Fall Leaves Cast Into The Whispering Wind
by H.L. Dowless
The Raven’s Herald
Those voices on the wind doth speak,
offering forth their unwanted words of instruction,
speaking in meanings designed to render my resisting will weak,
compelling me deeply into their dark seduction.
“Behold thee mortal,” saith one in a wheezing whine,
“we cometh unto thee like a force that one may never comprehend,
for it is us who ride into our Stygian assent. Feel the power of the dark nine!
From our demands ye may never make an amend.
Bow unto our will in humble submission or forever pine
for you peaceful attends!”
“I hath sworn by oath to resist,” said I unto the winds.
“Unto thy will, I may only reply in my own demand
for thee to move away from me and on into other ends,”
I replied unto the unseen presence that felt closest at hand.
“Fine,” replied the voice back toward my spill, “Have it as you will, then.”
The following day as I carried on in my usual way,
the supervisor called me back into the office, appearing not at all too happy,
informing me of my termination as of mourning on that very day.
Upon my inquire as to the reason why, his only response was rather shabby,
telling me only that it was his choice to terminate, was the final say.
Three days later whilst I and the family was away at labor,
four thieves pulled up into my drive in place,
kicking in my door in search of items to pander,
compelled by their addictions to occultist herbs in multiple ways.
“ Dost thee now not feel compelled to attend unto our demands
for thy participation in the ways of dark sin,” inquired the seventh
voice upon the wind?
“No not now nor ever,” I replied.
“Move on from me unto another,
bother him with your evil compulsions that make him bitter
in your despise.
What so ever it is that you choose to do,
just leave me be,” I replied.
“Very well,” the voice whined, when there is blame for misfortunes anew,
then the only one to hold responsible is you.
Some nine days later I get a notated call
for me down at the police station,
from where I was directed into a dark hall
toward an isolated room for interrogation.
So it appeared, some unnamed demon possessed damsel
had accused me of that base offense engendering extreme repudiation.
Though I immediately inquired as to her name, but still
I was blatantly denied that right or knowing since there existed no
There is no benefit in shedding tears,
as I was so crassly informed,
the penalty here for your crime is more than ten years...!
So here it is that I sit in sulk and weary misery
as I wallow in chains on the cold damp dungeon floor.
Still I hold dear my forthright soul and deep inside my spirits are coarsely cheery...,
even though my mortal feet may never walk among the gardens of men no more...
Down At The Old Mid-Way
Tonight is the night,
my desire shall have it's own way,
the one still standing with the most might
shall carry the greatest sway.
I am here to tell you boys that the bonfires will surely be a burning
down at the old Mid-Way!
Yea, the burgers there are cooking well
and the lasses are all a smoldering hot.
The latest chili is our best sell
but hell..., sometimes that's all we've got,
down at the old Mid-Way.
The fried chicken can make a trucker smile,
the rice and gravy goes down well on such a fine day.
So come right on in and sit with us a while,
down at the old Mid-Way!
Old Hank Williams is a playing on the Juke box
down at the old Mid-Way.
A shotgun and a pistol is all that the keeper has got
to bear his weight,
on this fine sunny day
down at the old Mid-Way.
The whiskey peddlers are arriving
down at the old Mid-Way.
The schemers are all conniving,
their will to be enforced as it may.
I tell you boys, just as sure as the sun is going down,
there is gonna be a big fight tonight
down at the old Mid-Way...
Soon the bonfire is a roaring out back,
the johns are all a scoring in their sacks;
the pig is a roasting on the rack,
the howling wolves are a gathering in their packs,
down at the old Mid-Way.
The lightning is a flowing thickly tonight,
down at the old Mid-Way.
Duke just put a razors edge on his Barlow knife;
last light it caused four to fall hopelessly into their lonesome woods grave
down at the old Mid-Way.
Seven jumped Duke and JR in this brawl.
Duke ripped one more twice with his razor edged knife,
whilst all of the others had a free-for-all,
down at the old Mid-Way.
The schemer poured gallons of blood
before his body hit the floor..;
from his gut blood squirted like water from a hose in a flood,
and none of the rest wanted any more
on this night
down at old Mid-Way.
The Weight Of Years
Time knoweth not any strangers.
Unto those who lie and think that he has forgotten,
their bodies and minds may continue on in silent danger,
until the very best he has been allotted.
Thus do ye feel the dryness in thine eyes?
This feeling should accompany the one in thy hair.
Do ye feel the morning stiffness in thy thighs?
These feeling are all a part of the timeless game, so please don't despair.
All of these feeling shall intensify with every coming sunrise.
Does thy mind dwell on those past times divine,
when all of life's experiences were adventurous and good?
Do ye consistently find thyself always for those days a pining,
longing for those glory days lost where ye and all others understood
that life was meant to be lived for the thrills and glory of simply being alive,
savoring the very best of times that dear sunlight would afford?
If so then get on immediate alert,
for thy weighted defeat shall soon be thy only reward.
Very soon the burden of the years
shall crumple the body and weaken the limbs,
installing those imposing assumptions and unverified fears.
Then the mind shall choose to dwell in a more pleasant time when
that period of great misunderstanding nears.
So young one, count thy merry blessings as ye pass life though,
live life to the fullest, without jeopardizing the pleasantries of thy future.
Thrive in ye victories and thrills all anew,
for the weight of the years certainly has ye in it's indenture.
The weight of time will finally upon ye
forever removing thy presence from all surrounding, without mend;
so live life with fresh eagerness anew!.
A Bohemian Sabbath Night
A pig in a mud puddle,
a star in a soap bubble,
and a fiddler up on a stage that we all knew.
A walking stick, a doomed staggering swagger
and three merry old mamas too!
A jug of gin
and we all are going to win,
that's us two and
three mamas to boot!
The music ringing loudly,
as the merry maker sings so proudly
and that great big old booty bounces with a toot!
The clear liquid 's a pouring
while the poor boys are all a whoring,
and the three great big booties all get naked
to the gala tune of the Persian flute.
The bohemian beauties are all a curtsying,
a bowing with a gliding swing.
The fiddle is hailed by their vagabond majesty
with the hexing song that she doth sing.
