Live Music Experience

It’ll help,
It’ll heal,
It’s the real deal,
It’ll show you how you ought to feel.

There’s no room for bullshit,
Just straight up and here to fix your problems,
I swear it,
By the time they’re done,
You won’t even remember it.

Let it enter in your ears,
And saturate your brain,
I promise,
It’ll stop you from going insane.

So fierce you can feel it,
Even the gentlest of beats,
Your whole body will absorb it,
Starting with your feets,
And settling in your heart of hearts.

Get lost in it,
To fully find yourself,
Shady shit will melt away,
Because you came here today.

The invisible vibrations,
Are loud enough to deafen you,
Trust me,
This is what you need,
For your brain and soul to feed.

It’ll never disappoint,
You’ll walk away satisfied,
Your mind has finally spied,
That which you have been denied.

Old Hat

I’m sitting here wondering why,

People put an expiration date,

On something not brand new,

How is it not still great?

And not still worth its weight in gold?

Do you have an answer?

Or will your mouth just continue to hammer?

At what age does this classic,

Become trash to fill a sack?

Is it actually,

Without a doubt,

Truly fucking worn out?

Or might you be kind of close-minded,

Just following the twisted thinking,

Of your fellow mankind?

Antique to me means much,

Not out dated at all,

And as such,

I’ll keep a hold on it,

Because an original,

Versus a copycat,

Why the fuck,

Would I give up that?

Old fashioned,

Isn’t necessarily behind the times,

No need to pawn it off for cash,

Anyway,

When did gaining another year become a crime?

An heirloom, a treasure, a relic,

Not ancient or creaky or clunky,

It shouldn’t be cast as an outcast,

To a pile of unacceptable junk,

But be a collector’s item,

To be recycled,

To brighten your days,

And to remind you of the good old ways.

Lock, Stock, And Barrel

What is 100 proof?

It is full strength,

Not watered down,

Not diluted.

100 proof,

Comes off as in-your-face,

It is flamboyant,

And not for the faint of heart.

If angst is inside,

It should fucking shine,

Not be kept bottled up inside,

So others won’t think you corrupt,

But the same can be said,

For experiencing joy or pain,

And even of feeling mundane.

Own yourself,

At 100 proof,

Don’t go all lame,

To become a crowd pleaser,

Camouflage,

To acquire an unnecessary entourage –

……….That’s just too fucking ridiculous.

Not many can take me,

At 100 proof,

They expect everyone and everything,

To be just like them,

To speak and act and react,

A replica of what they would,

Newsflash motherfuckers,

I’m not a brainless block of wood!

There’s many things,

That come 100 proof,

People, faith, and alcohol,

Do you have it?

Can you take it?

Or will the trust put in you be shaken?

Consumed By Rage

I’m chilled to the bone,

Frozen through and through,

I’m cold deep down,

Another warm Florida night,

God I wonder,

What could have caused me such a plight?

It’s the attitudes,

Which at me have been threw,

How does anyone know,

How many faces are possibly hid,

Behind the eyes of each and every ma’am and dude?

Fuck!

I’m shivering inside,

It boggles my mind,

Do they all think I am blind?!

Icicles are hardening my soul,

Thanks to these motherfucking trolls.

I feel the temperature of ice,

Being slowly transported through my veins,

It flows along,

And I silently scream in torture,

Oh when will this nightmare be over?

Blood so cold now,

It has turned to snow,

The flakes and drifts,

Threaten to send my mind over a cliff,

I can’t think straight,

Everything’s in a haze,

Thoughts more confusing,

Than a harvest-time corn maze.

I’m so sick of lips that lie,

And eyes that spy,

They make me scream,

And they make me cry,

My body is becoming,

A furnace of anger,

Explosion is an imminent danger,

This high heat,

Hot enough to melt bars of gold,

Has gone and turned me stone cold.

Thanksgiving, Under The Influence Of Jameson And Fireball

I think sometimes it’s actually easier,

To list the things for which I’m ungrateful,

Than to think of some,

For which I am thankful.

But today being what it is,

I’ll do my best to turn that around,

And prove to the world,

I’m not completely upside down.

I’m happy with my loyal friends,

Who are my actual family,

Despite the fact that my blood,

Tends to treat me like crud.

