Tuesday, June 25, 2013
I Plunked a Ladybug
May 29, 1997
I plunked an innocent ladybug one ill-tempered, sun-dried day.
An innocent, beautiful ladybug caught in a swirling disarray.
Though I'm a lover of pure nature and its wonders from least to greatest.
I was measured by lower mentalities when I so simply became sadist.
Yes, surely to be, my day was horridly, terribly, awfully wrought.
For some solace I sought with a heart piping hot, but a sinkhole made distraught.
I plunked an elegant ladybug in a lurid, erractic way.
An elegant, adorable ladybug who strolled by one memorable May.
Though there are species that click and clack, calling with their nightly song.
It doesn't recall the disadvantage caused by my terrible wrong.
The thought of that precious thing being careened into humiliation.
I prayed the offense wouldn't doom her because of my brash communication.
I plunked a sweet ladybug by accident, some would say.
A sweet, susceptible ladybug who was ruled by a delay.
My reaction was unintended, but unmindful of the strain.
Perhaps that super bomb above impaired my focus from your riveting pain.
Little one, there is a deserving debit. You decide what should be paid.
Since you struggled on your ruby-red back without the thought of viable aid.
I plunked a resilient ladybug, it now seems to say.
A resilient and recuperative ladybug no longer committed to lay.
Relief waded as antidote that healed my half divide.
Of course, the beast is hidden; I brace for the face of Hyde.
I think on the repercussions, priorities I drew with shameful chagrin,
But permissable is the prick to prompt humanity to seep again.
I plucked an excellent creation who should be quartered from a nay.
We are co-existence, so we marvel with a yea.
I plunked an innocent ladybug too tender for a fray,
So I extended my hand and arm to invite her to play and play.
© 1997 Jarrod C. Lacy
May 29, 1997
I plunked an innocent ladybug one ill-tempered, sun-dried day.
An innocent, beautiful ladybug caught in a swirling disarray.
Though I'm a lover of pure nature and its wonders from least to greatest.
I was measured by lower mentalities when I so simply became sadist.
Yes, surely to be, my day was horridly, terribly, awfully wrought.
For some solace I sought with a heart piping hot, but a sinkhole made distraught.
I plunked an elegant ladybug in a lurid, erractic way.
An elegant, adorable ladybug who strolled by one memorable May.
Though there are species that click and clack, calling with their nightly song.
It doesn't recall the disadvantage caused by my terrible wrong.
The thought of that precious thing being careened into humiliation.
I prayed the offense wouldn't doom her because of my brash communication.
I plunked a sweet ladybug by accident, some would say.
A sweet, susceptible ladybug who was ruled by a delay.
My reaction was unintended, but unmindful of the strain.
Perhaps that super bomb above impaired my focus from your riveting pain.
Little one, there is a deserving debit. You decide what should be paid.
Since you struggled on your ruby-red back without the thought of viable aid.
I plunked a resilient ladybug, it now seems to say.
A resilient and recuperative ladybug no longer committed to lay.
Relief waded as antidote that healed my half divide.
Of course, the beast is hidden; I brace for the face of Hyde.
I think on the repercussions, priorities I drew with shameful chagrin,
But permissable is the prick to prompt humanity to seep again.
I plucked an excellent creation who should be quartered from a nay.
We are co-existence, so we marvel with a yea.
I plunked an innocent ladybug too tender for a fray,
So I extended my hand and arm to invite her to play and play.
© 1997 Jarrod C. Lacy
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Have I Been Here Before?
January 1, 1997
A treasure lost,
A lesson taught
Still singing the same, old songs.
Those all too common places,
And those daily to yearly faces;
It seems that this life is a natural bore.
Quenching for that something new.
By all that is right, what must I do?
I must change for my betterment.
Have I been here before?
I know what's behind that game show's
prize door?
Many predictable things that I don't want
anymore.
© 1997 Jarrod C. Lacy
******
Guitar Solo
February 26, 1997
It's the belief in this world,
Flash or flicker in this world,
The fact that man
Has so many chances.
Sinuous paths many take,
But there are those who are awake.