My high Texas doll is a panting 'n a pinning,
a lookin' so persuasively divine,
as the gypsy fiddle sways
her fickle mind into staying.
The harvest moon is now nowhere to be found;
damn..., my tin cup of blue gin is in my way!
With my right hand I unbutton her delicate drifter's gown
as I break her nude body down there in the fresh hay
without even the slightest of fight,
even to my own astonishing dismay
on this bohemian Sabbath night.
The Bantam Nymphet
A dame she was
a tainted dame,
her luscious body painted on the party dress just the same,
her determined will refused their outdated girdles and the bras.
Her smile was broad,
her demeanor ecstatically uncultivated.
Her lips were painted deep mauve,
her purple tongue seemed to cheerfully navigate them.
Her near intoxicated laugh was giddy as she pranced
toward my chrome plated Mustang, dancing a harlots' diddle.
Her dress was near mist from the middle down
to just above her knees.
“You had better show me a good time tonight boy
and let me do as I please,”
she would say wearing a fake frown falsely cast,
only to betray her own lie with a whacked out laugh.
We then motored toward the beach to feel the surge of the waves.
We both did savor good meats down by the stony sea caves.
We thought that it was very fine to indulge the very best in wine.
The joys found by the thrill of the beach dance caused
the passing of time to seem so soon....
By the beach on a towel we both lay totally nude
neath the cozy glow of the midnight moon.
First from behind she doth allow me to intrude,
we both embracing in rhythm to a natural tune.
Then from the front I ventured forward
like a possessed wolf on the hunt,
natures rhythm becoming intense as I moved toward
that most perfect place.
The night faded wane as my body grew weary,
so we chose to stand tall as she walked forward,
her form remaining rigid as her head neared my waist;
The jaunting was incessant until that smile pleasured her face.
we both did hungrily
embrace once more again.
Both of our hearts remaining cheerie,
a hoping that the moon would never end.
As the orange sun did commence to arise;
the trip toward home
our lust for new thrills did despise.
She seemed to care not that her Father demanded her back,
so we paused at the end of a time honored dirt road path,
carrying our beach towels and walking the old railroad track.
We were headed toward our home town and the time
was only the rise of nine,
so we both longed to enjoy more conversation and the wine.
It took me some time but I convinced her to cut me some slack,
so that I could just ease that misty dress up
and give her one more lusty attack!
Unto Our Grand Kingdom
the dishes are all cleaned white
to my dear Mother's delight.
The food I knew to be really good,
just as it surely would,
no matter what be the holiday
or weather the jesters ever understood.
The grand kingdom is fair,
I shall loudly declare;
for the fool is now gone,
his tainted rule once so wrong.
For the blood of the luminary before us reigns supreme,
possessing boundless wisdom it doth seem,
purging the entire land of that tainted hand,
relegating that memory into the waste bin of bad dreams.
Hale to the angels in heaven who rejoice
like playing children in company of new toys!
For our mortal reclaim
shall assign proper blame
to the fool and his reign of tin boys!
The ridiculous fool could only whine and pout,
but he sold us all out,
to both the dragon and the hag
a flying her green sickle bag!
The blood of the luminary was most grand,
for he reconquered our once great land;
Now we posses freedom for the wealthy,
and the best of fine wine to keep the downtrodden poor healthy.
Herald From The Crow
My thoughts drift at times back to my wild woods home,
back to the lush fields of those enterprising elders
and my time gathering from the wood stands alone.
Oh where did those times of yore go, only to be replaced by helter
skelter and the diluted blood of those wretched dingoes.
Whilst the lush fields and trees have been turned asunder
the demons have declared the statement, woe
unto thy superlative blood.
I behold the mighty wasting drain in the raging thunder
and the future pain of their merciless plunder
of our once cherished resources by that vain alien nation.
Our new impish leader hath sold us all out!
He forces us citizens to serve as a hosting station
whilst he and his clowns extort our precious clout.
Many among us stand and ask the reason why
but the truth once revealed, we can only stand idle and deny.
in the loom of the rising sun I behold the perilous vision of the truth.
Of those warning in the sacred scripture thou didst forsooth
in favor of Sodom and it's debauched stations;
so thus the Lord so divine shall allow the demon to loom the knelling
sending the people into a horrible state of wailing as
Satan's agents ascend with glittering chains
to find that those corrupted people of blood and morals hath remained.
Those agents are astounded at the raw simplicity
of their ability to force their intimidated complicity.
I now behold the columns of smoke that arise
from the corpses of those that shall devise
to repel the arrival of that terrible price that was surely due,
from a corrupted nation that is destined to become ripped and unglued.
Fire streaks as I gaze before me,
My form trembles with fear untold
as that horrible spectrum appears in terrifying symphony
to the strolling thunder as I slowly pace with it's haunting roll.
That old house dilapidated and overgrown,
concealing those most secret of horrors
from terrible crimes passed yet to be known.
Aye, a tainted dame, her glorious passed owner was said to be!
The dame held in honor at the place of the cathedral,
a literal saint in the eyes of the surrounding community.
Both she and her dear husband twain,
fell secretly into the tainted grips of sadism and debauchery.
Her innocent servants they both did design to horrify,
devising tortures that both robbed them of solitude and dignity
in a vain attempt to raise their own majesty and glorify
their presence before all of them.
Their limbs were severed and their agonizing wails
didst all merry make,
the mood for the two so debauched that they did not hesitate
to butcher nine to the tune of a concealing dwarf pantomime.
The community received word of the sadistic knell
from a small bird who floated passed the mansion on the wind
who dared to listen and investigate well.
So by the hundreds their weapons the did gather, then
in a collective voice they thundered for the tainted two
to depart or suffer a dancing death to the tune of their own haunting bell.
Life On A New Age Homestead
The barrel is on the porch a purging fat possum.
The flower is in a five gallon bucket nearly forgotten.
The apples are in the root cellar to keep 'em from going rotten.
The farmer is out in the fields just a plottin'.
We are a heading down in the woods this Sunday morning.
The old moll is still a rocking on the front porch
just a scorning!
Coffee is in the pot a steepin',
soon to be poured.
'round here I'll just tell you we 'uns never get bored,
whether home in the fields,
in woods or in bed;
but such is life in a clapboard shack
on a new age homestead!
