As simple as a taco," people say
When speaking of dichotomies of life
The spices of this sentence tend to stay
In simple flavors filled with ease and strife
The taco, a philosophy you eat
Just look at the simplicity at hand
It's folded in the middle, filled with meat
You'll find them fresh at any taco stand
And while the taco has a complex taste
It's simply filled with all you hope to find
In simple food too good to share or waste
Unless of course you've simply lost your mind!
A life that's lived like this is here to stay
"As simple as a taco," so they say.
At night I close my eyes and thus go blind
I hope when I wake up I’ll see the light
It seems I always do; I always find
My blindness only lasts throughout the night
Sometimes when I go blind I live my dreams
Sometimes the Mares of Night assault my peace
When I go blind, reality, it seems
Is lost as subtle fantasies increase
It’s only sight, they say; it’s just one sense
We all go blind at times; sometimes it’s choice
At times the thought of darkness is intense
At times it seems my blindness finds a voice
You see the noise that lingers in your mind?
The noise of darkened dreams proclaims me blind.
It’s me you see the Kilted Sonneteer My life is thus composed iambically My feet are shod to take me far or near I am a Kilted Sonneteer you see
A kilt to honor sonneteers of yore Like Burns who dealt with bullshit from “the crown” A tribute to the kilt he never wore In dress or verse I’d never let him down
My songs are often metered by my kilt My kilt a simple metaphoric line Come look and see the sonnets I have built The title “Kilted Sonneteer” is mine
And thus I share my sonnets far and near Because I am The Kilted Sonneteer
I watch the streams of smoke as I exhale
They show me words I never knew I knew
They seem to know the breath they would regale
The breath, the smoke, a wispy grayish blue
The streams of smoke are remnants of a gift
A gift from Mother Earth who loves to give
I watch them rise above; I watch them lift
Above the earth, where stories often live
The stories of the smoke begets the streams
(Who says “begets” unless they’re fuckin’ high)
The stories fill the smoke with more than dreams
And dreams of smoke will lift us by and by
It makes no sense, these things of which we spoke
But sense is not the realm of streams of smoke.
I.
Come walk around the green
Come walk around the green
Let's go to Lebanon
To walk around the green
II.
The green is long and wide
The green is long and wide
Spread out in Lebanon
The green is long and wide
III.
The Revolution came
The Revolution came
Right through Connecticut
The Revolution came
IV.
The soldiers marched to war
The soldiers marched to war
Right here, across the green
The soldiers marched to war
V.
Our Revolution's heart
Our Revolution's heart
Beat here in Lebanon
Our Revolution's heart
VI.
Our history is strong
Our history is strong
Right here in Lebanon
Our history is strong
The poet’s mind is closed the door is locked
A metaphor is nothing but a lie
All poetry that’s written should be mocked
Let’s celebrate when all the poets die
Do you remember how it feels to be
Or not to be a poem in a play
The world inside the mind you’ll never see
I wish the world outside would go away
Yes I’m a poet and my mind is shut
It makes it easy to reject your words
In poetry the cadences are cut
In smelly chunks of similaic turds
So crumble this one up and wipe your ass
If poetry attacks you, it will pass.
Toe wou ek in Suid Afrika gebly
Toe was ek “ingevoerde boer” genoem
Toe het geliefde vriende daan gesê
“Nou moet jy net ‘n meise vind, ‘n bloem!”
En nou ek wil ‘n bietje kerrie hê
En rys. Ek hou van blatjang op my kos
‘N braai is altyd lekker. Glo my!
(Ten minste stuur my fotos in die pos)
Ek wou “Die Stem” nog weer met jou gesing
Ek mis die Kersfees in ‘n somer maand
Onthou ek alle woorde word net "ding"
Die taale meng in die geliefde land!
Gedagtes kom natuurlik nog aan my
Want wil ek in Suid Afrika gebly.
The stories of the rainbow have been told
In myth and magic since the dawn of time
Some stories we have heard are very old
But old or new, such stories are sublime
Sublimity is rainbows in a word
The words of rainbows form a story arc
The colors of the rainbow can be heard
As water droplets leave their promised mark
A bridge, a bow, a promise, just a few
Of rainbow stories heard or felt or seen
A sunlit world of water, clear and blue
A rainbow tree with leaves of rainbow green
Unique, the rainbow story has no end
Forever’s how the rainbow has been penned.
