canister

Canister
12-19-14


The word such as whatever
Serves as another trigger
Like the word forever in my canister of sugar
Wishing my brethren well
As my God is bigger
The boogie man is not so bad after all
In being such a digger
I accept this eccentricity
To seek out felty vallotton
And this research for other reads of hope
Soon to bathe again in Irish Spring soap
To come to know yourself
And transform your fear
To come to reach your hand to the sky
And yield to the Spirit
And breathe in the steam
And celebrate who you are...








Razor Burns
12-19-14


Taking notes in my own way
In facing up to the music
With a hot bath and a clean shave
And razor burns
Convex and concave
Our loved ones in heaven are not worried about us
Because they know it will all pan out
Taking notes, receiving smoother melodies
Seek first the kingdom and all else will be added to you
Bearing razor burns from using a hair leg straight edge unwisely
It works for me therefore do not worry about tomorrow.....












Another Sweet Bootleg (This One With Milk)
12-19-14


From my canvas to my palate
Through Samaria so wandereth Sanballat
If such is a name to research
when on the first day of winter solstice
I go back to church
God guard my front door
As I pray for the peace
That transcendeth all war
Still in search for more of all that is sacred and pure
Singing songs of yesterday
Without a need to raise my voice
In finding what it's for
From canvas to my palate
By sledgehammer and ironclad mallet...










O, what Is God to Me
12-19-14


I found that I could not relate
By coffee finely ground
And a fix to yet recreate
In nomenclature
In which there is nothing more to hate
As it is the hardest thing to do sometimes to wait
I ask myself, O what is God to me
And I must say I cannot put a name on it
In killing a few brain cells in the process
Playing here and now the what game
By the salt of the mixed nut game
May it be woe or simply O, woah
May it be weal
May it be real
By the shaving cut game
It's all poetry to me...










Which One Am I
12-19-14


If I ever prove my innocence
I'm guilty as charged in trying to make sense
Seeking out my inner Ra and Ascleios
If indeed such applies as a plywood rose garden fence
If someone dies in a dream
They wouldn't be here to tell us about it
As the masterful hermit and the creative seeker
As the evangelical idealist
As the optimistic dreamer
In the amaretto coffee creamer
It's high time, O Cymbaline
In my research of my Enneagram
There is more to life than what with eyes we can see....