Valentine Fantasies: Youth and Maturity
by Peter John
—–
1:Youth
Someday age may tint your hair
When you are old and wise.
When young men greet you, you’ll be glad
If only their smiles arise.
You may be winking more, if Father Time
Has dimmed your eyes,
But if your charms have chased the years
You’ll still be old and wise.
With nineteen years behind you now
You’re shining in the light!
Your skin is smooth, your eyes are sharp,
And everything looks bright.
Some say that young means foolish.
Well, if those words are right,
Let’s hope you’re never old and wise,
‘Cause you’re looking good tonight!
2: Maturity
A dozen roses, a dozen balloons,
A dozen plays for your heart.
A dozen shots don’t fill your glass,
But one’s a real good start.
A dozen days or weeks from now
The flowers will day and fade,
So pay yourself what’s due tonight,
Go out, get drunk, and get laid!
(c) 1992 Peter John Stone. All Rights Reserved. Contact author for permissions.
Picture by Tony Karp, http://timuseum.com . Used by Permission
Down the Road
By Peter John
Right here my roots are growing.
Right here my corn is tall,
And I know every fencepost
Like a brother.
I’m leaving God this chunk of sod
My sweat has tilled and hoed,
‘Cause I know I’ll find another
Down the road.
Down the road –
I’ll find a place to pitch my tent
And spend the night.
Down the road –
I’ll find some peace of mind
And set the wrong things right.
Right here your touch is velvet
And your kisses burn like flame,
But down the road I’ll find a village
Where nobody knows my name.
Right here we drink of friendship.
Right here we sip of love,
Applauding every honest
Man and cheater.
But in this town my jug’s run down,
I’ve paid all that I owed,
And the water will be sweeter
Down the road.
Down the road –
I’ll find a place to pitch my tent
And spend the night.
Down the road –
I’ll find some peace of mind
And set the wrong things right.
Right here your touch is velvet
And your kisses burn like flame,
But down the road I’ll find a village
Where nobody knows my name.
My thoughts of you weigh more
Than any treasure in my pack,
And that’s the only reason
I might have for coming back.
Right here I saw you smiling.
Right here I took your hand,
And never thought my future
Could be brighter.
Since I can’t flee you’re memory
I’ll bear the heavy load,
But the burden will be lighter
Down the road.
Down the road –
I’ll find a place to pitch my tent
And spend the night.
Down the road –
I’ll find some peace of mind
And set the wrong things right.
Right here your touch is velvet
And your kisses burn like flame,
But down the road I’ll find a village
Where nobody knows my name –
Down the road I’ll find a village
Where nobody knows my name.
—-
(c) 2002 by Peter John Stone. All Rights Reserved. Originally published in “Songs in the Key of See” (C) 2006 by Peter John Stone
Photo of crochet sculpture "Autumn Weeps" from Instructables.com. Used by permission of Kerri Lincoln of "The Amazing Noodle". Click image to visit "The Amazing Noodle" on the Web.
Autumn Weeps
by Peter John
Smile in Summer’s sanity,
Wail in Winter’s madness
Springtime laughs in vanity.
Autumn weeps in sadness.
Broken hands on faceless clocks
That tide will never turn –
Friendly animosities
That bridges never burn –
These are all of yesterday
Our children care to learn.
These are all we dare to leave behind
Smile in Summer’s sanity,
Wail in Winter’s madness.
Springtime laughs in vanity.
Autumn weeps in sadness.
Jagged scars on swollen breasts
That healings never smooth –
Raped emotions throb in screams
That drugs will never soothe.
Yesterday has offered these
To help our children toothe,
All we hope their teeth will never try.
Smile in Summer’s sanity,
Wail in Winter’s madness.
Springtime laughs in vanity.
Autumn weeps in sadness.
These have marked the women’s days,
Crystal cages,
Passion plays,
Scattered leaves and prophecies
All wasted by the wind,
All the fruit of all that men have sinned.
Running in a walking race,
Cursing in a pew,
Promising a harvest
From a seed that never grew –
All our children smell the bread
We ration to a few.
Who are men to say which children die?
Who are men?
Smile in Summer’s sanity.
Wail in Winter’s madness.
April rains the teardrops shed
When Autumn weeps in sadness.
Autumn weeps.
Each secret keeps,
And Autumn weeps in sadness.