I’m happy I’ve moved on,

From psycho ex bastards,

Despite the fact that if I’m not careful,

It will lead straight to my next disaster.

I’m happy to be a stunning beauty,

Boasting both muscles and femininity,

Despite the fact the nasties in nightclubs,

Sicken me by blatantly grabbing my booty.

I’m happy that the weekend,

Is always guaranteed to come around,

Despite the fact that it always ends,

With another hellish week,

Waiting right around the bend.

I’m happy to have my doggie,

To keep away the dangers,

Despite the fact that she also scares away,

Some who are far from strangers.

I’m happy I live,

In a land with endless summer,

Despite the fact that all the sweating,

Is a real bummer.

I’m happy I have talent,

That is artful and creative,

Despite the fact that all the left-brainers,

Think of me as insane.

I’m happy my pony,

Awaits me in Heaven,

Despite the fact that thinking of her,

Makes the Earth seem slightly lonely.

I’m happy I have a job,

That pays enough to buy a good life,

Despite the fact the hellhole,

Is so full of strife.

I’m happy I’m not easily brainwashed,

By the leftist media,

Despite the fact that blindly believing,

When they pout and shout,

Would be an easy way out.

I’m happy I live in the age,

With plastic surgery,

Despite the fact that recovery,

Is temporary misery.

At the moment,

This is all I see,

Maybe there is more,

But at present,

This is all that is transparent.

What In The HELL?

One day,

Out of the blue,

Two tiny marks were noticed,

Upon a thumb,

“Where the fuck,

Did these come from”!?

Was the thought,

Until the mind,

Was practically numb.

Little brownish red dots,

That looked a lot like tiny birthmarks,

Why were they,

Never noticed before?

They couldn’t be recent

But they weren’t remembered,

As being there,

Just a year or two before.

Into the head came a notion,

Was this proof of past lives?

Once someone had said,

The fear of certain fanged brutes,

Was likely due to being bitten,

While alive,

In another lifetime,

And this is why,

The feeling of panic,

While in their presence,

Never subsided,

No matter how much,

Time had elapsed.

In theory,

Fang marks,

Are only made,

By things infected by dark,

But are they really polluted?

Because after all,

They had ancestors once,

On Noah’s Ark.

There was strong suspicion that they might,

Be from a snake bite,

There was,

After all,

The infliction of a phobia,

But was that all paranoia?

Or was that fear founded by an incident,

And therefore legitimate?

Though there are tons of creatures,

Sporting fangs,

Not all result,

In the night terrors,

For instance,

It’s known a house cat,

Would not do that,

But who’s to say,

They weren’t wandering in the jungle,

And met head on,

By a lion?

But oh yes,

That jungle beast’s mouth,

Would be too big to leave these marks,

That little kitty though,

Righto! – that one’s a maybe……………

At one point in the past,

Could there have been a Mer,

Who played in ponds,

And swam in seas?

So many creepy critters,

Occupy these places,

And many are with,

Tiny fanged faces,

Yes this one is actually,

A real possibility……………

Very well,

I’ll admit there is no way here,

To be totally and absolutely sure,

Just the same,

These marks are pointing favorably,

Toward this being right,

It’s so strange they seemed to surface,

Pretty much overnight,

Even so I think it’s clear,

These marks were put,

On a former version of a self,

By the object of their deepest fear.

Before

What is done,

And what should be done,

Too many times,

Are two different things.

Life at this time,

Has lost its shine,

Do people’s dirty little tricks,

Too make your stomach sick?

Let us rewind,

Hundreds of years,

So as to get away,

From so many vile liberal minds.

I’ve been known to wonder,

Why wasn’t I born,

Way back when?

Eventually though,

It’s concluded,

That I was,

But then,

Like everyone does,

I was reincarnated,

Time and again,

Until now here I am,

Part of this modern world,

That’s congested with hatred.

How many previous,

Lives did I lead?

What did I get up to?

And did I succeed?

Does that even matter?

To these I’ve no answer.

I’m sure there were many,

Some in the times when being rich,

Required barely more than a penny,

And other souls were so far off,

That a walk to visit neighbors,

Would wear a hole in one’s socks.

I hereby suggest someone,

Invent a spell,

That can take a body back,

To when things were simple,

To when for the most part,

Society was civil,

Rather than sinful.

