Swain of Dunces
The Swain of Dunces had his hunches that she found most quite appealing.
He wore his heart upon his sleeve, and that was most revealing.
She was not one who knew affection inside her sexy shell.
He did not care, though his erection blossomed and it swelled.
All he knew was giving true and if there was some lack,
he’d double down and never frown and give some extra back.
He held a happy place within the struggles of those days.
She felt the perils of her sins in many different ways.
The Pharaoh watched from afar and knew not what he saw.
He could forbid just what they did, since his word back then was law.
But happenstance and mystery provided him a clue
that the unraveling of destiny wanted something very new.
The Priestess finally opened up her obstacles of fear,
and then the Swain of Dunces whispered in her ear:
“Love has flowed since time began more freely than you know.
And barriers, once overcome, only strengthen giving’s glow.”
The Pharaoh didn’t understand the dream he had that night,
but when he woke he felt himself full of such delight.
He proclaimed that Swain from that point on to be his Hierophant.
And he gave his lovely Priestess a brand new song to chant:
“My Swain of Fools lives by rules that someday all will follow.
And if you’re feeling hesitant, feel free from me to borrow.
“Please take my pain and once again feel deeply how to live.
Turn all your troubles upside down and then to others give.”
____
This poem was based on a painting of mine I did this morning:
https://www.instagram.com/p/C67a5_dsci0/?igsh=MXdsZXh4NXc0b3YxcA==
Amazon Chest
The Amazon chest I ordered last week
was mistakenly delivered to a house down the street.
This got me to thinking about what’s in a name.
What’s Amazon mean besides the longest river
and the preposterous claim
about female warriors stripped of a breast
from left side of their Amazonian chests
so they could shoot arrows along with the best.
Yet neither breasts nor boobs bound or removed
help female archers or in any way improve
their shooting or fighting or even delighting
and now with all the plastic polluting that’s frightening
I’m questioning all I’ve been taught in school.
Indeed, what I’ve learned makes me mostly a fool.
So it may be time to be taught once again
about all the ideas I thought were my friends.
And what do you think? Are we on the brink
of usurping mentations that we all thought were in sync?
Ink
Cover the paper in ink, they said,
so I took that command deep in my head.
I discovered, in fact, that there is a way
to make a few pages every day.
And after of time of doing it for years,
eventually I uncovered most of my fears.
I buffered them deep down in my heart,
under lovers and rougher stuff that came up as art.
After a while, every day,
I wake up and let my muses all play.
And where they will lead, I never know.
I just allow them to go where they want to flow.
Blasphemer
Subconscious emotions fuel what we do,
as we make our own way back to what’s true.
We can yammer all day about money or sex,
but then in the end, what do we expect?
It turns out that this is precisely what we get
when we’re playing the same game to cover our bet.
And then when it comes to dropping the ball,
wherever we are, that’s where we fall.
It’s a similar thing that we’ve done more than once,
whether we have a big wiener or wide–open cunts.
Whether we’re born really poor or sometimes quite rich,
still life comes across like a son of a bitch.
Yet the joys are no more fleeting than the pains in the ass.
And the learning is slow if we take a pass.
So, let’s gather together and try once again
as we’re building our lives en masse and as friends.
Across the Floor
Flat nose Wally ate a butter ball;
then he stubbed his big toe right upon the wall.
His lover didn’t know him as he was anymore.
His molecules and atoms had slid across the floor.
His expanding sense of self gaped at all he saw,
yet he couldn’t quite escape what had stuck in his craw.
He tried to duck down below what happened in his mind,
but he couldn’t quite shake it although everything was fine.
The next move he made was preposterous to all.
He teleported back and then began to scrawl.
His thinking made no sense, so he wrote it in a poem.
And here you are reading it while sitting there alone.
Socks Tattooed
You slept until your snores were rude.
You’ve kept your drawers and socks tattooed.
You’d rather win by rocks than paper,
but sometimes there’s an alligator.
Sometimes your mind is feeling thin.
It’s then that you must dive within.
Your intuition knows somehow
what common sense will not allow.
Don’t worry if the words makes sense
when now is in the present tense.
Your being simply changes form
when grace is flowing to be born.
And though you may not know it now
this is always happening anyhow.
You live you give just what you may
every night and every day.
Great Leeway
Charlie MuttonChops wrestled with the potentiometer on the washing machine, but the thing was fubar from the word go. That pooch had been screwed. He tried glomming on the knob with putty, but it spun and it spun like a dying world around the sun, and he couldn’t help trying to remember the obscure lyrics to that Dylan song: Johnny’s in the basement mixing up the medicine…
It seemed like only yesterday when the dream of the stream flowed through him like a soft breeze on a light wind, when responsibilities and concerns didn’t press in on him like glorified monsters with anger and madness and despair, and he wasn’t letting anyone down by his wandering lack of attention and in fact was adding to the imagination of the universe with deep feeling tones of wonder and innovation that hadn’t yet seen the light of day.
Oh, how he longed for the gardens of Cordova and the first time he had seen a beautiful woman in the light of the sun under white blossoms spreading from the branches of grand trees growing to fullness. He wanted to taste the taste of hasteless wandering again and shed the waste of clock time binding him like crusty barnacles to the weight of the world.
Oh, Charlie, Charlie what have you done, he wondered…on the pavement thinking about the government…
Recovering Mime
I’ve drubbed my self with plugs of hell
while heaven waits between.
I like the smell of morning bells
while dwelling in my jeans.
The warning knells go on for spells
until I’m feeling clean.
The drugs I felt no longer melt
my mind like butter beans.
If truth be known, it’s overblown
to wallow in just love.
I learned of this when I swallowed bliss
that fell down from above.
Right now I’m open anyhow
to the pushes and the shoves.
The crackling fire of desire
flies like grackles and turtledoves.
Sorry Netflix
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Get used to the mute button.
Unsubscribe from everything you can.
And do you really need to be eating so much?
Substitute eating for beating
with all kinds of other things
that you no longer need in your life
that no longer bring
desire to fruition über alles
Christ O’Malley
my habits were my pallies.
Code:3-441, cinnamon bun.
You’ve got to pick a pocket or
travel to that distant shore.
Your rocket’s on the docket
replied the raven: nevermore…