Froze but did not freeze
Uncertain passion with a late fee
Anger waited patiently
For a chance to act decisively
Rodgers sat the ten men down
“It’s time we claimed the pigskin crown”
Ayahuasca may be the only play
A funeral march for Bonnie Brae
The masses seemed infirmed and frail
The world imbued, gray and pale
Ink the beast that’s comes to smother
But I’m too old to color
Please don’t look my way, that way
Leave unexplained for others to say
I’ll walk beyond the expected urge
Joyfully whistling a happy dirge
There’s completion with no misses
But you often talk through your kisses
Swing in motion with the drummers back beat
Quench the thirst put out the heat
Style and substance seen better days
Thoughts depraved pave the way
For changes that would have to come
A decade burning, fuming on the run
Burned out churches, riot dogs
Flowered dress and Fresco Fog
Wet and sweat with aching heart
Letting it decide who to take apart
That won’t ever be the same
Your life’s been touched and rearranged
The child you saw behind the glass
Has faded as the minute’s pass
Taking comfort in the dreams
Of middle class and children screams
Book are read and thoughts are changed
Search of future, search for fame
Are you happy with your life
Your altered style and celestial strife
Social graces make you feel
Defiant, resistant as tempered steel
Requiem for the TJ donkey
Replaced by a cartel monkey
A journey that is made no mas
A border that will not be crossed
The French revolt seen from the tower
Sterile judgement on the hour
The vultures atop the English bridge
Sit and wait for souls to give
Now passing thoughts of yester year
Better days with lessor fears
The Spartan traded exalted passions
For credit cards and uptown fashions
About JackoRecords
Published Baby Boomer Songwriter. Heavy lyrics and prose and story telling ala Bob Dylan, Tom Petty and Jimmy Webb.
As always, your work leaves the reader to imagine what is really happening, what each phrase really means, what the ultimate purpose is…..and that’s really the job of a good writer, isn’t it?
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Technically, it’s ADHD, but who cares. Each phrase is evocative- bringing y0ur own meaning to the table. Or chair. Or air. You force the reader to abandon a story and seek your own meaning. Modern art- in writing.
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