My friend
is trying
not to scratch me.

But still
his feet stomp,
metal thorns ring.

He can't
hear white noise
of my poems.

white fog
ginger hare
on melting slopes

it hops
on the rocks
in my whiskey

and disappears
into the spring

Fighting
To be me
Ain’t that easy

People’s
Opinions
Got it twisted

Shaming
Lost it’s punch
Went straight pass me.

Scattered
are my thoughts
like spilled pop corn

They stare
even mock
my puzzled look

My muse
has hundreds
mouths to talk

Gazing at a map one day
for wanderlust had taken hold
urging me to get away
to somewhere new and bold.

Six Mile, Lowndesville, Mountain Rest.
I'd been to all these little towns
while on some former untold quest
to have smiles replace etched on frowns.

Then there on a tiny forked road
the map displayed a tiny place
far from any city's overload.
My finger followed the map's trace.

Fish tail, fish tail, half sheet,
working the green chain heat,
full sheet, fish tail, fish tail,
feeling good as the morning sails,
half sheet, half sheet, full sheet,
standing all day long on your feet,
full sheet, full sheet, time to change the cart,
the conveyor runs all day with just one start,
full sheet, half sheet, half sheet,
the green chain never stops,
the chain moves fast,
no time for talk,
fish tail, fish tail, half sheet,
defined fifty eight year old drinker Pete,

When I think of a good commander and chief
I envision a being of purpose to say the least
His back will be straight as his feet follow suit
A man full of integrity and a real sense of pride
For his country and his people's rights too

Fairly handsome and not bearing any blemishes
He would speak directly from the hip with conviction
His judgement would begin to hand out retribution
Not be the puppet for another teams confusion
Understanding the masses because he has listened to them

You can’t expect
To get respect
Just, by standing round

You need to do
A deed or two
To prove, your moral ground
WIZDUMBs by JA 408

After the spirit of Kano,
one hundred twenty miles or so.
The dry wind blows, red dust grows,
red turning gold.
A force gusting long
creating, changing, strong,
a new day horizon, this "Harmaton".
Destiny blown to places unknown,
as I roam to find a place called "home".
Perhaps another land, places unplanned,
this ever changing land, I don't understand.

Kon ga, Kon ga Kon ga Kon ga
Kun du, Kun du Kun du Kun du
The ogene speaks in the hand of the priest,
With his one chalked eye of the gods
He dances in circle like a cock approaching a hen
Hmnnnnnnn with a shake of his head, he sits.

Why will the gods inflict me with females?
The great hunter, and the best of farmers
I’ve married seven wives, still, the gods are silent
My name will not stop in my generation,
Eye of the gods if there's anything let them speak.