The deer in the woods are a getting' bigger.
The catfish in the pond are just a pullin' the jigger!
The traps are a catchin' the most game of all.
this morning' we caught a three hundred pound bear
in our black oak deadfall!
Later this evening we'll stop by old man Jed Christie's grits mill.
Then we’ll walk on down Baker's creek where the branch cabbage grows
to check on our liquor still.
The drip keg thumps to the tune that it will;
hell there's time for a sip cause
now we got time to kill!
On in to town there is a fat lass whom I know well.
She don't talk very much, so she'll never tell,
but she's a pinin' fer a shinin' when I ring her bell;
well boy do I have you a sad spell to tell tale,
cause she's a always moonin' fer a spoonin',
a yodelin' puddin' fer sale!
In church she's says that life is goin' swell,
still a yellin' that she'll stay pure
till the day that she is wed;
but so life goes out in a lean two shack,
on a new age homestead!
The islands are callin', I got that endearing feeling,
the fish are biting and schooling, it's hurricane season.
The bohemians are gathering to paint, ponder and glorify
those hidden dimensions of life and the justifying reasons
for us to sanctify them.
Even at the time of the yuletide, those fine dames are a pining
for us swash-bucklers to give the them endearing company.
Just off the coast a bit the surfacing whales are a whining,
the dolphins are a leaping, merrily trumpeting
as our jon boats ease along netting snapper and grouper.
They all swim and leap along beside us in happy bequest
for our scraps, small delicacies and tidbits for their supper.
If any remains from our wanton feast, then we'll surely give them what is left
Aye- the glinting gold hiding deep in those limestone caves is a waiting,
embracing our advance as we ease along for the taking.
The limestone cliffs rise high for our long range spying,
so the enclosed harbor conceals us from any threatening eyeing.
The sea sloshes into the freshwater creek that winds ecstatically
back into the depth of the limestone cliffs.
The rise of the sea seals off the caves to emphatically
close off our cave hideaway from any imposing skiffs.
The retreat of the sea allowing our exit back along the beach
for morning time trapped fish and fresh oyster delicacies.
Thus unto my fantasy I am forever sold,
only to roam distances in search of wealth sitting inside
huge wrought iron chest untold.
In the meantime I shall take my pleasure from those thrills of indenture
found in bold
My eyes gaze into the horizon of the rolling sea,
my embrace as my body doth forward move is toward Poseidon,
my soul glides forward beyond to embrace Ares.
In mortal life my body knows no pause, only a life of moving, sailing, gliding,
searching for that special place of secular paradise that my contentment needs.
They all stand in astonishing wonder as I only pause in my move
to where I can net the most return on my plunder.
I venture on in pursuit of the need to groove
like a rolling stone during the time of monsoon rains, fire and thunder.
It is Poseidon, that magisterial spirit of the high seas
who has contrived to posses my mortal soul,
thus I am compelled to satisfy that need,
the seed for thrilling adventure and chances taken that are so bold
as to astound my descending generations for ages untold.
My desire is to experience those untouched island lands,
populated by those who are motivated
in the arts of deductive logic and reason. People who exist in untainted bands
such as those of some yet undiscovered Thule, whose arts of deductive philosophy shall titillate
even the toughest analytic gruel.
In my eyes I envision those grand monuments so majestic
that they shall loom forward in glittering example of supreme creative best.
The industry buzzing, but to the unmotivated may just appear hectic,
though they all move forward with open hands out stretched in bequest
for the ultimatum that they can offer out of imposing compelled generosity.
So thus I shall sail away on the wind and the tide,
with the perpetual movement and rhythm
my soul shall eternally abide.
Oracle Of Indigenous Priests
The native prophecy was for thy bondage to abide,
yet the assumption that stands is the sound of freedoms ring.
For the lords of liberty in their battle quest failed to thrive,
so their deception is made right in the tainted song that they teach our children to sing.
On the forlorn field of battle they met freedom's best
who met in hopes of sealing the fate of futures generation in continuing liberty.
They had met to put fire to the supreme test,
for they had legally sought the tenth amendment's delivery.
From those purloining forces, great resources did they invest,
forcing those evil ones to battle in the name of liberty, continuing wealth
Our mighty warrior leader, he performed fine,
but for those days of chivalry he was much too inclined.
For when victory was looming before him,
he turned toward the stone fortress on a bloody whim;
thus the fight for liberty was then on the wane.
So for that I personally hold him to blame.
The true man of gallantry lived on Shelby hill.
This great warrior sought to change the tactics to give battle still.
The warrior leader said no,
claiming that his people had no more fight to show;
thus the precedence for liberties suppression continues in it's way
ever more to this very day.
Pine for liberty, my dear people, as you may.
Please give respectful pause to my ominous song on this day,
for when thy national wealth shall falter,
seize thy arms or get ready to fit thy bit and halter,
for thy land and conscripted labor those evil ones
shall surely make their blood soaked appeal.
The Rainbow And Piddle Diddle
The tick and toe rolled in polly wally dittle,
each wanting to get to know the other just a little;
So just for a bit of fun, they flew up to the sun
and now the lavender clouds rain kibbles of skittles.
Well I rode down to dittle for just a little,
in search of perch fish and fun on the run,
then I saw the tick and toe a tussling willie nittle,
and the fish leaped into a bubbling grease dish right there in the sun!
The rainbow really cares for all of us you know,
his beautiful arms do so gently reach down toward us from the skies;
for the way out of this messy tangle is to sow
seeds of skittles that will surely grow tall enough to surprise
anyone who needs to know.
The sparrow chased the tiger from Timbuktu,
then the sky from the earth became unglued,
the river washed away the mountain dew
and the worms plowed the fields anew,
then all of life begins from small actions just a little
right at first there in polly wally dittle.
I sing this song in the morning time
because just to tell the truth, I am feeling mighty fine;
hell the house cat brought me a fresh bottle of wine,
and the cow always gives milk when I play the ditty pantomime;
and the gator meat shall be done, it seems
when I finish playing the handy dandy ditty pantomime,
that happy tapping tune of the ditty dittle pantomime.
The Tale of Old Widow Le' seine
This song that I sing
is of creatures that crawl
and even more that are unseen.
