Author: lbstowe

Seems every day now there is a brand new fear.
Yesterday’s foulest threat, now, only a jeer.

I try keeping up with the finger wagging.
Simultaneous…his approval is flagging.

Much like Rome in its final fiery breaths.
Poison was clear; but they still drunk to their deaths.

The highest office threatening its people?
Known refrain…when Civility’s grown feeble.

Holding our safety & well-being ransom.
Threatens our founding & perverts our anthem.

Tyranny’s trump play: bottom against middle.
When will you see his invisible fiddle?

No ma’am Pam, with your Pan Am Smile.
Go for that extra Duchenne mile.

Let your eyes know that you’re happy.
Scrunch those wrinkles; make it snappy.

For, aging faces should have lines.
It’s proof you made the most of time.

Some don’t fight clocks & go with grace.
And that’s the beauty of a face.

The more one fight’s the wear & tear…Chasing passed time? That’s madness there.

For, in the end, it’s still just you.
Unrecognizable pursuit.

Welcome to the corporate age! The golden age of greed.
It’s every man for themself…except those in the lead.

Take a dash of religion & a portion of the soul.
Then, add to these Wall Street’s Bull & blend them in a bowl.

Puff of smoke & lightening crack…a hush falls over all.
Distant grumbling thunder…count the seconds til sky fall.

Now, you pay your priest & in turn, he is forgiving.
Labor’s interest overtime forces sinless living.

Golden hour, golden watch, gold calves & gilded men.
Golden anniversary means things are at an end.

Send out for winter, Baby; Deliver snow.
Make it all frigid, Lover; So, you can’t go.

It’s warm right by the hearth, Babe; it’s nice inside.
Fire in the bedroom, Honey; Fire, please abide.

Send out for dinner, Sweetheart; send out for smokes.
Let’s melt together, Darling; our Love’s not broke.

We are just fine in here, Dove; Let’s love us best.
The world can freeze outside, Love; could not care less.

Call for delivery, Sugar; Here is my list.
Drinks, Laughs & Good times, Daddy; Show me what I’ve missed.

Why deteste from afar when you can loathe closer?
Every trait you love to hate will be much grosser.

Titan’s of industry at the Resolute Desk.
Speaking for the figurehead…puppetry grotesque.

Hands go up his ass, ‘neath cover of kissing feet.
His soul’s cleared out; he’s just manipulated meat.

Subsidized Affluence has gone on far too long.
They’ve propped up a strongman…their choice is clearly wrong.

If my words cause my demise, I’ll know I was right.
‘Cause I’d not willingly be silent for this fight.

Cemeteries on the go.
Made from yes & made from no.

Burial, quick turnaround.
Stacking bodies below ground.

Plots for rent but not for sale.
Five allowed for mourners’ wail.

Then it’s up & outta here.
Grass grows dull without its tears.

Our ends are not ours stave.
Living’s penalty is grave.

Soon, it seems, Death may speed up…
As cult leaders proffer cup. 

Some times…we get one tiny nudge.
Whereas, before, we would not budge.

Some times…we wouldn’t ever see.
Whereas, seen much clearer by thee.

Some times…a stranger’s in the crowd.
Whereas, kismet knew not one cloud.

Some times…family’s just in time.
Whereas, on me, they’ve laid no crime.

Some times…I come thru on my own.
Whereas, I reach & get dial tone.

We Artists would trade sanity for a happy Muse.
Yet, glad or sad, clouds or rain…I would not, Muse-abuse.

When she whispers, I fly to her…almost every time.
I only shy away from her when her light is lime.

She plants a kiss of insight upon my furrowed brow.
I rush to my studio…record what she’s said now.

Me, she visits more than once on solitary days.
I’ve forgotten what she says before I’ve pen & page.

Sat there sore in self-pity with blank page & blank mind. 
Soon ignited, or relieved, by what she’s left to find.

I’ve writ of my final plot; the garden in me trenched.
Don’t lay for me a headstone; but craft me stone bench.

I’ve built my garden graven grove in other yarns.
I won’t repeat those details, for this construct’s my cairn.

The backrest should say “LEVi; He Did His Best…He Tried.
Armrests should have dates; when I was born & when I died.

Come in the gloaming; whilst my garden’s dew is glistening.
One leg says, “Have a seat.”…the other says, “I’m listening.”

True or false, you’ll decide; when you’re sat there in my copse.
Laughing wind rustles leaves…a peach & a penny drop.

Seems we’re all obsessed with looking hot naked…
As if our clothes have us incarcerated.

Now, I’m always up to get a bit cheeky.
I  hold it down, however I’ve grown peaky.

Three hours physical therapy a day.
Not to mention maintaining standards gay.

It’s hogwash; but I’ve been indoctrinated.
Small chance I may have vanity conflated?

Either way my skin fits me; covered or bare.
I’m reading your mind & there is some there there.

Maybe try seeming hot; whilst you are still donned.
Far more work to look “hot”…with all your clothes on.