Word Up

____Transversal meaning,____
Love: To be pure in intent, maybe hatred spread,
or sex.____
Written on a chalk board with fingers screeching,
another line of word,
fuck.
____Line leading to intersect____, the teacher asking, "Sally, what are you doing writing that word?"


                                                    That was yesterday, a day of confusion for those youth growing
                                                                                                           through society's illusion.

____a new line forming to cross, to spread,____there was sex.____
       ____"Will you be my wife?" Sally's future husband asked.____
               _____With a smile they both fucked._____


_____Multiple times now, the lines_____spread____
         _____Children were born____
                 ____Bills became overbearing____
                        ____Troubles of youth creating new lines.____
                               _____Sally broken down, cried,____
                                        ____telling her husband, "We're fucked."____


That was today, a day of a young couple living life.


____Forever the line, spreading quicker __ __ __ __ with time.____
       ____Sally growing older, ugly, fat____
              ____her husband bolder sought youths temporal flesh,_____
                       ____Sally exclaimed, "You Fuck!"____




So many lines now, it all blurs.
So many words expressed, so much abuse.
Is it the fucking end?
It is up to you as there still tomorrow to view.




                                                       You see no more lines now, except on Sally and her husband's face.
                                                       For all their troubles,
                                                       two remained twined,
                                                       all lines have intersected,
                                                       there remained no more words needed to express,
                                                       as now their eyes towards
                                                       each other did it best,
                                                       a choice of forgiveness...



                                     When questioned by youth as to what they thought of life,
                                                               they replied,
                                                          "It was fucking great."

                                              That my friend is the true meaning of love,
                                                              or is it fucked?

                                                    Evening nap.

Went to sleep, talked to Dax, deeply in thought, when sheep started jumping around.
So with a start, I wanted to try, only what the hell was this crazy polack thinking.
To take a nap?
Before sleeping?
Thank Zeus, Poseidon's trident poked my ass, causing a mermaid to weep, drenching the nap away.
With the sound of the sea beckoning me, or maybe it is the wife yelling to turn out the light,
it's time to call it a night and go thinking.

                                                               Damn car

Sitting there, silent.
In her garage waiting patiently like a panther, waiting for the pain to start.

With trepidation, I crept up with cold key in my hand.
Stalking, padding softly, as if she had never before seen my plan, I continued walking.

Fooling her for the moment by a diversion of tripping over the rake,
I grasped and opened her wide door.

With gravity grasping my fat ass, I fell in.
She was mine, I thought, victory shining on me as the automatic garage door opened.

Plunging in a symbol of power, I thrust the shiny key.
With a turn of confidence, it failed.

Oh shit, why me?
With constant attention, I cranked, yet at every turn she fought me.

Realizing failure and seeing the time I'll be late to work,
it was going to be another day,
of using my feet.

                                                     Would you like to see the menu?

Feedlot to the north,
fattening them with barley,
their last meal.
The cattle hustled up the ramp,
boxcars rumbling down the track,
you could hear the wheels squeal.
Soon, they were hanging from a rack,
cooling in a room filled with marbled fat,
preparing for some shiny steel.
With knives trimming while saw blades were spinning,
their silent mooing was made tidy,
and packed.
Off now to a Piggly Wiggly store,
or some other place of need,
these cooling  bovines traveled.
Sitting in his chair staring at the page,
the lady came to take his order.

Would you like our two year Angus?
You know it's very special.
Tender cuts, almost like veal.

With a momentary pause,
sighing tilting back his head,
he said,

Do you have any fish?

.

Enjoying these, Robin.

milner

Some trimming suggested below, Robin. You offer great details, with unneeded connective tissue. I think it's better to let the reader do more of the thinking. Tom

                                                     Would you like to see the menu?

Feedlot to the north,
fattening them with barley,
their last meal.
The cattle hustled up the ramp,
boxcars rumbling down the track,
you could hear the wheels squeal.
Soon, they were hanging from a rack,
cooling in a room filled with marbled fat,
preparing for some shiny steel,
With knives trimming,  while saw blades were spinning,
their silent mooing was made tidy,
and packed.
Off now to a Piggly Wiggly store.
or some other place of need,
these cooling  bovines traveled.
Sitting in his chair staring at the page,
the lady came to take his order.

Would you like our two year Angus?
You know it's very special.
Tender cuts, almost like veal.

With a momentary pause,
sighing tilting back his head,
he said,

Do you have any fish?

Tom, your response: "You offer great details, with unneeded connective tissue" tickled me.

Milner, with thanks, alas there's more.

Liking these fruits picked green,
tasty apples hanging from a tree,
something new after waiting,
eating one, than another...

It's too late,
stomach rumbling,
I cannot escape my fate.

Tom, I like the trimming of the fat you did for me. It truly is not the fat that's tasty, rather just the meat. Thank you.

Lavonne, I agree. It is amazing how life, emotions, a poem, even writing, is all like beef.

Randy; Prince of Earl. Your roots reach out and cross.
                                                                                                          Corporate fixation on profit,
                                                                                                          Wal-mart, K-mart, Sacs, Sears...
                                                                                                           Land of the free, the indebted,
                                                                                                           me...
Sigh, said by many.
It is still better than Iran.

                                                                    B.S.

                                      Bull breaking china,
                                                               falling to pieces,
                                                                                    broken shards revealing,
                                      Sparkling,                                                                    marble floor bleeding.
                                                  sharp,
                                                         leading to chaos,
                                                                               loss of life.

                                      Sweeping,                           
                                            cleaning,
                                              hundreds crying,
                                           pleading,

                                      over now for my wife,

                                      all that remains,
                                      a bloody knife.
                                       

                                                                 

.

                                                                Hello Earl, the little squirrel pushing his winter supply of nuts into my mind.
                                                                They read your mind, with their plastic signs acts of congress with every
                                                                clinger wanting a piece of the pie.
                                                                                   Hopeful masses expressing a molded view bought and paid for by
                                                                                   tv, never mind the consequences when the power goes out.
                                                                                                         Their answer is simple, "vote for me," or wipe.

                                                                                         ***

Now for the morning tripe. (goes good with eggs.)


                                                                 Swimming sounds flowing past the drum,
                                                                 beating a rhythm,
                                                                 carrying sounds of water splashing on all sides.

                                                                 Falling rain announcing Autumn,
                                                                 masking the water falling inside,
                                                                 steam covered windows hiding what should be revealed.

                                                                 Wheel chair bound,
                                                                 prisoner in another world,
                                                                 tears fell from my eyes.

                                                                 Listening to the young lady splashing,
                                                                 waving goodbye,
                                                                 sinking,
                                                                 drowning.

                                                                 

                                                              Age of Questions

                                   

                                                Old Horror,
                                                     clinging to the fruit,
                                                     the Knowledge,
                                                     trying newness,
                                                     making them part of the tree.

                                                 New children,
                                                     knowing me as
                                                                 wrath,
                                                                 nakedness,
                                                                 pain.

                                                 Once,
                                                      you were blind,
                                                      innocent to what must be.

                                                  Newness in ability.
                                                      Growth.
                                                      Direction.
                                                  New question,
                                                      who can this be?

                                                  In the garden,
                                                      pool of reflection,
                                                      look deep and see.