Keep the car running
The faucet draining
Keep on keeping on with
What I have been wasting
In moments of reflection
Why do I put up these guards of
Protection
When I am the problem
And the solution
All in one small mind
Or large conclusion
Unsightly unseen
Mightily obscene
Gestures of language
Encourage
Discourage
Mean
I have an objection to such limits
Of language
Interpretation
My own county
Country
Nation
How did words slip from
Meaning to mere
Reference
Indifference
How can it go from direct
To indirect and casual
Trivial
Is that what we have become
Seeking the words that have already
Been sung
A light I hope will shed a new perspective
Hoping that small bits of peace injected
We can’t move forward with bluster of hate
Discriminate
We must move forward together
And together
We will stand STRONG
The wandering heart
Is a stranger in a coat
A scarecrow vintage and old
Left me many years ago
The wandering heart knows no home
Roaming the land looking for those it knows
But rather unknown
This heart I have
The wandering heart is a shed in the forest
Unattended and porous
Moss strewn floors
To young hearts it has been abetted and undone
My wandering heart grows cold
Looking for light in a dark circle of a world
Revolving on hearts pumping
Focused on a world of skepticism and critique
My heart is growing cold
Some pray for a raise
Some pray for a new car
Some pray for more things
Some for the night
Some pray to just stay alive
Some pray for a new insight
Some pray for power
Some pray for spring flowers
Some pray for the weather
While some pray for water
Pray for me
Pray for you
Pay to pray
On the radios too
Raise your hands for love
Raise your hands for awareness
Raise your hands to raise fund
Just raise your hands for fun
On the radio the ads blare
Telling us “BEWARE”
But to continue to pray
Pray
Pray
Scribble of a stranger
No more similar than an unknown danger
Glistening on a November afternoon
The acoustics pronounced now
And fill the room
The wrong approach with the wrong tenor
On a Sunday evening I sent her
The notes of my love
Gentle free falling dove
Now in a moments reflection
Over the fence
Where the homeless used to live
A new breed of life rises up from the dark
Victorious in its wailings
Building new wings for sailing
The ingredients have baked to perfection
Or rather imperfection
While I uncover more hope than I realized
Through the eyes of a bird I now realize
Push on when the push is almost out
That is when it is needed most
If I could only recall the way out
The way in was much more difficult
But the easiest seems now whimsical
Overbearing
The thicket of bushes on the left
When we entered
The gargoyle on the right
We passed some rock walls as well
Or maybe not
But somehow
We ended up here
Lost and wandering
Altogether hopeless romantics
Stuck in a world of antics
Critics
Hopeful
Deadbeats
How did we end up here again
Should we start over
Not an option altogether
We had better hope the sun will rise in the east
Set in the west
That will be our best bet
To find our way out
“I just think he wears too much makeup…”
I responded soft and dejected. This to me was the Trojan Horse of all arguments. No one at the table expected this response from a college educated caucasian male age 30 with slightly graying hair. Immediately, it put me in an extremely shallow and “disdained” position as viewed by the others at the table. Exactly where I wanted to be. CHECK…
As the first responses quickly and fervently trickled in – “What!?” – “That is so shallow!” – “You are mean!” and “How can you say that?” CHECKMATE…
I think you know where I am headed. NOTE: for the rest of this conversation also refer to DONALD TRUMP = DON – this will add to the confusion at some point, guaranteed. I respond, “Don himself preaches that it is all about looks, right? I mean he himself has promoted this idea of looks first RIGHT!?” This perfectly misguided conversation is headed in the perfect direction. To which there are very few responses – this is after all the words and actions of the man himself which now they will be required to defend. The truth is this response is the ONLY response that your family members and friends have not prepared for this Thanksgiving. While they were spending all of their precious time preparing for the “intellectuals” so worked up over all of the REAL reasons that we oppose Don, just slip in with an argument that Don would actually make himself! This leads to what I call the “Feedback Loop” argument where the discussion must directly move in a circular manner back to the initial statement of disdain – in a direction which is very perfectly fitting and apropos. All you have to do is keep returning to this initial argument ad nauseam – without skipping a beat – until the entire table is vomiting their Thanksgiving Turkey and dressing from confusion and disorientation. “Don… Makeup… He said… Don… Makeup… He said… Don… Makeup… He said…” Drive it home and see the amazing results for yourself! Fun!
This idea that such shallow arguments, which Don himself made a cornerstone of his rise, have no such place at a table where we are trying to have a real discussion. Viola! Take the argument from here folks, you can thank me later!
Fuck it!
N8
Lick
Secretion
A quote from the generator
Proud challenges
From the land of infinity
A bucket might qualify me for my job
Or it might just be a storage for the opposition
The cause
For me to stay
In the hall to clean the residuals
Unrest is an expression
That we must implore
The Dairy Chief doesn’t need any changes
Not looking for the next big development
Milking the cows somehow is just a bit irrelevant
A steward of the land with no need for innovation
No tariffs needed
Not too much frustration
It is implicit what his intentions are
Waking in the early morning hours
Tending the field and his cows
Bold yet not to be undone somehow
In the hostile words
He could give one less cow lick
Waking in the morning to babies colic ways
The dairy farmer just keeps moving on
It’s the sweet farm song
A wren of the future bird
Eyes filled with glossy cover
Singing the notes of a future uncertain
Pulling back what remains in the dark
From a pulled curtain
The lazy have come into hold us
The land upon us
Troubled for profit withholding
The truth was never unfolding
A small drip from our brows
Idealistic until now
Strap the hood on and walk out into the cold
If we never try I guess we will never know
Never coming together
Never falling apart
We all now have to do our part
A Cup of Songwriting 