agoodguy2have Poetry (283)

they say we'll come to our end one day
they say we just won't matter
they say we'll become our own prey
with thoughts as mad as a hatter

they say we'll run out of water
they say we'll run out of food
they say we'll kill or be slaughtered
they say we'll come to no good

they say civility's near an end
they say there's no use in tryin'
they say our actions only portend
civilization's weakness's underlyin'

they say we don't know what we're doin'
and perhaps it's true, we don't
seems like the whole world we're screwin'
but maybe the prediction's overblown

maybe there's another bend to turn
maybe there is another angle
maybe 'stead of like before, we'll learn
to sort our emotions to better unscramble

maybe love can actually conquer fear
maybe there's a brighter dawn to come
today's weathered is tomorrow's all clear
maybe empathy is our new rule-of-thumb

© agoodguy2have 2011-08-08

he's a fly-by-night guy
she sits still in green
lights by her waving fan
and gently touches a hair
most beautiful thing he's seen

he's enraptured and touches
in a blink, she snaps at him
shut out, shut in, captured
blithely she slowly signifies
he's ensnared by her whim

he wriggles and writhes
flutters wings and tries
to escape her tight clutches
but resistance is futile
flies demise by surprise

© agoodguy2have 2010-03-20

you in this lifetime to love
in this lifetime to love you
this lifetime to love you in
life time to love you in this
time to love you in this life
to love you in this lifetime
love you in this lifetime too
you in this lifetime to love

© Goode Guy 2011-09-12

the world's a pot
and we're all the spoons
wanting a taste to eat
smellin' life's scents
stirring things up
stewin' with our meat

there's just as much
to eat here today as
there was back before,
and there's just the
same peoples here too,
well, maybe a few more

so what's in the pot
besides some stones
to stock the soup
do you have enough
a few carrots perhaps
to share with the group

the soldiers clever
back from chaotic war
devised some psychology
to open the larders
of all the citizens
cooking up a feastology

reheated stone soup
is what can taste best
a restock to restart
and share with each other,
simmering care won't boil
it just fills the hungry hearts

© Goode Guy 2011-08-15

while sitting at a local literary Louvre
with artists and some other radicals
waiting for return of grammatical groove
that had left me on today's sabbatical

I stumbled for some heartfelt words
to share with you of artistic notions
of whether art is abstract or more absurd
can it cure our ills with colourful potions

and quietly the souls walked the walls
of painted lands and many female forms
to search their own inspiration's calls
outside their box of artistic norms

macroed with micro muted brush lines
of sultry legs and strong countenance
whatever treasure is sought we will find
with some ingrained artful provenance

like Samuel Morse as student of masters
copied Da Vinci from the Parisian museum
hued new light on Mona Lisa to recast her
and express his own artistic freedom

we give out hope of showing of ourselves
that bit of soul our heart holds close
down new pathways that we delve
our hands stretch toward divine, almost

© Goode Guy 2011-09-17

what do we bring to sacrifice,
to the altar of our fears
will the fear, itself, suffice
to wipe away these grieving tears

here, a satchel i take in stride
through the machine, my will to cede
and here, too, a bag of my pride
that it turns out, i didn't need

that old man has a video camera
and a young one totes a backpack
can we turn them outta here
for the bravery that i lack

and the child so innocent beside her,
that woman there with righteous shawl,
are mother and child vengeful saboteurs
would a flash of hate burst my wall

do i send my firstborn far away
did the world change to get more hate
is that the price my dread must pay
is that all my fright can relate

when i stand on this serene beach
is evil banished from my sight
is the violent tsunami out of reach
if i waive some liberty, some right

should land's crust pull asunder
and an abyss drop before my feet
would relinquishing fear pull me under
would, then, i go down in defeat

my god, what must i do to appease
when i stand before some conflagration
to vindicate, to assuage, to please
must i change my life's foundation

or can i only fear fear itself
to live as those i remember might want
take life day-to-day from off the shelf
without hate and fear, my dreams to haunt

