jmidworth

i have been reckless, impatient and cruel;

and i have no sufferance for this kind of fool.

so petty and selfish and heartless, it’s true,

unreasonable men have unreasonable rules.

you’d rather i cover up all that i do?

make vague allegations about what ensues?

that’s hardly what i was expecting from you,

it’s all or it’s nothing, or nothing’s renewed.

you preach law and order, a code or a rule;

i say that’s fictitious, facetious, untrue.

i try to explain but i talk til i’m blue,

and the final result is: it’s too hard to do.

come on, get real! you feel what i feel?

it’s not who’s at risk here, it’s who does the deal!

come on, get smart! it’s hardly an art!

it’s theatre, it’s drama, we’re playing our part.

i love you completely, intense and profound;

i love you so much my feet don’t touch the ground.

but i’m not content to just hover around

it’s all or it’s nothing, and nothing is sound.

if you can’t commit to me, you’d better flee

‘cause nothing’s (as) important as love is to me.

i’ll put up with all of the faults i can see

if you say you love me: my reason to be.

come on, get smart! it’s hardly an art!

it’s theatre, it’s drama, we’re playing our part.

come on, get real! you feel what i feel?

it’s not who’s at risk here, it’s who does the deal!

if i were invited to replay that moment

my fingers would pause on the keyboard below,

my feet would undoubtedly stick to the floor

its not that i couldn’t engage my opponent

or wield a sharp blade that was shaped like my tongue, though

it seems such a tired and ill-fated course

the fact was you told me you loved me but, hold on,

a qualified statement was soon to appear;

and i would be shaking my head even more.

for love, you explained, like a governor’s pardon

forgives all your trespasses, boxes your ears,

then kisses you gently and shows you the door.

it’s laced with the shards of a crystalline apple;

it’s luscious and juicy, diabolically sweet;

it promises more than you’ll likely endure.

you taste of it’s flesh and swallow it’s sap, it’ll

soften the hunger pains, leaving you dreaming

of sunshine on bare skin, bear rugs on the floor.

but under that countenance, breath of an angel,

the eyes of a doe or an innocent fawn,

you may be uncertain , you may be unsure;

for once again love draws its delicate curtain,

you see through your red lenses subtly drawn

you know that you’ll drop your defenses for her.

i haven’t been honest, to not say ‘i love you’ ,

to make that pronouncement then one must be sane.

but then again, i haven’t tried to demur…

its all about context, and what it means to you,

and if it’s a risk that you’d take on again.

for it could be a remedy, if not a cure.

go, dream about princes, go dream about pearls,

don’t trust in the stories that flatter your ear.

there’s only one author who knows what’s in store;

she speaks to the boys and he speaks to the girls,

the language , tho’ gendered , reveals loud and clear

that life, with love in it, is what we’re here for…

i thought we had agreement?

i thought we had a plan?

you thought we had an arrangement;

you thought we had a scam.

i thought you were committed?

i thought that you were sure?

you thought i had a vision:

i thought there was a cure.

you thought there was an exit?

i thought we had a deal?

i thought it was apparent,

i thought that we would heal?

i didn’t think i’d lose you,

(you didn’t think i’d care) ,

you didn’t let me choose to,

i wasn’t quite prepared.

i never had the option.

you never gave an inch.

i didn’t have the stomach.

you didn’t even flinch.

i threw in the towel,

you threw out the bath;

i ran down the sidewalk,

you sauntered down the path.

i was so forgiving,

you were indiscreet,

i wrestled with my conscience,

you left me incomplete.

i thought we were a couple?

i thought we were a pair?

you thought of us as buddies

i thought that wasn’t fair.

so now i think about love

and now i know despair;

and you and i both know that

you and i are…..nowhere…….

It was 12 or 13 years ago on Tuesday, way up north,

I was teaching CPR and first aid, a beginner’s course.

There was high school, there was old school,

                                   Pleasant banter back and forth

When the ghastly news came crackling down the wire.