Of black cats, pumpkins and pigs that brawl,
but also of banshee and spectral beings
that truly do surround us all.
Aye, it was on the eve of hallows 'en
that little George did through the fields doth go,
then fireflies lit in tune with hoot owl's wind,
all in hexing serenade on the whippoorwill's note.
Little George did race just as quickly as water in a mountain stream's bend,
pausing at the fields edge bearing a dark tale of woe.
“What is ailing ye there, little George,
Your wind seems to be a failing you so,”
asked farmer Le'seine, who had been running traps toward
the fields from the pecan rows?
“Well I saw it,” panted Little George.
“I am telling you that it is true, the old widow's tale that we all know.
I rounded yon fields edge towards
the old Le' seine graveyard, for to fetch the wine and the lime that the creek banks bestow,
and I saw it, I tell ya!
I saw the devil whipping the ghost of old man Slim Bimms,
for the sparks would just fly and he'd hit him again
until he would 'st cry and yell out with a shrill hoot
to the order of Satan's high command yelling whip-poor-will
all you demon boys, whip him down until he cries shite, scat 'n scoot!
Do it right now or I'll put the sole of my boot
where it will give all of you cold willies 'n chills!”
The Wayfarer's Song
Well me an my old man
couldn't exactly agree on a plan,
so I loaded up that old 65 Mustang
and I rode out with a bang,
cause we all get nothing only on dreamin'.
I rode off with the circus
just see where the work was
and for the girly parties, free beer 'n cheap thrills in between;
all of you should know just what I mean here.
Soon I had Ginger doin' my socks,
I had Jo doin' my shoes,
I had Tammy a doin' my jeans;
hell, they just won't let me get no sleep any more
'cause they 're a doin' everything in between;
man they're all even a rolling with me in the sand,
yea...I know that all of this sounds way too grand,
but that is how it is when you're a circus man!
Well I work all day
and I play all night.
I live in hope of peace,
but I don't run from a fight.
I will wind up in jail
long before I end up in hell.
I am really just a doin' the very best that I can,
but all of this is just life when you're a traveling man.
The happy clowns now are all a turning mean,
but the trapeze girls are the very best that I have ever seen.
The bulls are all running full steam,
the peacocks are now on the wing.
The gay dancing boys are all broke
'cause they spent their money on coke;
so it is when you spend summer in the sand,
just another day in the tent shade when you're a circus man.
Well I have seen Baltimore,
but it is really just a big bore.
I have been to Chicago,
but it's subways are way too slow.
I have been to Cincinnati,
but it's people smell too badly.
You may not know what I really mean,
but a place that I love is Saint Augustine.
Corpus Christi is a place that is prime
cause it's beaches are really fine;
I love the lifestyle there with it's summers in the golden sand,
but such is my life as a drifting man.
A drifting man has no needs
cause he lives his life as he pleases.
He has no square of bedding ground,
he lays his head where piece of mind might be found.
His experiences are really grand,
he lives a life of his own specific brand;
but that is how it is when you're a wayfaring man..
To Us, The Ethereal One
Thine eyes doth enchant me,
thy hair is of the fairest strands,
thy composure is one of a most endearing company,
thy unspoken manner makes it's silent demands
I am compelled to remain in thy stay,
of thy presence I can never retire,
for it is as if it stands as natures way,
to give all mankind it's inspire
to endeavor in search of it's own perfect play.
Yes, as I lay here by thy side
one to rule in it's pull upon the other,
just as the sun doth upon the moon in the midnight sky.
The same pull there lies just as with the child and the mother.
Through all time we shall continue to glide,
our lives to shine in each others company;
one unto the other we shall abide,
until that time when all around shall believe
that the very stars and the moon holds our secret high,
allowing perfect love to flow through us.
Then when our day shall finally come,
when our time on this green earth has found it's due,
that forlorn moment when our mortal standing is forever done.
We shall then pass through that shining light, my love,
arm in arm as an ethereal one,
both to walk forward in our embrace of the brilliance from above.
Dance Of The Black Cats
I saw her languishing in the courtyard among the flowers,
sitting 'neath the old pear tree,
holding a bouquet of chrysanthemum for hours,
appearing as though her dark secret was to forbear all chastity.
I had heard that her secluded practice was Stygian magic,
I heard if from a spectrum bride to be,
so I sneaked down the street around the corner ecstatically
and this is what happened to me.
I hid so completely there in the hedge,
there was no way that she or anyone else could see
that I was there peeking to give my mind an edge,
silently hoping that she would in ecstatic joy, indeed
My heart raced with anticipation
as she lifted her face to meet mine,
anxious for the thrill of the moment in elation,
for my twine her longing passion did pine.
An unseen pull did find it's way,
forcing me along in it's tainted line,
like a pursuing panther did I creep toward her stay.
Without speaking a single word she arose in time
with my approach on that enrapturing day.
Her veiling toga fell from her shoulders
as she arose to greet my embracing approach.
My enchanted heart raced making me bolder,
upon her nude form I did encroach.
I could not resist as her haunting spell enchanted,
for my very soul her spirit did desire use,
my mortal mind and body her panting
fascination did seduce.
She forced me to engage in frivolity
in which I had no choice to stay.
She compelled me to speak tainted words to deify
which I now so bitterly recall to my own astonished dismay.
When the time for repression has passed,
knew then I that she was no mere mortal,
for her net upon my poor soul had now been cast,
just as the spirit compelled dance of the black cats had foretold.
Just as the hazy blood moon in the midnight sky
compelled the face on the pumpkin to speak it's prophesy of doom,
in absence of any intellectual composure explaining why;
still the whining dance of the black cats shall always foretell one's gloom,
in-spite of all imposing conjecture, its prophecy does never lie.
She whisked me away to eternally merge with the light
of the midnight moon,
for all infinity my penalty is to dance in the graveyard for the demons of the night,
until the time of the Elysium garden's bloom.
Sonnet To My Dearest Maria
Thou art the angel's pride, my love,
the source of delight in the moon's glowing beam,
surely the joy of God in heaven above.
The husband's blessings hath been deemed
in quantity to the value that doth
be measured only in mere mortal esteem,
though certainly not nearly enough,
my elegant dove.