I beg of you,

Let me go back,

To whenever it was,

That my first life was lived,

Modern conveniences be damned,

The peace would more than make up,

For what I would lack.

Independence Day 2020

The Earth is beautiful,

But the World is one hot mess,

Are we all fuct?

Have you all given up?

Because I was born,

The same way I’ll die,

And that is free,

One hundred percent,

Not just to some degree.

Some people seem to know,

Just what buttons to press,

To start another war,

It about makes me envious,

Of those about to go knocking,

On death’s door.

Before all the land was settled up,

The pioneers had the right idea,

They were wild and free,

And lived off the land,

Never submitting to laughable laws,

Of another man.

Slow and steady,

The years passed by,

The population grew,

And everyone thought,

They knew what was best to do.

Now there is this piece of shit,

Known as politics,

No matter how far you travel,

There’s no escaping it,

They’re at your local grocery store,

And at the nearby sea shore,

Face it,

Once you’ve dared,

Walk out your door,

You’re not free,

And nothing’s fair.

Now here I sit,

Trying to make,

Some sense of it,

It’s looking like half are lying,

Just to set the others crying,

It won’t be long,

And the tables will turn,

Somehow everybody’s right,

Though both sides say,

The other is wrong.

This year,

Freedom is not ringing,

It really hasn’t for some time,

Well last I checked,

My taxes are paid,

So I’ll do as I please,

In this supposed Home Of The Brave.

Excuses to sidepass unconstitutional rules,

Should not be essential,

And a possible arrest,

Should not even have potential,

I ask,

Why celebrate the Fourth,

If you don’t discern its worth,

And if you do indeed identify,

Rather than fall prey to political lies,

You should act free,

And you should act brave,

Until you are called,

To your grave.

What Does The Wind Say?

Just like us with souls and goals,

It seems to have many sides,

Also expressed by voice,

Which we all hear,

Without much choice.

How good it feels,

Prancing across my skin,

As I’m outdoors soaking in sweat,

Working hard,

So as my needs will be met,

Still though,

That is not its reason,

To be out today,

It’s speaking a language,

Meant for one of its own,

Meant for another,

Of nature’s wonders.

Whether it’s letting out a shriek,

Or a sound almost meek,

I listen with interest,

And try to imagine,

What might have happened,

To spark its voice into action.

I hear it raging down the ravine,

I know it’s not talking to me,

But rather to,

The old oak tree,

Still I wonder what it’s saying,

The way I hear it howling,

It’s sounding mighty mean.

The other night,

It whipped around real strong,

Blowing in all directions,

Not letting up,

The whole night long,

Was it maybe forewarning a comrade,

Of some coming mourning?

During a storm,

Letting out ferocious gusts,

Could it just be playing rough?

Or is it emanating its power,

Over some rebel flower?

On a warm calm summer day,

All is still,

But the slightest whisper,

As it lightly puffs,

Not even strong enough,

To raise a cloud of dust,

Now where did that come from?

And why did it even bother?

Was it maybe murmuring some reassurance,

To the Mother Earth?

Down by the ocean,

It’s heard loud and clear,

In the lap of the waves,

Against the shore,

When its voice gets louder,

The waves pound fiercer and faster,

Showing the world,

Just whose voice here is master.

If Only I Could Raise The Dead

*************************

Forever grateful I would be,

If you would but come back to me,

Haunt my life,

Make it again worthwhile,

And bring upon my lips a smile.

Feel free to be a weekend visitor,

Or a constant in my world,

I’ll take anything my friend,

Just to unite with you again.

*************************

If you feel like coming home,

I won’t tell anyone you’re here,

So next time you decide to roam,

I hope you end up near.

Don’t you worry,

Your place has been saved,

Never to be taken by another,

Now what are you waiting for,

To knock upon my door?

I’ve heard that these things happen,

And I know if you appeared again,

Wrongs would right themselves,

And this life full of desolation,

Would soon be dazzlingly bright.

It’s a sure-fire bet,

If you’d show your silhouette,

It would brighten my days,

Better than Florida’s sun rays.

If you’re waiting on an invitation,

Well here it is:

“You are invited”!

And for more than a vacation,

I’ll see that the way is lighted,

If you be sure your journey gets expedited.