That’s The Best Blossom

It’s an immense field,
Full of flowers,
But you can pick just one,
Never let the wrong one,
Say “I won”.

Don’t settle for,
Second best,
Walk to and fro,
Weaving through the blooms,
Until you’ve found,
The only one,
Who will pass the test.

Is there one flower in the field,
That won’t ever wilt and rot,
And is there a surefire way,
To tell if it’s,
The one you’ve got?

Go stand in the middle,
Then spin slowly around,
See them all,
Before you carefully choose,
So you don’t lose.

Front and center,
Or waving from the wings,
Lying face down,
Or sitting on the ground,
Sporting a smile,
Or wearing a frown,
Only one of them,
Isn’t a clown.

Select one who won’t wilt,
The second it’s picked,
One who will survive,
When taken from its home base,
And placed in a vase.

Not the one who dies,
The second snow flies,
Or the one whose petals fall,
From a little bug’s brawl.

Plot Twist!

Wait,
I thought it was set in stone?
Sewn up tighter than a drum?
…..But now this has come!

In truth,
Something from the situation,
Has always been a little aggravating,
Though a finger couldn’t ever,
Quite be put on it,
What can I say,
It’s always also,
Been plain as day,
And a subject for which I pray.

Now arrives this curveball,
Thrown at me from nowhere,
So unexpected,
But not actually a problem,
And I assure you,
If it’s the answer,
It won’t get rejected.

This can only go,
One of two ways,
And I’m counting the days,
‘Til this is the past,
And good for a few laughs.

Such a delicate decision,
With two top-notch choices,
But only one can win,
And so an invisible,
Battle begins.

To be sure,
Not one knows,
What’s going on,
But me and the,
Almighty God.

With a war in the spirit,
And only one truly right answer,
Letting Him provide it,
Prevents the choice,
From being a cancer.

Soon the solid rock will surface,
None will be winners,
But none will be losers,
His holy will will win,
And forever after,
The life He intends,
Will endure to the end.

Envision Something Sensational (It’s Not About Coffee)

Caffeine dream,
You’re being hunted,
Caffeine dream,
You’re being pursued.

Caffeine so warming and awakening,
Perfect following a dream,
Where time was spent,
Away vacationing.

Caffeine dream,
You’re needed now,
Caffeine dream,
The only word for you is wow.

Caffeine is addicting,
And the dream you are,
Is a happy place,
An amazing grace.

Caffeine dream,
You’re in high demand,
Caffeine dream,
With you I stand.

Caffeine courses through veins,
Like a shooting star,
And in a dream you can swing,
From that star by a string.

Caffeine dream,
You’re an essential,
Caffeine dream,
You’re needed for survival.

Caffeine gives off energy,
And when it’s been spent,
That gives way to a dream,
Soothing and serene.

Caffeine dream,
You’re everything,
Caffeine dream,
Without you there’s nothing.

Caffeine lack,
Can cause a wicked withdrawal,
From which a dream can pick you up,
And fully revive you.

Caffeine dream,
You’re found now,
Caffeine dream,
You’ll be retained somehow.

Read Between The Lines

Climb up,
Into the tallest tree,
And you still can’t see,
To the future,
And what’s meant to be.

Dig a hole,
‘Til you reach,
The devil’s home,
And you still can’t bury,
The burdens you carry.

Run a million miles,
And you still can’t shed,
All that weight,
Not put on,
By a fork and plate.

Hold on tight,
With all your might,
And you still can’t grip,
What’s sneaking behind,
To make you trip.

Scream so loud,
You convene a crowd,
And you still won’t be heard,
By the absurd.

Chase it,
Focused with tunnel vision,
Win yourself scores of wars,
And you still won’t ever be able,
To really call it yours.

Kick it out of your path,
Give it your toughest whack,
And you still won’t have cleared your way,
Of all the rubble,
Sent for your delay.

**********

Fight your battles,
In the spirit,
Call on the Lord,
He will surely hear it.

**********

Chunk, The Chocolate King

**********

He’s not hollow,
He cannot melt,
He can hop like a jackrabbit,
Though he’s got no flesh or bone or pelt.

**********

Oh what a hand he was dealt,
The very first chocolate rabbit,
That one-hundred-thirty-five he is now,
Is not even felt.

Created on a whim,
In an old store-room,
He was a sight to behold,
And caused a new tradition to unfold.

When his campaign was done,
The evening of Easter, 1890,
As soon as the store was locked,
Away he hopped.

That chunk of chocolate,
Ran off like a rocket,
Before he could be melted or dumped,
And it so happens he ran through,
A patch of magic dust,
Blowing by on a gust.