– 

We were working with a dummy who had had a heart attack

And the younger kids were nervous when we laid it on its back.

Its skin was soft and rubbery,  it’s eyes and gaze were slack

When the world around ignited like a fire.

 –

Now, we were far from modern,  ’bout as far as you can get

And the fact of evil doers hadn’t hit us just as yet

But when we heard those towers fell,  and saw it on the set

Humanity got roasted on a pyre.

 –

the kids were scared, the elders fared no better from the news

their world imploded, ghostly terror peeked from every view.

neighbors became enemies due to actions of a few,

and common sense was no longer required.

– 

There are no natural borders now, there’s only us and them;

We’re scared, we’re proud, we’re jingo loud, and so quick to condemn;

these catastrophic incidents should wake us up, but when?

instead the moral ground we claim is higher..

–

there are no lessons to be learned, there’s just a raging fever.

the good guys here, the bad guys there, both camps full of believers.

we don’t address the problem at its core, and so we leave it

to the business corporate governmental patriotic choir.

 –

by now a dozen years gone by, and, starting to unfold,

are little groups of sanity and little actions bold;

we string us all together, the true story will be told

and our kids will take control  as we retire.

– 

we’re ‘sorry this’ and ‘sorry that’, and yes we’re bloody sorry,

a sorry lot is old mankind, it makes a father worry;

belief in ‘x’, and faith in ‘y’, our vision’s getting blurry,

let’s leave the ghosts, and ‘lord of hosts’; to our true selves aspire….

i know a girl who’s a country singer

she sings about love and broken hearts

she points her axe and she pulls the trigger,

she’ll shoot you dead with just six strings, her

notes become bullets that tear you apart…

–

This girl plays a tele, this girl plays it mean

you watch your lip, she’ll shoot from the hip

and spitshine your eardrums clean.

she don’t show no quarter

she won’t make a scene

but i’d head for the door when she’s counting to four

she’s a mean telecaster machine…

–

I know a girl who’s a country player

but she don’t pick and she don’t strum

she takes that stage like a blonde tornado

attacks that song like a dragon slayer

you’re only safe blind deaf and dumb

–

(and) when she straps on that tele, son

i’ll bet you’ll be surprised

you won’t be hearin lynn anderson

or linda, loretta or ms parton,

but ana and bonnie and susan by gum

and you’ll stay til sunrise…

 –

but get her off on her lonesome

you’re in for quite a surprise

she’ll grab your heart and then some,

you’ll think you’re young and handsome

get ready to pay the ransom

when she aims between your eyes…

–

This girl plays a tele, this girl plays it mean

you watch your lip, she’ll shoot from the hip

and spitshine your eardrums clean

she don’t show no quarter

she won’t make a scene

but i’d head for the door when she’s counting to four

she’s a mean telecaster machine…

she had a bit of trouble with her high school friends

she kept herself apart from the crowd

her world was large and noisy through her wide angle lens

but the others thought her world was too loud

it never really bothered her, she had it all planned

no pleated skirt would make her head bow

she found a taste of freedom in a rocknroll band

at center stage sang ‘look at me now’…

it’s nights       like        these

that make      us         free

and i do         be         lieve

we’re meant to have the nights like these

a hundred moons have waxed and waned with songs of love and grief

her view is wide, her wit is sharp and quick

she has the knack of touching every nerve with no relief

and spurs us on to see what makes us tick.

and often it’s the outlaw view that takes us by surprise;

we like to think we’re always pretty slick

but being shown our world is blown apart from deep inside

is just enough to heal what makes us sick…

it’s nights      like       these

that help        us        see

and feel         re         lief

we’re meant to have the nights like these

if you could from a distance put the red pen to your deeds

and see yourself as others think you are

you’d get a glimpse, an insight into what the poet needs

to know the beauty witnessed from afar.

for this is what the poets do, and what the painters see,

the sculptors and composers and their art

author, tunesmith, singer, wordsmith, artist all believe

in life, in love, we are the stuff of stars…