Read For Your Past

I’m reading Ozzie, that’s Osbourne, not Nelson
While lying on my hammock in the yard
And about genetics by Professor Dawkins
Now that’s a subject that’s hard

Why do I do it, strain my brain with words
I’m not going to be a professor anytime soon
And as far as becoming a freaking rocker
I would be better to bay at the moon

I have wild thoughts, escapist without a doubt
Of what could have been many years back
If only I had decided which way to go
If only I had decided on a single tack

Barbara Blackcinder

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A Call To Arms

To All, To All, I would thus call
Preparing for an imminent fall
To friends I know and some I’ve met
Could I depend on their mind’s set
What would be their claim of denial?
To step away from my deadly trial

But this is now, not the way of the past
When only by swordplay could you hope to last
When battles occurred for less than an insult
With daggers and death for the resultant tumult
Today it is not asked for aides to battle
There are no steeds on which to saddle

How do we call such acquaintances held?
No longer is there a chance of being felled
How do we rate or measure our kin
Do we bother to see beneath their skin?
No rather we give in to doubt held privacy
Hoping for an absence of random contrivancy

We can only judge our friends by selfish traits
Knowing that within them fear and denial waits
Have we friends now as they were before
Or has giving of our lives become no more
Of course battles to the death no longer exist
Civilization has all but covered with a grainy mist.

Barbara Blackcinder

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That Ship Has Sailed

Nothing’s changed since I was a kid
There is no new news for me
Now that I’ve gone through an adult life
Many others have changed that I see

I was frustrated to find a good friend
Someone to hang with by day
But somehow they always seemed busy
When I would come out to play

I thought I was nice, pleasant to know
No different than anyone else around
And I still hold that as mostly true
Even though selfish as it may sound

But here I am, typing not talking
Pretending that I have a real life
The truth is that I have so few friends
And that’s including my wife

I have more time now since retiring
I get more done that ever before
But looking for friends results in the same
The running away and closing the door

I really can’t blame anyone for this
Who’s to tell them what they should do
We all pick friends who we like to be with
And so there is no way I can blame you

It’s just my nature to be standoffish I guess
Just to be a little off to the side
Why this results in no one around
Is something they never confide

So I will write, and read by myself
Until the end, whenever that may be
Having delusions of grandeur
Cause it’s all that’s given to me

Barbara Blackcinder

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Words that Spatter and Don’t Matter

Could I be, any more obscure
I spin my lines, and tune them a bit
But reading my blog, I’m yet so sure
That to anyone else, they still don’t fit

Why do I write when it’s all in my head
I make every attempt to make them shine
The words written might as well not be said
Since inevitably, they still remain mine

Little good does it do to send it to you
Without a comment coming at the end
I can only be happy when it’s through
Just some thoughts that I needed to cleanse

I don’t know why it makes a difference
Whether or not I’m accepted now
To acknowledge more than that is just dense
Is it just vanity and hope somehow?

But to me it isn’t so trivial at all
Hoping for some justification to see
A glancing outside of my perceived wall
Not just for some glory that fulfills me

Call it a purge if that’s helps you along
A bit of the spirits we all carry around
Some use poetry, some sing a song
Giving expressions of we have found

A little note to cleanse our souls
As temporary as spoken words
Just a hint of some human goals
Not the melodious tune from a bird

Neither of them is really sustained
Only memory holds it for a time
Bird songs are pleasantly retained
My thoughts are seldom worth a dime

Barbara Blackcinder

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The Chosen Arrangement

The world is a bouquet of flowers with only one seed
So we can see how important it is for that single need
To find only the stem, the flower and the pistil
That in the creator’s eye was the one and only crystal

In the bounty of our floral arrangement we hold
It is only a single stem and flower we are told
That holds the eye of his beneficial love
While death and hell shall others get from above

Bending over the flowers to look for the gold
Is the death view we accept as we are told
Strive to be the best you can be even though
If you were not chosen, it is still to hell you will go

Barbara Blackcinder

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The Guilty Dreamer

Thus you must not, ever again sleep
For into your mind and dreams I will creep
Haunting your thoughts here and there
Leaving you upright in the dark with a stare
Wondering what it was you had dreamed
And if the passion was all that it seemed…

Alone, waiting for the morning sun
Her body was quite sore from the fun
Aches and glitches in her ailing hips
Smeared blush and lipstick stained lips
Was it her own passion fueling her desire
Or was he really becoming her sire

Where was the line of fantasy and horror
Was he just evil, or a truthful suitor?
Could she demand a release from her passion
Could he lock her forever into his fashion
Was it possible to reject her own wishes
Was she merely in a school of his fishes

One of many, just one of the flock
Straining over the feel of his cock
Dreaming of being impaled yet one more time
Passion strained thoughts without a rhyme
Her head swirled at the thought of his smile
Loins dripping heavily all of the while

Was this only passion enflaming her soul
With no linear thoughts, she just didn’t know
So back to sleep as his thoughts made it clear
She would remain for his bidding right here
Waiting for his return to her bed
Forsaking the rest of her life like he said

Only to him could she respond to alas
Thinking of his backside, his well-muscled ass
Driving like a piston, inflaming her sex
Dreaming and hoping that it soon would be next
But then she awoke, her hand in herself
Quickly she reached for relief on the shelf
How could a dream be so vividly real?
Her fulfilled passion, her dreams it did steal

A shower or two, the time nearly forgotten
Quite embarrassed, she felt very rotten
Having a dream so intense, so passion filled
Knowing it could only have been self-willed
Although filled with guilt she dreamed even more
Of the man without a name drifting through her door
Taking her like no man had ever done, with such heat
Yet knowing that it was a dream, that they’d never meet.

Barbara Blackcinder

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It’s a swirling pond that I’m swimming in
Just drifting along and around
A green plant floats by with a limb
Never quite coming aground

The water is calm, it’s surface benign
I pass by with the other flotsam
Other pieces float and spin before and behind
Wandering freely just as I am

The river is slow but always on the move
Into the ocean where it will disperse
Towards the end of its run of its riverbed groove
I’ll drift along accepting this curse

Into the expanse of calmer seas
Floating more slowly than ever before
Riding the waves with a slight breeze
No notice taken as I wash from the shore

Only I question what I see, where I go
Will I return from this fanciful ride
Disappearing over the waves so slow
Following the calmest wash of the tide

All is silent, no noises to hear now
Even the waves have come to a halt
I have no vessel, no wave washed brow
Just flat water, no churning assault

In quietness I lay me to sleep
Drifting along without a forecast
Floating above the ocean so deep
Wondering how long this silence will last

Barbara Blackcinder

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