Whence we both are twine
even the cherubs in holy sanctity
shall envy our company and pine
for even a mortal likeness in thee,
oh my cherished Marie.
Those in secular earth who envelope
so attentively round about,
deeply desire thy person too
and thy lavish divine clout.
So forgo them all in gracious exchange
for my dedicated embrace,
since they only seek to make thy presence estranged,
leaving your head to whirl in questioning debate.
For thy presence my yearning still remains,
I shall patiently await thy anticipated return.
Without thy love my poor heart shall never be the same,
my mortal desire for thee only doomed to incessantly burn.
My soul will thus be entombed
deep inside it's own liberty in turn,
that sole reason for my ethereal being dismally consumed.
A Misty Mirage
Her form was shaped like the Venus Adar,
her legs were smooth as far eastern silk,
her flowing hair of flax charmed even the care-less
into the realm of her cheerful skill.
Her continuing laugh was mild,
her manner constantly consumed every enrapturing will
to court her for a while.
Her only flaw was the lip of a hare,
but her adoring skill enlisted great affections at her will!
For those who denied her will never know the thrill.
I shall hereby dutifully declare,
she never refrained from enthralling connections.
She withheld not from that enticing herb
nor any of those heavenly convection.
Her speech flowed in casual poetic blurbs,
but she was keenly aware of my most intimate inspections!
I met her by the hitching post late one Saturday night.
She sauntered up to from the void of gloomy winter,
looming forth within the dismal glow of the passing car lights.
She so brazenly declared that a friend had dared to send her,
but she opened her fir coat to expose her bare skin and wispy bikini tights.
Right at first I figured that only heaven above could
ever hope to mend her.
I can vividly recall our many walks by the railway tracks.
Upon an open blanket beside the trestle we felt not the cold and gloom,
the passing train blowing its whistle as the thunder of it's wheels raged click-clack!
We continued on in our lusty attack never worrying of fate, future or doom,
living only for the thrill of the moment had both our minds,
hearts and souls consumed.
I shall never forget our many walks by the foaming beach,
speaking to the gulls, the fish and the snipes,
both gazing forward into the realm of visions to beseech
unto those sanctified spectrum, requesting the moment when our time would be ripe,
both desiring to know the proper occasion of each.
For eternity I shall recall the many taverns and the dragon's blast,
the enchanted thrills of the frog's brain we did both
unto our health cast.
The fine thrills of the moment was truly the same for each,
for in the end our conclusive toast unto the most of life
was that of sex on the beach!
We both went hog wild at the Razzle Dazzle
along the swampy divide,
hoping to find the thrill of the moment in a tempting castle
into which we both could make times abide.
But the day did come when I had to venture afar
to seek my fortune's best.
For three years did I flounder looking for a star,
leaving her with leisure to invest.
When I did return in the spring of the eighty fifth year,
only to learn that she had crashed her sporting car,
riding away for all eternity into the arms of death.
The people immediately surrounding her seemed somewhat alarmed,
but the righteous within them never even shed a single tear.
Welcome To Halloween
The full moon is high,
midnight is near,
we twelve shall soon be neigh,
so my dear children hath no fear.
We shall all soon sing salutations,
filling our bronze chalice with cheer,
knocking upon thy door ingratiation,
our requests made loud and clear.
Thy golden coin is all good,
thy land notations very fair,
but we prefer thy twelfth year maiden if ye could,
with eyes of sapphire and the golden hair.
Our invocations we shall place upon thy oaken door
when ye bless our coffers with ye gem, golden coin and rings of amber.
To withhold is to meet our abhor,
for we shall paint the horrible hexagram for the spirits to give ye slander
and put thy household to ruinous shame or more!
Within the midst of the town square
the sacred bonfire is a burning.
The spirit of our great Adonis for the one of golden hair
Here his blessings we shall all entice
as we shed the blood of the golden haired virgin
in our holy sacrifice.
The railed carcass shall we roast until the third stroke,
we shall feast as we sing our sanctified cheers
unto those imperceptible powers whom we desire to invoke.
When the corpse was a hanging, it's sweat runneth like tears,
we collected the blood into a chalice poke
that was draining.
This blood we shall use to paint
the glorious cross and the center circle
upon the doors of those most generous so that banality will not taint
their home nor their children s' lively sparkle.
The Time Of The Ghosts
The time of cold draweth near,
our future we knoweth not whether of plenty
or of famine, death and fear.
Thus we sing the before the great conflagration, spending
time feasting in good company and cheer.
Our stores we have in good standing,
our huntsmen are all primed and ready for their honored call,
for the time when hunger pangs commence demanding
for our stomach's fill to carry us through the passing of fall.
We all have stood to make our hail into the mystic void beyond
for peace, brotherhood, warmth and plenty.
Thus we gather daily before thy sacred pond
for to lay our gratuitous gifts in thy sacred blessings without exempting
our ancient songs.
Unto the death we have made our pledge
to do battle with those outlanders who lord dark evil command,
seeking only to harm the innocent with their slashing edge.
I declare that tonight from whence the flaming cross shall stand,
we all shall gather for our divine warriors rally.
Our mighty army thus martial-ed in complete silence and
moving forward through this mountainous ally.
By the rise of the morning sun
we all shall make our glorious move!
We shall bring our victorious fight to the enemy before they can run,
stomping them all asunder as we lust in our bloody groove!
The Dulcimer Band
The grape juice is dancing,
the sparkle and color is fine,
thus the feeling is enhancing.
In the party moonlight the movement doth shine!
Thy silver chalice is mine!
The dragon's scrimshaw doth grace it's form.
The shape doth incorporate the wine,
it's encouragement of hearty laughter is the norm.
The bard spinster weaves his magic on the dulcimer.
The song invites the unseen to lift the spirits to betide the sprites;
we all dance the jig of the giddy giddy Mister,
the appearance of long lost souls his song doth excite.
The shadow of Captain Every appears to make a stand
with William Morgan arriving to steal the show,
all dancing to the tune of a dulcimer band,
but the fiddle really puts us all on the go!
The buccaneers are all arriving near
to offer their gift of revelry to the black saint's band.
All dancing to proud Fancy's cheer,
parading in song toward the ship in the sand,
for the time of their departure is becoming clear!