Detail of "Autumn Weeps", Nest and Eggs. Used by permission of Kerri Lincoln of "The Amazing Noodle". Click image to see more surprising details at Instructables.com . See more of "The Amazing Noodle" on Facebook, http://www.facebook.com/The.Amazing.Noodle?sk=wall
Image: "The Searcher" by Heather Horton. Used by Permission. "I am taken with dreaming of other places, other realities, while at the same time remaining grounded" -- Heather Horton http://www.heatherhortonartwork.blogspot.com/
Happy Endings
by Peter John
I believe in happy endings.
I believe in rainbows, too.
Although today
Is sad and gray
Tomorrow will still shine through.
I believe that a beacon of love as old as time
Can glow like new.
I believe in happy endings.
I believe in dreams come true.
I believe in new horizons.
I believe they’re everywhere.
The future’s gift
Is when we lift
The burdens our brother’s bear.
I believe that we’re each a desire expressed
In someone else’s prayer.
I believe in new horizons.
I believe that people care.
I believe that God is with us.
I believe His grandest schemes
Compose a plan
That teaches man
The simplest eternal themes.
I believe that His blessings distill
Till happy endings flow in streams.
I believe that God is with us
In our rainbows and our dreams.
Simon says take one step backward.
Simon says jump up and down.
Simon says pretend you’re laughing
Even if you want to frown.
Spill your milk, or question roads
The grown-ups fear to tread –
Now you’re out, you stupid child.
That’s not what Simon said.
Simon says go out for baseball.
Simon says you play to win.
Simon says arise and shine and
Take your dose of Ritalin
Play for fun, or try a different
Drug to still your head,
Now you’re grounded foolish kid.
That’s not what Simon said.
Simon says to pay your taxes.
Simon says that men don’t cry.
Simon says to drop for push-ups,
Shoot your gun and kill, or die.
Call the game insanity,
Refuse to even play.
Join the ragged ranks of
Honored madness held at bay,
And soaring genius crucified
‘Cause Simon didn’t say.
—-
(c) 1991 by Peter John Stone All Rights Reserved. No use is authorized without permission from author, but the author offers reasonable terms, and entertains any proposals.
I see Earth wrapped in heartache.
I see Earth washed in tears.
I see Earth full of wasted lives,
And countless, endless, wasted years –
One vast and dizzy wasteland
Spinning hopelessly through space –
One dark demented landscape,
Lost to heaven, lost to grace –
A planet that’s forever lost its way.
I look around and see it every day.
And I thank God I can’t believe my eyes.
Cold shadows surrounding me are only a cruel disguise.
The Sun’s still shining warmly over the overcast skies.
Thank God I can’t believe my eyes.
I see our armies clashing.
I see their pain and blood.
I see the battles raging on
For empires made on murky mud.
I watch wives turn to widows
Never knowing what it’s for,
While mothers bury only sons,
And orphans march to war.
When peace seems broken far beyond repair,
I hang my head and whisper one soft prayer.
And I thank God I can’t believe my eyes.
Cold shadows surrounding me are only a cruel disguise.
The Sun’s still shining warmly over the overcast skies.
Thank God I can’t believe my eyes.
They say that seeing’s believing.
As I watch my life unfold,
Some days I see myself getting nowhere,
Other days just getting old.
I see my dear ones aging.
I see some pass away.
I see some nurture brand new life
With hope to bring a brighter day.
When everything around them proves
That all their hope is vain,
They face the darkness, fight the wind,
And disregard the rain.
They borrow light from some great source above,
And shelter a tiny candle lit by love.
And I thank God they can’t believe their eyes.
They show that the shadow lands are only a cruel disguise.
They draw warm sunshine down from over the overcast skies.
Thank God they can’t believe their eyes.
And I thank God I can’t believe my eyes.
Cold shadows surrounding me are only a cruel disguise.
The Sun’s still shining warmly over the overcast skies.
Thank God I can’t believe my eyes.
Thank God I can’t believe my eyes.
Electric jungles, black and white,
With bullets broadcast every night,
And body counts from Walter Cronkite.
That’s the way it was …
When screams from someone else’s war
Entranced me on the parlor floor
And Daddy said, “We’re killing for the right
Our country does.”
Now Technicolor airwaves beam the battles from abroad.
The heavy decades of regret and still we’re playing God,
But I have shed the biases my father taught his son,
And recognize the wrong our country’s done …
Now I scream –
This is the wave of tomorrow, it’s breaking,
No soldiers to train.
No sons for the motherland.
