Them There Folks

There are those whose fingers are always pickin’ somethin’——

Some like to sing high—–

And don’t forget the low singers——

Some that like to cling close—–

And those that are stand offish—-

And the perpetual scratchers—–

And the ones that can’t digest their food——–

And the squinters——

And those you can barely hear———

And the infernal loudmouths——

And everything in between——

And those who don’t know what day it is——-

And those who harbor grudges forever———

And light heads for whom anything goes——

And there are floor tappers——–

And wooden pencil eaters—–

And those who smile at everything—-

And so we come to the inevitable question——

Who are we that do all these things—–

We are the critters that some call “them those people”.

Has Your Ear Been Bent?

Sitting quietly on a wooden bench, listening to bird  calls from the neighboring tree,

And taking in the sunshine and west wind,

I perceived the presence of an invador and a time predator.

He pierced nature’s sublime symphony with the raucous voice of his convictions,

Which were unsolicited and most unwanted, and cacaphonous.

He saw me and just had to rudely intrude into my space and rob me of a few precious moments

Of joyful tranquility by forcibly inserting himself

Where he most certainly was not wanted.

What twisted personalities set up their acquaintances in order to smash then down

with egocentric behavior.

“Get lost Charlie” Shut up! My brain is full!

There is no room for you here”!

No, you can’t speak that way to “hungry for listeners” monsters.

But you can claim cramps and whatever goes with them

In order to leave the scene in a hurry.

As you go you let out a blast from the rear

and hopefully a trail of the foulest smelling methane gas.

Thus, the ultimate comment on the beast’s pontification is there for the world to smell.

And there is the sweet aroma of flowers

Near the bench that’s over the next hill:

So take heart and walk fast!

Itch

The ripe fruit of the sycamore tree is an array of itching seed balls

Waiting for kids to harvest and manufacture into wondrous powder.

In a torn pocket the powder escapes down on to legs and itch, itch, itch!

Thrown into the air the seed balls open and fly into the faces and armpits

Of pontificators who now must pause and scratch.

Many a teacher has had these winged gentle seeds in intimate company.

A favorite activity is blowing them in a crowded place and “come what may”.

Thus, did Henry take revenge on some big bullies who were sitting quietly

Between dastardly acts, contemplating what to do next.

From a crack in a window above them, floating, came the glorious

Seeds of ITCH, settleing down on those who thought themselves superior

And were now relegated to the primal scratch.

The little kis looke on as the big guys suffered contortions.

It’s in the fall, when school starts, and things seem to be going well

That there is divine intervention in the form of itching powder

That shatters the peaceful order of things,

Entering those private areas, where noone is allowed.

And it’s so nice to know

That from these magical winged beauties a sycamore tree will be born

And the itching season will live on.

I Thought That Might Be Why**

Dissatisfaction is pervasive in the human race. In many situations there are reasons to be disgruntled. Can one enjoy the tranquility of happy outcomes. That would be the secret of the peaceful heart. Now why are some egomaniacle minds of humans destroying the beauty of planet earth. Can it be complete ignorance  of the outcome of their behaviour? The forms of violence and other forms of anti-social behaviour have their consequences.

Genuine compassion for all things is the road to a peaceful way. To the plants,animals, and even inanimate things kindness offers the needed comfort.

Live love~~~~~~~

Allow others their peace.

The softest tread

Leading to a pervading quiet

Allows us to sleep in a foggy morning

When flowers are trying to open.

By the Way———-

I tweaked the butterfly’s mustache

While wending through a normal day

And found the secret of all things:

It all matters and it always has

For every piece of life

Chasing vim aND VIGOR******************

And that’s how we get by!

Riding Through Life, Bareback 6/18/2004

Born in real lilac scented morning

Feasting on nature’s bounty

I went through life’s winding ways

Accompanied by the ” beauties” around me.

I lived with and loved what was found out front.

I ran with what grew from earth.

I breathed the air afforded to me.

My life went shortly by

And in a jiffy was over.

Then I awakened and was nursing,

And my mother was a rat in a sable palm tree

Working to satisfy my five brothers and sisters.

It was easier to ride “bareback” as a rodent

In an ancient “hammock”

Where humans didn’t process anything.

But in a short time I was hawk food.

Now I’m wondering what this is all about—-

“Shall we dance” ?

June 11,2009

Today, in the heat of a Florida summer  day, I confirmed that anything which you may do in front of someone else wiil be an object of comparison with that person’s ability to do likewise.

I leave the conclusion of this statement to your imagination

Ponder whether constant comparisons are productive in your life and whether they are simply inevitable.

Maybe this is how we grow.

The Ninth of June, 2009

Has reason slipped through the cracks into the open light? Are the people around the world gaining cognition about their previous delusions which have caused interminable torment? Are the roaring flames of the propagation of the various ideologies beginning to subside? Look around dear friends and find some souls that are not ranting and raving. Bathe your thoughts in a wee bit of comfort while you notice the propagation of the allies of Reason. It may be an idle dream but I feel humans touching love’s emerging beauty. How sweet the change! Stay aloft in exultant jubilation.