Low Hanging

Billie Sang Of "Strange" Fruit
By GC

There’s a moss draped century oak
near the old cypress episcopal church
gnarled branches reach to the ground

Resurrection fern covers the branches
and looks like a weed that had died
but it greens with the coming of rain

The oak’s history is bloodied
by the white folk who worship
while selling their souls every day

The oak’s story is not over
there’s still much to be written
and time will tell what that will be

There may be atonement
under the old oak’s branches
or time might go on as it has yesterday

It lurks

Our Dark Matter
By GC

DARK MATTER
buried deep
in atavistic souls,
utterly evil

Our vilest nature,
cloaked with smiles,
lies unseen,
hidden

Dark matter
behind bonhomie
still lurks,
in shadow

Modern sensibilities
disguise our darkest natures
that beneath lie unchanged,
unchangable

Dark matter,
was there, is there
always shall be there,
waiting

Would that
we had evolved
to a higher plane
of being

Dark matter,
our corpus,
corrupts our souls,
sources our maddest delusions

We can only
captulate
learn to live with
that essential truth

DARK MATTER

Of Time

Time's Flyin'

 

 Maybe it's good we pass away,
'cause memories are always with us,
we can recall a youth of muscle,
flat bellies, single chins, and woodies;
all things that now are buried in the past.

Maybe it's good we pass away,
'cause memories are always with us,
we can recall a time with clear skin
firm bottoms, perky breasts, and moisture;
all things that now are better off forgotten.

Maybe it's good we pass away,
'cause the march of time reminds us
of glory days that are gone forever;
a past lived large and wished for again,
but, alas, a past not to be repeated.

Maybe it's good we pass away,
when old friends leave everyday,
so that those who stay behind
don't have much that's left to say,
and besides, who would listen?

Maybe it's good we pass away,
younger folk now hold sway,
but dammit, I'll stick around a while,
regaling them with old and boring tales,
keeping center stage to piss 'em off

A old and stubborn cuss is me,
though time and tide wont wait,
I'll hold on to see what I can see,
and have fun with my September years,
laughing loudly as my time winds down.

Duh!

Head Scratching
by GC

Well Bub,
bubette:
I'd tell
you
what it is
that I
forgot
if only
I could
remember

It seemed
important
once
but that was
before
the fog
set in

Scream
all you wnt
It'll
do no
good
because it's
gone

Dissolved,
floated off

in
the ether
never to
return;
so

neither
you nor I
will
ever know
what
it might have
been