Grateful Dead

ostrich osalot - hen ren zebra collie - turky bass turtle - snail frog beaver slug - otter raindeer - yew knew - fliminco jackal - owl ram zebra collie - turkey bass turtle - ostrich osalot - feest folk fade away...*

radiating loveon my street peace falls like rain upon my feet love is shining from the food I eat taking care right where I am heart beat what I am has no need to breathe without fear I remain awake

Bennie Benjamin/Sol Marcus/Horace Ott Baby, do you understand me now Sometimes I feel a little mad But don't you know that no one alive Can always be an angel When things go wrong I seem to be bad But I'm just a soul whose intentions are good Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood Baby, sometimes I'm so carefree With a joy that's hard to hide And sometimes it seems that all I have do is worry Then you're bound to see my other side But I'm just a soul whose intentions are good Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood If I seem edgy I want you to know That I never mean to take it out on you Life has it's problems and I get my share And that's one thing I never meant to do Because I love you Oh, Oh baby don't you know I'm human Have thoughts like any other one Sometimes I find myself long regretting Some foolish thing some little simple thing I've done But I'm just a soul whose intentions are good Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood Yes, I'm just a soul whose intentions are good Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood Yes, I'm just a soul whose intentions are good Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood

it's cabin fever time again the moon is shouting through my window reflecting off the last of the snow oh wait, here comes some more just try and stop me if you think I've told this one before I drink the koolaid and melt outside my door into the sanded mountain plain what's that ungodly roar? then a loud crash and the sound of dragging metal I retreat further into the trees but there's no getting away from it the roar the crash the dragging metal sound after an hour or more I creep to the road my curiosity getting the better of my good sense oh it's just the ripton boys taking out the green impala papa gave them to work on they jump in behind the wheel and do it all again rev up the engine until it sounds like an f-15 then throw it into gear and go for a ride it's like a crazy sled with no steering and within a hundred feet they veer off the road and smash again into the century old stone wall just like the times before with a mighty crash they pile it atop the old stones until it won't go any more then they jump out drag it off the wall push it back to the road laughing all the while and do it again it brings me back to when I lived in the cabin across the street built before it was a road so about ten feet from the tar one night about midnight I was sitting up listening to the mosquitoes and rolling a bone when I heard a clop clop clop thud! pause.... clop clop clop thud! it took about an hour to get close enough for me to peek out and see it was my very soused neighbor from on down the road I easked him what was up he said "I'm going to the store to get some more beer" When I told him what time it was and that the store had been closed for hours it became apparent that he had left many hours before; I figured he would get there by morning anyway, asked him if he needed anything, he said "no", and was off. he got back on his horse, which took two steps, "clop, clop", then he fell off on his head "thud", the horse stopped and waited for him to remount. and on down the road he went clop, clop, clop thud!...pause clop, clop, clop thud!....pause what a good horse! dont need no chiba when cabin fever rolls around everybody laughing oh what a sound riding my horsie down the mountain into town

Goodbye Cruel World/Hello Kind World Gonna slip into my happy feet and slide on out the door. It's the thirteenth Thursday of who knows when And I don't care no more. What job? What bills? What chores to do? I'm leaving them behind. My calendar's just an empty page And that suits me just fine. Gonna dance until the cows come home. Gonna rage until I drop. Then dust myself right off again And climb right back on top. Holes in my clothes and holes in my shoes But there's a hole in the crowd up ahead. That's my dance space so watch my face Get stole right off my head. Get somebody else to punch your clock. I'm done with that. It ain't where it's at. I don't care if the lawn isn't mowed. I'm just living on the road. ~~~~~~~~~~ leads Get somebody else to punch your clock. I'm done with that. It ain't where it's at. I don't care if the lawn isn't mowed. I'm just living on the road. Twist and twirl from show to show Smiling and living free. Eat what I can now and then I'm busy just being me. Couldn't tell you what time it is Got no watch or keys. But I always know when the show is on And that's where you'll find me. And that's where you'll find me. Conversation is always more interesting than recitation, so speak your mind and not someone else's.

it's a perfect illusionwe have constructed out of atoms and such everybody in their own box with a strong lock from which to watch the wars who do we bomb first gadfly or mangosheen who ever has the oil we decided is key the wars will be fought over the 'energy' we 'need' a race against time in eternity locked in our boxes we will have lots of electricity to watch it on tv talk to each other and download ecstasy what else do you need so the armies of dark will continue to feed on the last little fishies and the rest of the trees what else do you need one spin is one day one revolution a year divide it up into parcels where did I put infinity no room for reality in my perfect samsara fueled by lsd as long as there is music leave me to be in this perfect illusion what do you need?

Your comments mean a lot to me, always. It was 51 weeks ago that they CT'ed two renal calculi, one XXXL, and that and the years supply of dilaudid they provided, not only turned me into a legal junkie, but one hell of a grouch. I kindof stopped posting my poems when I noticed the severe grouchiness in them, no need to spread that aruond. I guess it was the 1st week of Jan that I decided I hated the junk worse than the pain, and the first week of March that I became 'stone free'. Still straightening up me thoughts, but feeling groovy again. At least for me junk=death to creativity. Big shoutout to the fukushima workers, putting themselves within range to try and stem the 'rad' flow. And thanks to this community, and the poets therein, you folks were a suorce of joy to me, whenever I checked in on this site. Oh yeah, and thanks to the PTB, for the month of 'Dead giveaways' in Dec., just listened to them on my phone yesterday, what a great gift!!!! Deadheads are the greatest! "why am I laughing, sure ain't funny' Picasso Moon "what's that?" "It's JUNK!"- William Burroughs (from PBS documentary) now back to the poetry......

Isn't it rich?Are we are a pair? Me here at last on the ground. You in mid-air... Where are the clowns, Isn't it bliss? Don'y you approve? One who keeps tearing around, One who can't move. Where are the clowns? Send in the clowns. Don't you love farce?

Nice piece, free idea. Well put. Best thing you've done in a while. The sad thing is the clowns would be even funnier if they weren't so utterly laughable to begin with. Looks like the circus is back in town. Three ringy-dingies coming to a socio-political, environmental or economic crisis near you. Conversation is always more interesting than recitation, so speak your mind and not someone else's.

'cardboard''someone' (grows a pair) instead of 'some' 'enough' the rest is on me