Tonight we shall sail away into the stars,
far away from all repression to speak,
in search of new adventure and gilded bars,
for the new thrills of life we shall seek!
They Gathered To Give Thanks
From across the water they came,
their beliefs and talents to invest,
repression of the times were to blame,
so they chanced all in a great test.
Onto virgin shores they landed,
anticipating no welcoming committee,
a warrior's fortress they branded
as their great claim to the futures fortunate city.
The woods were abuzz with those whom
were already there, moving to view and investigate
weather fate had for them good tidings or doom,
did the need for battle necessitate or should they twain in friendships embrace?
From trees, mud and stone did that rising fortress atone
for these invaders being friend or foe?
Two opposing cultures meet to live among each other alone
or they shall fill each others lives with dread and woe.
So as a sign of compromise
they both gathered to make a great nourishing display,
each one offering thanks until the other came to realize
that only the immaculate Divine will have his way.
And of the futures implore
the masses did gather to give thanks for their many blessing
there on that beautiful Virginia shore.
That Beautiful Place That We All Know
To Salem we go,
that beautiful place that we all know,
to fill our coffers with doe,
onward to Salem we all shall go.
That dark feline knoweth the way
to lead us toward that blessed bay;
onward to Salem without want,
for the town council shall surely feel the rapture
in our blessed taunt.
Onward to Salem shall we go!
Our sacred herbs the townsfolk are all a buyin',
so tonight we ride our broomsticks a flyin'.
Our spells they are all a pinein'
'cause their villains are all connivin',
so lets go to Salem town tonight!
The gold shall be in flowing,
cause our saints are all knowing,
when we set up camp tonight.
The demons will be a stirring for flight
as our power starts to growing
in old Salem town tonight.
The stew pot is a gurglin'
as we three stand a round
with our tainted brew a stirrin';
then shall our potions hold their greatest might
as all things get really hot there in old Salem town
Aye, their lovers have all strayed
as their men elope with the poor maids,
hence our labors worth in our potions' betide
as the good townsfolk flock into our camp-site
in old Salem town tonight.
Their children's wicked wight
still fills them all with sickness and fright,
so thus shall our wise saints endeavor
to give those bad boys another flavor
in our camp-side on this hallows eve's invite.
The merry dwarfs will be there a dancing
as the ponies are in round circle walking, prancing
in our campsite by the stream fork's hilly right.
The bohemian gals will be a viewing crystal ball
as the clowns juggle with all their might,
whilst those laughing giants make jolly stroll
through our camp tonight.
Tonight all evil shall be made into good
just as all the townsfolk know that it should,
in our campsite by the stream fork tonight.
So everyone come and merry make,
bring your maiden daughters, hurry and don't hesitate,
all of the fun is in our camp invite;
First fork by the hillside on the creek
in old Salem town tonight!
This Truth I Loudly Declare
If I should be merry,
lean and stout,
then I could carry
all of the fair maidens and their father's precious clout.
For in the end
the father's home is where
the infernal invite begins,
and the truth in this I do declare.
If I could carry the cheerful Queen,
gem inlaid crown and throne,
then the whole estate would be mine in between
the King's woods and all that is known.
For in the end
her Father's home is where
the purloining invite begins,
and the very truth in this I loudly declare!
If ye jolly men treasure
ye fair daughter's chastity and endowed race,
then forbid them from taking pleasure
in a world that exists outside of their inherited place.
Run ye away into beautiful lands, so free of the pursuing scorn,
where the world turns among those whom she doth grace.
Alloweth her not from among her anointed status to be torn,
for only the imps shall seek her according to present magisterial ways;
Then thy blessed endowment for which ye labored in many years
shall forever flee from thy descendants' dying grasp.
For the following measured in mere days, shall reveal thy worst fears,
then into the wasteful can of squalor and squander it all shall be cast;
and of that truth, my dear friends, I do solemnly swear!
The Majestic Flower
Deep into the dreary mist of my mind,
in shadow valleys awash in splashing falls,
this poor wretched soul of mine
doth find it's rich occasion to pause.
Of thy trees, meadows and blooms
my poor soul longs to rediscover,
only to pass through those mythical places of the ancient tombs
in search of past secrets to uncover.
I long for the place of ringing Church bells,
of old times ne'er forgotten,
of those wise elders who eagerly foretell
the direction where futures feet are trodding.
Of battles distant past
and our heroes cannon serenade,
I pine for my poor soul to be cast
into such an inviting glade.
I love to hear of that most blessed army of ghosts
who moved forward from high mountain Bastille estate,
to besiege those mongrel troll villains invading our surging coasts,
bearing evil intentions as they lie in traitorous wait.
Thus my withering soul shall scour
all of the mystery islands lost in time,
in certain search of that certain hour
when its eternal joy shall find,
the infinite place of that most majestic magnolia flower
The Lady In The Sky
The wind is singing sweetly,
can't you taste the blood wine?
The gentle ladies are sighing deeply
as the dulcimer plays that haunting pantomime.
I embrace the jaunting spectrum
of that angelic maid who was so fine,
as she endeavors to approach me from that distant hilltop castellum,
seeking to bless me in her yearning embrace so divine.
Her spirit now doth completely envelope my form,
her breath she breathes so sweetly as she layeth by my longing side.
Her mid-night presence somehow hath become my norm,
by me forever she shall now abide.
I feel her presence beneath my heaving bosom,
her breath, her response, her pining sigh;
her unadorned translucent figure appearing so eternally wholesome,
like the surge of the oceans tide.
She doth so lavishly embrace me,
the lover's most cherished skills she passionately invests,
with no others ever seeking to divest thee
of her presence nor her best.
When her greeting is all done
and my loyalty hath completed her test,
her spectrum figure gradually now fading only with the rising sun.
Still I feel her presence beside me when I face the hazy west....
Now the misty hilltop Burgus once again looms before me,
of it's ancient presence my wretched soul can never digress.
Song Of The Gypsy Wind
Of the future most don't know,
it's demands might be way too demanding;
in future knowledge we may grow
as we make ourselves handy.
If we shall seek the best
of whom dwell within the bohemian grove,
then shall we put the pictures to the test,
unto powers of clairvoyance we doth owe.