Armageddon might be without love
but my world today is more than this
i refuse to live life devoid of
love and empathy and a bit of bliss

© Goode Guy 2011-09-08

"sizes matter" chirped the hatter before
popping the size 8 and 1/4 on his head
and jumping theatrically into his bed
hat and clothes all snuggled into dreams

"things aren't always what they seem"
he muttered as he drifted slowly to slumber
and counted sheep with irrational numbers
shearing off some wooly fractions

then, arising after slumbered satisfaction
to further woolgather a daytime indulgence
about teas and tease, a timely innocence
to tickle his taste buds, two lumps please

though he oft prefers the honey of bees
he then wanders off over knoll and swale
to encounter his comrades and tell a tale
of little girls and deep dark wells

and felines with invisibility spells
and ravens much like a writing desk
riddles without answers, and other mess
that seems to jump from head to mouth

though facing south to tell the truth
to let the sun shine onto his face
he'd stuck with hare in tea time and place
so matter-of-factly exclaims "shall I pour?"

but quickly adds "sizes matter", like before

© Goode Guy 2011-09-14

I once knew two sisters
aptly named Flora and Fauna
I coulda loved them both
for sure I was a goner

Flora was a flowery lass
pretty Fauna was easy to envy
both sisters planted kisses
on cheeks so warm and friendly

Fauna could change chromatically
instantly from green to red
emotions turned emphatically
joy morphed to anger instead

Flora bright-colored and perfumed
smelled wondrous and made me hot
she'd float in and brighten any room
while Fauna could definitely not

animal instincts gave way you see
though both sisters lovely when bare
Fauna tasted a bit green to me
Flora blossomed her flower to share

© Goode Guy 2011-09-08

a dark shining gray lights out
from the edge of memories as
the pencil wipes the years away
and out of nowhere, nothing
the love lost reappears
on the page, the papered day.

how remarkable that so small
a thing as a bit of paper
with some simple shapes
can evoke all the tears,
all the loss, all the past
love and warmth and smiles

anger emptied too, at our own
sense of loss, seen robbed of
time we expected to share,
guarantees never proffered
as time...that time, rounds
the shards and softens hurt

to allow us to continue on
we look forward in time
with our own sense of
purpose, to live with care,
love each moment and
strive for a higher meaning

© Goode Guy 2011-09-11

that bruised and contused
epidermis after a skirmish
bandaged and anti-somethinged
for whatever next is coming

that fleshed out scathe of
open wound from what was said
and the way the knife turned
as it quickly sliced out pride

some diligent nursing will
form some scars to cover
the vulnerability felt, raw
but too, will deaden the nerve

lord, to be like you
and forgive for what they do
defeathered and skinned
soul bared from within

thin skin or no skin
what matters most
is what's within
close to the bone
the marrow of the matter

© Goode Guy 2011-09-09

timing is everything
time now to say it,
had 11, 77, and 175
had what you had,
been shown what you saw,
heard what you heard,
told what you told,
they'd have done
what you did

still, no matter
self-destiny is
inherent in us all,
most apparent in you,
oblivion faced with fear,
but still faced...eyes open,
outshines dark hatred.

10 after still brings
deep sorrow and pride

© Goode Guy 2011-09-05

I scaled the heights
and crossed the genre over
Rock and Pointillism
Springstein and Seurat
on dotted i some critic cries
aloud echo canyoned schism

to each his own
we together bemoan
separation of our malaise
individuality's good
'long as it's understood
we're all different in artful ways

the beholder can only seize
on concepts predisposed to sight
the I's of art that you appease
each concept I hold despite
my own presupposed expertise
that much art leans toward contrite
or worse, tries not to displease
some need to be artfully polite

art is what you say it is
who am i to tell you
that your idea, your creation
is not worthy of the tag of "art"
so shake my sensibilities
shock my gentilities
move the foundation of my soul
make a hole, drop it in, make it whole

© Goode Guy 2011-08-23