Each month, write a new collection.
Cowboys & Indianslittle plasticcowboys and indiansone inch talla small tabletoplow to the floorstanding staggeredon their sidesthe battle is onthey all dieI don’t take sidesI sing aglorious songto honorthe dead
That's wonderful man. That's a really strong one. Made me smile and laugh in Starbucks.
Living a FantasyIt is a fantasy of mine to sing in the lime lightTo have made my mark and tell you what my life is likeThrough what I have to say, what my day is all aboutYou and I as we try to make lovely music come outI come alive in this fantasy I dream and Without you is a lie As I rock and roll and singAll about you as I tryFrom the heart to star with you and imparteverything we areThe drum beats slowly as you are the onlySomber fonder beatMaking it all the more fantasy for meAs I get up on stage and start to sing the rhythm and bluesMy baby’s gone away and I don’t know what to doBut I cry like a river until the tears are all goneAs they have dried up giving everything to oneI know is with me from here until the endAnd beyond this life as we live as spiritual friendsI need you with me and always by my sideWith the strumming of the six string and my foolish prideI want to have it all A denim jacket and a sixty sevenIf I was to get them back from when I was seventeen years old and a little bit of a drinkerHaving my dog Brandy and a Marlboro singerAnd a writer and a fighterNo, not a fighter, but a loverOne with compassionAnd a love for one anotherI hear the tambourine ringing soft and lowI feel the percussion pounding out my soulI want the song to sing every thing I amA man with a dream and a fantasy I canDisplay in a poem, in my song, as I write to sing your dreamsand bring the things we want to have in life like a record scene or an album, or a contract and in fact a prestigious agentAs I whisk away in my Chevrolet and act as though I’ve made itI’m a rock and roll singer in a small kind of bandOne who writes and one who likes to fantasize and landBack on stage on a different page and a life that’s made to dreamI’m a rock and roll singer with a thousand fans that screamI want my denim jacket and my lady, brandy dogAnd my 67 fastback, yes, I want it allI want back my youth and the truth is mamma dearI want my life to live with love; I want it filled with cheerWith my car and my dog as I’m living in a dreamI want to star and have it all, living a fantasy
This is a solid poem, and I have to say man, you really have been producing some top notch work!
The Rock MuseumThe truck dropped off four mountains of rockFor construction They sat unused for most of the summerJust waitingThere were many colors and sizes of rockAll shapesI stacked fabulous structures and designsIn rockTreating each piece like an art exhibitMy artI mapped out trails that weaved through the pilesLike a museumThen conducted make believe tours of my masterpiecesNo camera's! Then one day my rock museum was goneJust disappearedWorkman had come and turned it into an officeOh well...
The only thing I'd change here is to eliminated that "oh well" and make the last line "into an office." You've set the poem up really well so we'll feel that.
Houses in the HillsGrowing up everyone dreams about being more wealthy, and having the mansions, pools, cars and hotties.I believe people also worry about becoming more poor, deprived and neglected.Why? I'm not sure.Maybe as an instinctual way of finding comfort in ones lifestyle as well as identifying discomfort.Despite those normal thoughts,I had an odd obsession concerning an ideal lifestyle.Whenever I was in the car with family and we were on the freeway,I would stare out at the hillsto where there were crevices.In the crevicesthere were trees and lots of green.For some reason, I'd imaginesetting up house in those areas. It's like my eyes recognized perfect "real estate"and I couldnt get away from how safe those areas seemed and so carefree.Strange.