No daughters to chain.
No fathers can force us to follow
The trails their lies have worn
No beatings can bring us to follow
The empty oathes they’ve sworn.
Dark Oracles blind us from knowing
The destiny we earn.
They tell us tomorrow must burn,
But the tables still can turn.
Today we are contemplating
Destroying Earth and sky.
No armies will need to be marshaled
If we should ever let the missiles fly.
Our navies will drift unattended
On seas of glowing blood.
Our bones will be washed with extinction
On shores of steaming mud.
A thousand millennia linger
Till dawns another age.
We’re smudges of ink on a finger
That helps to turn the page –
That’s all we are …
Dark Oracles echo our questions
With riddles of their own.
The answers that slice to the bone
We interpret alone.
Our planet is plagued with a species
A tumor in her head
Infesting her face with a growing
Malignant urban spread.
We poison her provident waters.
We scrape away her skin.
We synthesize sunspots in kettles
And melt her flesh to tin.
The hands of the stopwatch are frozen
A second to the bell.
One moment will show if we’ve chosen
To make the Earth a paradise or hell.
Dark Oracles’ blinding ambitions
Are fostered by our fear.
They say a catastrophe’s near,
We create what we hear,
And then we say Dark Oracles are right –
Dark Oracles calling in the night –
Dark Oracles swallowing the light.
The future offers these footsteps,
Oh, Mothers! Your sons refuse to kill.
Your daughters’ desperate oppression is over
Protected by the pill.
No promise of life without aching,
But one more day to live.
No glorious prize for the taking,
But one more chance to give.
Dark Oracles promise tomorrow
Humanity must die,
And then leave us wondering why
Without a clear reply.
It’s time for Dark Oracles to die!
Pour me a shot of tequila, Sheila,
Draw me a draft of beer.
It’s getting late,
But the music’s great,
And I like drinking here.
I don’t care if it’s after ten
And I get up at four.
One more shot’ll drag me home.
I can pass out on the floor.
Pour me another gin and tonic.
Pop me a couple of Buds.
I’d like to wade
In the mist I’ve made
And swim in the golden suds.
Lost on a foggy sunset road
I seek a thirsting soul
Drinking misery I don’t know,
Swallowing sorrow whole.
Another shot,
Another bottle,
A filtered quart of my blood –
Another cocktail,
I’ll trade a meal
For a swallow of Tennessee Mud!
Pour me another neon headache,
Congas announcing the dawn.
My pocket’s bled,
And my pounding head
Is taking the morning on.
Bloodshot images steaming thick,
The mirror hears me pray.
Wake me up with one more shot
So I can stagger away.
Hey! Pour me a shot of tequila, Sheila,
Another shot and I’ll stay.
(c) 1991 by Peter John Stone All Rights Reserved. No use is authorized without permission from author, but the author offers reasonable terms, and entertains any proposals.
The first time that my brother came to visit
My uniform had almost left me mad,
Till on a foreign shore
He found my barracks door,
And I forgot why things had seemed so bad.
A voice I know, a face that looks familiar –
A face that carries features of my own –
He offers me his heart
When mine is torn apart.
He opens up a harbor far from home.
A questing heart, a mind that masters meaning –
A body strong, a soul that earns no shame –
Though I came first in birth
He helps me feel my worth,
And makes me proud to share his family name.
Another time my brother came to visit
When I was free but still had dues to pay.
He stepped into my cell,
Dispelled my private hell
And heaven didn’t seem too far away.
It bothers me to think how much I hurt him
When we were children learning how to grow.
But when I try to say,
He laughs it all away,
And I’m the one afraid to let it go.
So when the Stars and Stripes have brought him homeward,
And set him free to wander once again,
He’s sure to come to me.
I know I’ll never be
As good a man as he’s already been.
The next time that my brother comes to visit
I’ll open up that special jug of wine.
But he can’t help me drink.
So, when he’s gone, I think
I’ll drink it by myself, and I’ll feel fine.
(c) 1990, by Peter John Stone, All Rights Reserved. No use is authorized without permission from author, but the author offers reasonable terms, and entertains any proposals.
This site extends my 1992 book Mirrors in a Prism(illustrated by Dave McCune) into the digital realm. The book's title marks pieces it included under the categories. In addition, this site includes newer poems, some prose, and pertinent links. Always under deconstruction it may never be finished. It targets a thoroughly multilinear and interactive experience when further developed.
