dreamed i went to this campout
there was food and games
all the drink you wanted
folks showed up from everywhere
staking out their plots and tossing horseshoes
on the banks of the brazos
complete with a small lake
talked about overpaid cowboys and 3 dollar moochers
followed the game plan and picked up the trash
lost some shades and slept under a leak
landowner never lost his cool and most everyone was calm
heavy metal songs and stupid bluffs
in the end
you found your treasure
never had a bad meal at chilis
stop at the corner of dude lane and lazy bend road
peer at the sky
the blue is blazing neon and the clouds are electric
meet you back at sagecrest farm sometime
.not sure we'll exist in heaven. .maybe we'll just hover. .possibly we'll squirm. .we could be forever asleep. .one huge long dream. .chased by a robber. .floating on clouds lightly. .reading minds and healing. .all the wounds of life. .disappear into space. .perhaps a disco ball hangs in the middle of it all. .glittering the black punkishly. .spinning always. .momentum has never stopped. .crowds of the faithful await. .knowing nothing but believing. .the truth glows in our souls. .rings in our ears. .shines in our eyes. .outlasting the old folks. .penetrating the bleak. .the next Einstein. .writing on a chalkboard. .blowing the minds of the young .your will is always corrupted. .your ways are always selfish. .your knowledge is wrong. .only the word. .only the word is love.
.the arrangements are tight.
..added a solo verse with a haunting guitar..
...the message was too overpowering...
....directly from the seat of the soul....
.....that martin had a clean noise.....
.......minor chords filling the space.......
.the sword was the word.
..riffs and sounds never heard..
...edgar winter group was big back then...
....mexican horns and strings....
.....that jumping part needs it's own stage.....
......backup singer sounds just like stevie nicks......
.my seagull's getting a tuneup.
..polish the frets and a perfect bow..
...sam houston died a sad man...
....should have never joined the yankees....
.....look south my frontier brothers.....
......covert designs and all......
.follow the moon.
..keep the peace as long as we can..
...hypocrites will talk of reasonableness...
....politicians will make back room deals....
.....leaders will smell of grease.....
......occupiers will rise again......
.double standards and broken promises.
..microphone jackson with stars in his eyes..
...the music of generations...
....layers of tracks of sounds....
.....they been claimed by the king.....
......soon they'll be going home......
any ole dude or dudette can write a poem.
just start spilling words, don't even have to rhyme.
forget forms and traditions and draw them words.
any ole chump or chick can make a bed.
pull them sheets tight, tuck them under good.
puff up them pillows and stretch out long and lean.
any ole hunk or floozy can do a dance.
start tapping the feet, pop the arm movements.
make wild eyes and suck in your cheeks.
any ole amigo or senorita can sing a song.
sing without holding back, articulate the endings.
close your eyes if you must and just wail.
any ole father or mother can make a baby or three.
stick around for the raising, its your life's work.
you already had your chance to go wild oating.
the dripping of spring, wild weeds and flowers.
the trees come alive again after spilling their color the previous fall.
the exhaustion of it all.
like an artist must feel after a finished painting.
perfections all perfected, completely familiar with every detail.
dreamt about. loved and hated.
in the end, a reconciliation, or acceptance.
otherwise, the trash can.
these creators are a strange breed.
walking on a glowing cloud one day, swimming in mud the next.
memories and anticipation help to bridge until the next inspiration.
ideas, places, people.
thinking in that order, but acting in reverse.
the body does alert the mind.
conditions and circumstance are fate's result, a culmination of a thousand decisions.
free will being like a coin.
then we get to heaven and hell and good and evil, which do exist, but it's a worn topic.
we only have 30 thousand days if we live a long life, don't waste it debating the original fool.
the devil's been discredited.
the good ole days are yet to come.
somehow, this links back to spring dripping.
the appreciation of creation, over and over again.
the beautiful display.
God seems a carefree artist, let it fly, editing to a minimum.
gives validation to the first thought best thought side of creative art.
the imperfections are perfect.