And never was he ever,
Heard from again,
That is,
Not by men.

But when little bunnies say their prayers,
He is the angel,
God sends that way,
And gladly he watches over,
The little dears.

He is ever so big,
And lives in his own,
Hidden grove of figs,
Far from humans,
And their modern rigs.

There’s a hollow in a hill,
Under tree number four,
Covered with a green trap-door.

Carpeted steps lead down,
To a hardwood floor,
In a giant room,
Fitted just for him.

When he first ran away,
From that window front,
In P.A.,
This is where,
He chose to settle,
Hoping no one would find him,
And see fit to meddle.

What’s he been up to,
The last how many years?
Well he calms the fears,
That reach his ears,
From the above dears.

Then makes millions,
Of mini-mes,
In his factory,
Across the street,
Under tree number three,
Which he distributes to stores,
Shopped in by people,
Like you and me.

His brand is exceptionally fine,
And bought to be indulged in,
With fine whiskey or wine,
Oh! Look at the time!
Go and get you one,
Before it’s time to dine!

His life-size bunny plushies,
So many try,
To make their products as perfect,
But theirs all lack,
When compared to the ones made,
By this aristocrat.

**********

Only once,
Did someone think,
He was to eat,
When he was lounging under,
Tree number one,
To get some fresh air,
While avoiding the sun.

But they broke a tooth,
And on him,
Not a mark was left,
So they were forced to flee,
Without a chance,
Of committing the theft.

**********

Something’s Brewing

I can’t even remember,
The what or why for,
But that devil’s appeared again,
That’s for damn fucking sure.

I suppose he thinks he’s clever,
But come in agreement I’ll never,
Really, it’s kind of a shock –
Yes sir,
You are being mocked!

The nerve!
I mean,
The dude should know that I know,
He was up to no good,
Last time he was in,
My neighborhood.

Years ago,
He jumped ship suddenly,
It seemed such a shame,
Until the truth came out,
And I realized he was lame.

“Beauty is in,
The eye of the beholder”,
That’s truth,
If ever I heard it,
And it’s pretty crazy,
When the realization hits,
That they are just shit.

Signs are cropping up,
More and more frequently,
As the days pass,
Those dogs are everywhere,
Starting, of course,
The day I woke from the dream,
In which he was there.

Supernatural to the core,
But on the dark side,
Yet somehow feels no shame,
That shit I’d never claim.

I’d love to know,
What runs through this demon’s head,
To make him decide,
When to show,
And when to hide,
And why he thinks,
I’d be game for the ride.

We shall see,
How long he knocks for,
Before giving up,
And again turning away,
From my door.

The Elephant In The Room

**********

So the supernatural scares you?
Has you running away,
Pretending there’s not,
Going to be Hell to pay?

That’s right,
That place most will end up,
Due to sleeping,
Under Satan’s spell.

**********

It’s so uncomfortable,
To be asked,
“Did you hear this one,
Lost that one”?

Expected to give,
A comforting word,
To lie,
Straight to their face,
To remind them that one’s,
In a better place.

For too few,
This is true,
And only to them,
This comfort is due.

Making a fuss,
And lying thus,
To the rest of them,
Saves no one else,
From joining those condemned.

You could say,
They went to a place,
Where there’s no pain,
And they’re full of life,
Once again.

Congratulations,
Now you’ve told a lie,
And thanks to it,
Another one’ll go on believing,
Better awaits them,
When they die.

How unfortunate it is,
Another spiritual education found lacking,
Knowing nothing of things required,
To escape the lake of fire.

**********

Have you seen the light,
And thought what you might,
Say next time,
Rather than commit this crime?

Better to seem uncouth,
And say the truth,
Than be a liar,
And help another,
Join that loved one,
In hellfire.

**********

No Wonder He’s Fat

What kind of cookies,
Did you leave Santa this year?
And was there milk,
So they could be,
Washed down properly?

**********

Were you the one,
Who cut out all those angels?
And iced the sugar dough,
With the pearly white?
Then sprinkled on,
The iridescent sprinkles?
Just wondering,
Because he sure devoured those.

Were you the one,
Who mixed up a world-class batter?
And added in,
Every flavor of Christmas chip,
Ever known to man?
Then rolled them in powdered sugar,
To look as though,
They were covered in snow?
Just wondering,
Because he sure raved on those.

Were you the one,
Who made men of gingerbread?
Then baked them to,
A golden brown,
And took time to dress each one,
With piped icing and candies?
Just wondering,
Because he sure fancied those.

