
Author's Note: The Memory Photographs Series
A Day in the life
The old farm house had been standing since the nineteenth century
I would arrive at the base of its tall wooden steps each morning
Climbing to the massive porch, which surrounded three of its sides
I could smell the wood smoke from the weathered chimney in the air
Entering the screen door, I would pass the idol old porch swing
The living room, warm with a gentle fire and heated stone hearth
Rocking chairs perched on each side, one holding my great uncle’s smile
My Aunt, calling me from the kitchen to come and get breakfast
Sitting at the table, with warm biscuits, eggs, and fresh sausage
Reaching for the coffee pot, on the wood burning kitchen stove
She’d tell me to eat plenty; it'll be a long time ‘til lunch
I made a couple of biscuit and sausage snacks, for later
After breakfast, I would tread down the western porch stairs to work
Stopping, before reaching the barn, I turned and gazed at the house
Thinking of the history of the grand old plantation place
With its classic design, complete with the endless high porches
It was painted white, although it had long since faded, to grey
The screened in back porch, led from the kitchen, and back bedrooms
I had passed through the western hall through more bedrooms and a bath
Latter having been installed in recent years; no more outhouse
In front of the great north porch, stood an ancient giant oak tree
Planted by a quiet ancestor, it towered above the house
Its huge roots provide a seat for one to sit and have a chew
Turning back toward the barn I walked for the old sleeping tractor
I would spend the day in the field, until dark, plowing the soil
Returning to the house at midday for another great meal
Mashed potatoes, black-eyed peas, and a slice of home butchered ham
Then back in the evening for supper, with hot fried chicken
I would stay for a short chat and a chew, sitting on the hearth
Spitting into the fire and listening to tales of distant past
Eventually, saying my goodbyes and out to the truck
Riding home, I smelled the soil and fresh air through the cracked window
© Copyrights G. Jones 2008
Author's Note: The Memory Photographs Series
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