Thursday, August 28, 2008

Lay little boy lay

It was dark that night with the whisper in the trees and the wind beneath his knees. Stretched out on the road he laid waiting for the proposal of his enemies. He had a nervous stomach with his clinching palms around his neck. Granted by the owls and the raccoons he laid for days. Muttering the various words that brought him there. Combining them into sentences humming them as if he was on stage. Dancing on his back, loving towards the stars. The neighbors knew him so they let him. He thanked them from his hand, as a wave to the crowd of animals. He was wearing his rags that were worn and torn. His thoughts became his visions on the night blue skyline. The car lights created spot lights on his musical make believe podium. He sang the words high and low playing the parts for both. He never questioned the time or the day, he would just lay and lay and lay. No blankets or pillows those were for the comfort needing little boys. He never stood or walked for days. Until one day when he suddenly shot to his toes and walked away. The neighbors came out in their robes and slippers walking to the sidewalk softly speaking to themselves the questions that have arose. With a glance he acknowledged the people nodding his head and waving he spoke the words "This town is yours and I have over stayed my stay so on this day I will get up from my lay and walk away." Turning to the crowd with his bow he disappeared into the leaves of the trees and every year on that day you can hear him when the setting sun sets. The animals come out and play there instruments in honor of the little boy who laid.  

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Love It

Don't waste it away in your cubical
This is more like a musical
Don't lose sight of the way of the dreamers
This is what the sleepers live for 
Don't tell me all about it
This is a show and tell class
We don't want to hear the sound of the drum
We don't want to hear the sound of the drum
Giving me something to brag about
Making anything able to laugh about
Watching everything on the roundabout
Evacuating nothing to talk about

Monday, August 25, 2008

Little Soldier

And you were getting ready this morning
Teeth brushed and hair done
The closet walk took only three minutes 
Sewing the laces loop to loop
And I swear this time
The movie was watched from the sheets and the pillows
You could have tipped me over
And I'll hold this clover forever 
This deserves a record book qualification 
I'm crawling through this tiny hole
Be a good little soldier 
Put that backpack over your shoulder
This isn't another children story
Kiss the cross
We haven't yet won
The mystery is history
Never will this be a loss
And you sure did look like fun
No none
Build a fire and climb me higher
There is a tickle in my bones
I can't forget the telephone
Roll the letters down
This town is spent
It's time to chase the ground

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Believable

Sincerity and the common ground we stand on becomes elegantly disruptive to the world all around. You feed me with the petty things in life and I close my eyes to the flowers. The things you sing are lullaby remedies that equally qualify to me. The motion of the ocean exercise commotion that cancels out this breach of peace. Jesus knows I should have died but instead He gave me this red lipstick boot wearing little squeeze. I think He gave us this chance to start over, turn over, and play a new sport. Please forgive me for the bank owned jobs they weren’t part of the master plan. I’ll whistle the love story to my children over a smokey campfire as if it was part of an age old tale with hidden messages and clues, making it a game that these children will love to play. Climb onto my arm i’ll fly you through the crowd. I can break the walls if we have no doors. I can be your eyes or your bones. We can tap our toes on the bathroom floor. Running, running, running above the ground. Oh what a lovely sound. Oh what a lovely sound, what a lovely sound, lovely sound, lovely, lovely, lovely, lovely sound. Our memories will wear plastic sweaters keeping them fetching like souvenir letters. Did you think that I wouldn’t remember. You are a life size Tinkerbell marching towards my door. The sudden pressure change is the oxygen stolen from my lungs replaced with butterflies and jittery fireflies. Jitterally. This is a roller coaster that doesn’t have an end. There will be little floating ducks that win you nicely stuffed teddy bears, pony rides and a band it will be a bubbly good time. Oh we will shake the ground. It’s such a lovely sound.