Shall we sing a song of happenstance,
a crystal ball and dancing flame,
for to conjure a spectrum image by chance,
his beguiling words of wisdom are to blame.
So shall we walk forward in confidence,
the pitfalls of life we're never fearing,
or shall we proceed forth in hesitance,
never knowing what may be nearing?
The coals are winking, now glowing hot,
the potion boiling, the ingredients stirring,
into the hearth center sits a spider legged cooking pot,
the black cat sits by a purring.
The beautiful bohemian maiden
stirs, chanting into the midnight wind;
until the misty ghost sings of fortune without waiting
deep into the night again.
So sit patiently by my longing children,
in search of futures' end,
listen to those songs of passion
to find the point of misfortunes mend.
When The Goddess Of Liberty Blew Me Her Kiss
Well bless me now, I've stayed out of reach,
the pursuing tiger is lost deep inside the jungle thicket;
unto the Great Spirit I will maintain my beseech,
I am so gracious for my every breathing second.
Divested of my rich talents,
I was so savagely abused;
by two loathsome wenches there in the high palace,
I was falsely accused.
Then I felt the authoritarian wrath,
destined only to lie among those relentlessly persecuted;
for if I should be caught, then my poor quivering body shall thus be cast
forth, only to exist inside the dungeon among the loathsome wretch
who lives only by his own degenerated prostitution.
So very tactfully did I lie and wait,
living to enjoy life day by day,
my council holding them at bay to investigate
the accusations lively display.
When the murky haze commenced to lift
with the rise of the rose' sun,
then the air of freedom blew me it's passionate kiss,
so I rode on the wind just for fun!
Away I flew into distant island lands,
far from their ability to fallaciously persecute;
now I live among loving caressing nymph hands,
the court's many shameful sins against me they can never refute.
The Call Of Adventure
The desire for adventure is loudly calling,
the urge for unique experience abroad in exotic lands afar.
The heavy hand of complacency in where I currently am is quickly falling,
so lets all catch the next fleeting star!
Lets fly across desert sands and thick woods,
far across lakes, oceans and plowed fields,
on passed those honored places where the victorious once stood,
for to seek good fortune's glittering yields.
Lets sail across the vast cerulean seas,
in search of blessed Thule Nirvana,
taking our pleasure satisfying those yearning cherub needs,
paying homage only to the flaming cross of our immaculate Sultana.
Lets catch a few dragon fly on the wing,
seizing their energy into controlled harness,
making their buzz into sweet music that they will sing
as we pass o'er the lands' most charming bliss.
Better yet, I shall declare,
lets seize a lift from the soaring eagles above!
They being thirty in all, glide so high in the air,
may surly give us dutiful transport more gracefully than a dove.
The timeless song of high adventure is calling,
seeking to place me into it's divine indenture.
Into it's arms I feel my soul involuntarily falling,
I shall amble away into yon landscape picture.
The Eternal Contest
Oh, if only to think upon this lonesome star called love,
the height of all existence known,
the fleeting majesty of a dove,
affecting even boys who are then destined to become starved men
when they are grown.
To beseech as we make our honest appeal,
in search of fortunes good way,
in hopes that our shining success will
carry us through many a forlorn day.
Then there are the foolish games
we all design to play,
in hopes of swaying those giddy dames
whom design to hold us in their own sway.
Some are inclined only to engender
those most passionate delights,
that the close of thick doors may only render
as we give way unto the night.
Then to our gasping dismay
the enrapture of passions moment
could just carry us away,
later on only causing us to deliberate
the manner in which it moved to hold us all at bay.
Thus in the end,
as we move along in this great encircle,
we all struggle to avoid any bend
as we all engage in the eternal concourse.
Phantom Of The Pantomime
Bless me now, thy apparition so divine...
Sing sweetly unto me thy assurance, as ye breathe the exalted pantomime.
Thy sweet breath holdeth more value than coins of lucid gold,
for thy anointed presence beareth much more harvest than do doubloons untold.
By cozy hearth edge we spoke our earnest vows,
the coals ghost wrought within us it's blessed endow.
Both our eyes absorbed the sacred vision dancing within the oaken flame,
for the robed phantom of the pantomime, we may never hold to blame.
Thy eerie mid-night song, I can scantily remember...,
but the time of our betrothal was in the late December.
The cathedral hall was decked with chrysanthemum, ibis pompom in flower,
hailing the finest of dry blush wine
to grace the sacred twelfth knelling hour,
as we both embrace the enrapturing feeling of the haunting pantomime.
Thy bronze chalice filled with blood brandy burgundy,
the matrimonial chamber endowed with heavenly lace and silken majesty;
all hindsight now relegated to the haze of a remote misty pine
as I long, ever more ceaselessly,
for the enrapturing pleasure of the midnight pantomime.
The complete absorption of thy divine embrace,
the merger of our mortal souls, none can ne'er replace.
We inhale the heavy mist as we breath loves passionate haze,
those spirits of the fleeting moments, our heaving moves doth exhilarate;
that immaculate combination hath wrought within, it's delightful spell so divine,
as the unseen spectrum sings the lullaby of the blessed pantomime.
The Native Prayer To The Wind Goddess
I beseech thy sanctified spirit as it rideth on the wind...
I behold it in the rustle of the leaves, the tinkle of flowing water,
those shredded mortal bodies that astonishingly mend.
Fill my heart with thy majesty, cause me to acknowledge in ways that really matter.
Surround my form with those sweet zephyr cherubs that labor so dutifully to send
forth comfort when there exist none, in melancholy absence of all serenity.
Allow me to penetrate thy immortal dimension,
that sanctified place of existence, endlessly free from corrupting secular invention.
I seek to move within the sincere sensation of natural ethereal freedom, but yet still contained
inside this carnal vessel, without possibility of being maimed
by those dark forces who seek to only invite eternal destruction.
Give me sanctity, oh Lord of all positive, from their persuasive powers of induction.
Introduce me unto glittering brilliance, oh spirit of the tumbling water sensation.
Allow me to behold all that is sanctified inside the soul of thy immaculate nation.
Bestow upon me knowledge from thy blessed scholarly best in anointed creativity,
allow the truest of artistic splendor to stand as my infinite mortal legacy.
