I can clearly see across Tennessee
By the Grace of God, I do believe
Being witness to his masterpiece

As he finger paints the bluest sky
Blends it in with the trees just right
Then on my heart is where he signs

Adds his perfection to the sunset
Orange and yellow with splashes of red
Leaving nature quite breathless

Pastel clouds pouring silver rain
With just enough touch of gray
So, every day's display is not the same

The master artist hard at work
Paints the landscape with just one stroke
Adding highlights and shadows as he goes

By the Grace of God, I do believe
I'm witness to his masterpiece
As I clearly see across the beauty of Tennessee

Wake up, Boo
I wanna tickle your brain
Tease it and please it
Til you feel insane
And give in to
The madness
With gentle refrain
Bliss can be true
If you let the madness
Encompass you
What other option
When only a dream will do

I don’t know what I’m searching for
With this poetry
It certainly means
Something to me
My ego massaged
Maybe
To be the Creator
Of poetry

Under the mango tree where the shade is dark and deep
she waits with years on her skin.

The face though weary with the burden of time
has not yielded to the fate
of having once loved and lost.

She believes the winds from the barren field
will one day carry the rustle of footsteps
raising a song from within earth
that the moment is arrived
for the dead river to rise in tides
and flood her cheeks with the sapplings of
all the unplanted kisses.

When the nights come
the fireflies would sing
love is such a beautiful thing
basking in the glow of her heart.

Looking through my mental cupboard
I find I’m a little short on Meliorism.
I’ve been relegated to using Optimism,
Which doesn’t taste quite the same.

Adding a pinch of Sanguine flakes
helps, but makes it a little spicy.
I wish Ebullience wasn’t quite
so expensive and hard to get ahold of.

I thought I was all out of Dolor
But I found a new jar behind
A box of Pessimism, which
Is 2 weeks past it’s use-by date.

So I will dump it along with a
Packet of dehydrated Doubt hidden
Behind a whole carton of Ennui
That has never even been opened.

I think it’s time to clear the shelves
And restock with all fresh and new
So I can cook up lots of good things
And feed them to the hungry world.
ljm

All of my good friends
Are long dead and gone
Got me out here drinking
By myself alone

I still tell my stories
But even I’m not listening
Sorrow in all its glory
Is the main thing that old age brings

All of my good friends
I’ve helped bury along the way
With me, the last man standing
Over each and every grave

Until then I’ll hug this barstool
My lonely home away from home
Life can be based in cruelty
When lost out on the road to hope

Now all I see in front of me
Is the emptiness that I now know
Of nothing going on
With all my good friends dead and gone