Were you the one,
Who made them so light and fluffy?
Then colored them minty green,
And even made them taste,
Like peppermint sweets,
Before mixing in,
Some chocolate treats?
Then dusted them all,
In powdered sugar,
Giving them,
That happy holidays look?
Just wondering,
Because he sure took to those.

Were you the one,
Who twisted red and white ropes?
Then carefully shaped each one,
Into a candy cane?
Before shaking on the red sugar,
That made them extra festive?
And to finish them off,
Made red and white frosting for dipping?
Just wondering,
Because he sure went crazy over those.

Were you the one,
Who made such beautiful butter cookies?
Perfectly round,
Looking like cheery tree ornaments?
With the extra-large indentations,
Baked in every center?
That housed all different flavors,
Of jam mounds?
Just wondering,
Because he sure ate major amounts of those.

**********

He lives for this night,
And any you make,
Will help energize his flight,
All will be eaten,
Without a fight,
But some give him more,
Of a delight.

Christmas Delights

One reindeer,
That we all know,
Has a magic nose,
Not this one though,
This one here’s,
Got magic toes.

Toes polished green,
With sparkles like,
You’ve never seen,
And a mouth that’s both,
Sweet and obscene.

Sweet and obscene,
Is an odd, odd mix,
That makes him not a favorite,
Of Santa Claus,
But Mrs. Claus,
On the other hand,
Thinks he’s the fairest,
In all their land.

That far north land,
We call North Pole,
Where the main phrase,
Is ho-ho-ho,
Doesn’t have much room,
For a naughty deer,
But Santa’s wife,
Doesn’t mind a wee bit of strife,
She says he’s a dear,
And her perfect pet,
Throughout the year.

Each and every day,
He comes to her kitchen,
When he smells the cookies cooking,
And she gives him some,
Then they eat them together,
While she sips her rum.

Her peppermint rum,
And chocolate milk,
Is a favorite there,
For it’s smooth as silk.

Silky though,
It may be,
Her pet doesn’t much like it,
So she humors him,
And let’s him have a drink,
From the kitchen sink.

Drinks from sinks,
Aren’t the only way,
She spoils him rotten,
In front of her fire,
He has a big bed,
Lots of fluffy blankets,
On top of soft rugs,
Made of braided cotton.

A thick cotton comforter,
Covers him up,
When he hits the hay,
And he snores away,
For quite a bit of the day.

When day breaks,
He’s awake,
At the crack of dawn,
Delivering the cookies,
With candy canes,
And that minty-spiked milk,
Up and down every lane.

Such stunning lanes,
They have in that land,
From the packed and popular,
Modern lane called Main,
To the ones on the outskirts,
Where the roads are dirt.

The dirt outskirts,
Are lit up like tiny towns,
Decorations and lights innumerable,
Each enormous property,
Seems to set new heights,
And the lanes downtown,
Dazzle the eyes,
Because they are so bright.

Bright and pretty,
It’s Christmas all year here,
At times for Mrs. Claus,
The rest of the world,
Is pretty much forgotten,
For she paints each day,
Painting landscapes and portraits,
Is her hobby,
But you don’t know that,
It’s supposed to be secret.

Secrets here are many,
And we aren’t supposed to know any,
It would take away from its appeal,
If it became too real,
And then Christmas wouldn’t have,
Its special feel.

That feeling of quaintness,
Requires special maintenance,
Even Twinkle-Toes knows,
So he likes to help,
By putting on shows.

Shows that feature all the reindeer,
And trees and stockings,
As well as all the other Christmas things,
That get taken for granted,
But here in North Pole,
Are kind of enchanted.

And enchanted they must stay,
Which isn’t easily understood,
But if you ever get by that way,
On a Christmas Eve,
When Santa is away,
His missus,
Will show you ’round their ‘hood,
Her and the one,
With magic green toes,
Will dance their way down the roads,
Leading the way,
Pointing out all that’s charming,
But be aware,
As some shit’s alarming.

For All Those Still In Bondage

Behind the eye,
Many a thing lies,
The sort of things,
That cause a sting.

It’s dark in here,
But even so,
It’s plain to see,
The savage show.

Images,
Views,
And opinions,
Concepts,
Ideas,
And convictions.

Running around,
Unable to rest,
Demons trying their best,
To ruin what’s left.

It’s a crazy thing,
But from time to time,
Light gets let in,
And infiltrates the dim.

For awhile there,
Are carefree thoughts,
Contentment reigns,
‘Til back in floods pain.

This brain travels,
A rocky road,
Conflicting thoughts,
Cause a spray of gravel.

There are no brakes,
Which makes for a headache,
The only way to force stop,
Is to paint a fantasy backdrop.

To play pretend,
In a fucked-up head,
Make believe so well,
That the devilry mends.