We The People

Sinful indulgence at the cost

of we the people

Blind to your ability to bait

and switch with each cast

of the rod, fishing for votes

Speaches filled with humor

and promises left unfulfilled

will we the people never learn

spinning the bottle to elect

bringing forth the same outcome

Denial is a pretty blanket in

which to hide ignorance

We the people can no longer

blame bureaucrats for our dismay

when we put the welcome mat out

when we hide in black holes of self pity

Dreamlike Musings

Look at me while whispering promise of anticipated felicity
I’m trancelike, wrapped in the ecstasy of your mind, should I attempt escape
Like gentle moans, off pursed lips of lust
Dreamlike musings of vacant touch, reaching my sheath, begging for satisfaction of
Tongued eloquence.
Wanting need, heard in rhapsodic oration
I’ll await your linguistic chariot, to carry me where my lordly realm has ventured
Longing for jaunted journey , feeling your gentle ,torturous evil ways
Come quick , yet slow
Satisfy my thirst
Anoint me in your hunger

When is it time exact for death to role its loving eyes

Written by : Elwood Jake

when is it time exact

for death to role it's loving eyes

to children young and old

who simply do as God fortold

why fear that which is

a passage blessedto soft requite

where time is no aged clock

but simple love in arms sweet hold

Instead as time was sweetness pudding

Written by : Elwood Jake

there was sweet time
once when softness ruled
lives were not as absinth's bite
nor full of lusts dark despite



instead as time was sweetness pudding
children ran in soft remission
no cancer strike or heathen's blow
but that soft and simple thought
my love please hold me
warm and true

The Master's Hand

Written by: AmandaLyn











The door creaked open, a gentle groan, sent a bell tingling.
It was a step back, opening a memory, a journey through time.
Hardwood, dust, oil and wax, scents of ages past, did their part,
Lifted spirits from cracks and crannies, set them free to roam
In one corner, in the back, he sat
Guitar on his knee


Strings gently humming.

Quarter-sawn oak, beveled lead glass, polished brass clasps
A woodcarvers canvas, chiseled roses and vines entwined
His inspiration? Love? Pride? It showed with each cut
A masterpiece true, Crowned with a finial fine
He sits gently strumming
A song on his lips
A serenade so befitting

Mona Lisa, Mona Lisa men have named you A masterpiece, canvassed lady with mystic smile She danced in the room, waltzed past mildewed books Chipped tea sets and treadle machines long forgotten, Ancient love’s labors Now cold and lonely

Works of art.