Walk with me in my moments of despair, oh Lord of the passion flowers
that beautify the base of the splashing falls that so gracefully shower;
please stand by me during my most trying hours, give me force of strength through all
that moves to threaten and stall our efforts to enlighten, giving creative brilliance
to a world that benightedly turns repetitively to terrestrial happenstance.
I only seek the secrets of avoiding mortal desecration,
oh our immaculate one!;
desiring only to lead all into the glory of sublime phenomenon.
Allow my creative work to be thy force that moves
by embracing paths where effectively applied mortal effort behooves.
Young nymphs hail as they glide on by,
knowledge offered as honored scrolls roll open,
seekers stand amazed as they wonder why in reply.
Papers ready as they make their token,
the master calleth upon their inquisitive surmise;
thus now the spell of enlightenment should not be broken.
The specter of time honored prodigies reign majestically
in the the hallway distance,
those skillful demands shall never be met hesitatingly
or with careless happenstance.
The mentor's lecture remains the sound held in supreme,
the rustle of plume and paper
soon merging into a guild-ed team.
Instructions given are never saved for later;
students completing their instruction, saving their evenings to philosophically dream.
Whispers seeping through the walls,
careless wastrels in the halls,
toilets flushing in their rooms,
janitors sweeping with their brooms.
Fresh laughter riding through the air,
students muffle as they swear.
Leaders wonder as to where
the knowledge glides as they search and stare.
The system designs with intent to repair,
the worthless results cause most scholars to lose all care.
Still all of the earth wonders to it's shocking amaze,
how fast all intellectuality can find it's grave.
The Sailor's Sea Song
Oh sing to me now, ye spirits of the sea.
Guide me into a place filled with glee;
take me where there is no concern with sickness, pain nor the hour,
for there dwells only cheerful daffodil and enrapturing flower.
Take me where there exist possibility for thrills untold,
where golden treasures are found as they were during those glorious days of old;
where cheerful hearts flourish with no regrets
and lively dance to happy music is all that seekers doth beget.
I need a keg from which delightful wine and brandy flows for eternity,
where with it cheerful delight goes from now into infinity!
I need a grass skirted maiden who loves to wave the ibis plume fans
to shade the evening and cool her loving talented man.
We all need a cheerful song than never ceases to enchant,
one that bears bewitching power to cool a tyrants rant!
A sweet song sang by the haunt of native flute,
that transcends all language, absorbing even the minds of those whom are most astute.
I need an island song where cheerful days transform into delightful nights,
that carries all of us away on spiritual invites,
bringing comfort to troubled mortal souls,
forbearing all heartless condemning scolds.
I now sing this melody to the precious Madonna of the high seas,
requesting sanctified gracious generosity, if unto her it should please.
Please bless us now as we make this long venture,
let thy eternal bliss be our only mortal indenture.
The Truth About It
No more leeches, no more pain,
no more reasons to explain.
The way it all was, is the way that it shall stand to exist,
no more reasons to resist.
The pain is too much, the loss to great,
no more justification to debate.
The time has come, since the hurt is still here,
this bloody torture will never disappear.
They told me don't, but I just can't deny
that the pain still hurts until I cry.
I tried their false purloining cures, I took their poisoned pills,
but they could never cure my wretched ills.
My fingers can't bend, my legs can't walk,
but this hell that I am living is nobody's fault.
My feet were born crippled, but my situation was their disciple.
The conquest that was so near, was so inviting.
I went to their false schools, I sang their lying songs,
but I never did find my place to belong.
The day has come, this deed weighs heavily upon me that I must do,
so don't anyone dare walk around feeling so blue.
This time for all draws ever so near,
but I can tell ye people, that there is no reason to fear.
Some say you will, some say you wont,
but I say that their own looming future shall be their eternal taunt.
The Magic Carousel
Today we shall ride the magic carousel,
the blessed ride that we know so well;
the carousel, oh that magic carousel,
right on passed the glamorous palaces of those imposing infidels.
Today we shall ride into that land of magic and imagination
without any sort of imposing hesitation;
oh that land of magic that we are getting to know so well
we all shall see again as we ride the spectacular carousel.
Today we all shall eat sweet candy and unicorn hearts
before our blessed journey even starts!
We shall glide down waterfalls
before the smiling sun decides to stall.
We shall glide down the streams of water
before the lure of our adventure even begins to call.
As we make our way through, both the saints and the villains
shall somehow stand tall,
and those who are most willing
shall ne'er worry about nothing at all.
Today we shall ride on the magic carousel,
living out those enchanted stories that we shall long tell;
seeing sights of real life before the looming death knell
of the imaginary kingdom and the magic pearl.
Oh, today shall be the day of an enlightened spell
as we take our chances in the land that we are learning so well
while riding upon the groove of the magic carousel,
oh we shall then have our great tales to tell.
Song Of The Blessed Trio
The blessed trio came in search of a star,
they traveled for months from lands afar,
hoping that divine guiding majesty would lead them to the anointed one,
that child spoken of by the sages who would be the immaculate son.
In the midst of that holy night, one by enraptured one
they came to behold the glory of the Father's son,
showing gifts of radiating kindness
in hopes of earth's sanctified forgiveness.
The first to enter was lord of a kingdom flowing with gold,
the second from the land of frankincense, we are told.
The third entered, bearing the splendid gift of myrrh,
all three traveling from afar to bestow their best blessings, as we infer.
Inside a cave in a mangers wake
lay the Christ child soon to bear all sin with grace.
Warmly wrapped in swaddling clothes he lay,
heralding the day
in redemption of his father's earth and all heavenly space.
For twelve days they stayed, bearing gracious intent,
which is the true reason that we all celebrate lent.
The inn on the hill held no spare room,
so the stable cave proved just fine for the new bride and groom.
Fate provided for them better, since animal body heat
kept the child all toasty warm from the head to his feet.
Thus our prayer from now on at every high noon,
is please don't leave us for ever Lord and come back soon!
The Walls Hold Many Secrets
Whom hath my door let in,
what sort of unknown visitors bequeathed
the owners past of my den?
Whom hath my door once let in?
Did these visitors once pause for sup',
bringing tidings of tall tales and light hearted joy?