Of All the Things

Of all the things I like the least

Are those amongst who put on airs.

Poet, pirate, pauper, priest,

Who amongst us really cares?

In their mansions oh so stately,

Heaven help me I am drifting;

Maybe I’m just Johnny come lately,

But who amongst is doing the lifting?

And so it is I will gauge,

Words with actions on the face,

And so it is at every stage,

I’ll decide their rightful place.

And in my heart those that dwell,

Be they eunuchs, egg heads or long eared elves;

I’m here to tell you, bloody hell,

They best be able to laugh at themselves!

Feelings

A lounge lizard is singing "Feelings",

In plaid and a white vinyl belt;

The bar has mirrors on the ceiling

As into a dark corner I melt.

"Waiter," I say, "Make it a double,

It seems I have feelings to drown."

Double, double toil and trouble

Of all the gin joints in this town.

But what feelings I'm here to tell,

I'm about as empty as this bar,

But, "Play it again Sam," I yell,

"That song could make you a star."

And drunkenly I sing along,

"Feelings wo-o-o feelings," Way out of key.

Yes, feelings by God in a song,

That are completely denied by me,

Within These Woods

Within these woods of red and gold

Where autumn surely is the look,

I braced myself against the cold,

And wandered 'pon this path I took.

A path I think beneath the leaves

For most dead they were all around,

Leaves so deep above my knees,

Till paths alone could not be found.

And fairly kicked I turned and tossed

A brand new path amongst the leaves,

And though of course I now was lost,

Opportunity was mine to seize.

For in such faith I made the leap

In the autumn amongst the trees,

And though this path of mine runs steep,

I'll follow fairly them who be leaves.

Wild Horses

Wild horses on the Montana range

With the sunset blazing bright red;

From day to night in a slow change,

Under big skies where freedom's bred.

 

Freedom such a fine word of course,

Maybe the finest ever spoken;

And what better way than a horse,

Out on the range wild and unbroken.

 

Does your wild heart not skip a beat?

I know it surely does for me,

When wild horses I'd chance to meet,

On the open range running free.

 

Forever etched one of those scenes,

Across the range a rambling herd;

Wild horses wander like my dreams

Where freedom is the finest word

Spiritual Healing

In the footsteps of the Wise men,

I swear to God it was as I thought;

Upon the road to Bethlehem,

Was the child savior I sought.

 

Follow the brightest star

To Bethlehem in the west

On I 78 in my car,

I imagined the very best.

 

For I never knew it I swear

When just by luck I came this way;

This luck of mine beyond compare,

To learn Jesus was born in PA.

 

Bethlehem PA who knew

With Nazareth just up the road;

A revelation it is true,

Now much lighter is my load.

 

And spiritual healing to be found

My faith to follow in these places,

The baby Jesus somewhere around

Where I searched in so many faces.

 

Now Bethlehem and Nazareth PA,

My spiritual healing on the map shows,

But what truly saved me I must say

Were the deep woods of the Poconos

She Seemed to Be the Perfect Host

She seemed to be the perfect host

When she invited me to tea,

And so it was I raised a toast,

'Cause most perfect she seemed to be.

Till many visits so I paid

To this ever kind perfect host,

But then one day I over stayed

And then it was I saw the ghost.

A ghost before me sitting there,

And yes it was it frightened me,

For hollow now her soul laid bare,

Her true emptiness I could see.

And feel her pain I almost could,

When she projected onto me,

And of her pain it's understood,

When of herself she could not see.

Yes empty was this perfect host

And sadly I saw through and through,

But now I know the way of ghosts

And why they all cry, "Who, Whoo."

Stones

A stones throw from the other side

Where in my glass house come what may,

It's here amongst I must decide,

Just how the game I'm going to play.

So it was I sought the Sages,

On how myself I should conduct,

For my life in all its stages,

I've come to see has mostly sucked.

But hands upon which we are dealt,

"To make the most of," so they said,

For Sages who in courage dwelt,

They tell me now to go instead.

And though a stone throw's mine to make

An easy toss from here to there;

It seems a claim if I'm to stake,

Of stones - I need to grow a pair.