It's the belief in this world;
Suffer whatever pain in this world;
No time to search for some Lucky Star.
Reality is right here. How dare you travel far.
Come unchained for earned freedom. It's meant.
It's the fuel power pumped by our antecedent.
Pandora may have opened the box
But there are those in long lines with locks
It's the belief in this world
Nobody really escapes from this world
Despite those gadfly feelings
Go, embrance stable healings.
© 1997 Jarrod C. Lacy
******
Afro
May 24, 1997
Cool mushroom shade puffing over brains.
It might draw up when it rains.
You got your pick, Mr. Cool Cat?
Bring it out smooth, and then you pat.
You got a little sheen, Miss Funny Bunny?
Spritz. Add some sprinkle up there, honey.
© 1997 Jarrod C. Lacy
January 1, 1997
A treasure lost,
A lesson taught
Still singing the same, old songs.
Those all too common places,
And those daily to yearly faces;
It seems that this life is a natural bore.
Quenching for that something new.
By all that is right, what must I do?
I must change for my betterment.
Have I been here before?
I know what's behind that game show's
prize door?
Many predictable things that I don't want
anymore.
© 1997 Jarrod C. Lacy
******
Guitar Solo
February 26, 1997
It's the belief in this world,
Flash or flicker in this world,
The fact that man
Has so many chances.
Sinuous paths many take,
But there are those who are awake.
It's the belief in this world;
Suffer whatever pain in this world;
No time to search for some Lucky Star.
Reality is right here. How dare you travel far.
Come unchained for earned freedom. It's meant.
It's the fuel power pumped by our antecedent.
Pandora may have opened the box
But there are those in long lines with locks
It's the belief in this world
Nobody really escapes from this world
Despite those gadfly feelings
Go, embrance stable healings.
© 1997 Jarrod C. Lacy
******
Afro
May 24, 1997
Cool mushroom shade puffing over brains.
It might draw up when it rains.
You got your pick, Mr. Cool Cat?
Bring it out smooth, and then you pat.
You got a little sheen, Miss Funny Bunny?
Spritz. Add some sprinkle up there, honey.
© 1997 Jarrod C. Lacy
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Reciting "Bumps" and "Ravens."
Bump
January 7, 1999
1. An Old Mother's Word
The smell of boiling pigs feet,
The serving of water cornbread,
Apple sauce for dessert, in a wooden bowl,
And the soft drink is red.
Eat it all, drink it all, and don't waste anything.
Then take a bath and take yourself to bed.
Get up in the morning and always do the do.
Put on your shoes and socks; your clothes too,
Slap a lil' water on your face, brush your teeth, smile.
Go to school and learn for a lil' while.
2. Lots
They've gathered all over, in the house.
Neighbors and friends of the family
Some big-mouthed and gossipy.
Wannabes who wouldn't know their own identity,
Others are quiet, but all hoping to 'bum' a meal.
Whatever happened to the 'cup-of-sugar' days?
Bold habits live fast and totally free.
No, they would wish and beg for credit.
Feed 'em anyhow, and payment? Forget it.
3. Photographs
These are the days when privacy is empty
Stop and pose for a camera.
What one does at the moment really doesn't matter.
Snap: a teenage boy is biting his toenails.
Click: a ninety year old man's diaper dropped.
Snap: a woman's dress is caught in the wind a notch.
Click: a football jock slowly adjusts his crotch.
Finger in a nostril, a sloppy kiss.
Gamblers at the black jack table with trump cards,
Or the old lady tossing leftovers in her own backyard.
© 1999 Jarrod C. Lacy
******
Ravens
March 9, 1999
We'll go far from a standard peck and a caw, then easily brush aside
any cornfed crow.
They laugh at us because they covet us, and perhaps they're
ashamed of their turkey's feet.
Farmer's field is a hiding place where they're wreaked under the coverage
of conceit.
We're the brothers and sisters that possess the formality of grandeur.
We know the flavor of the seed. They crave this.
Our pedantic lunch we seem to vomit on a plate of prejudice;
There is their gloss that doesn't mirror a relic glam of an eternal royal.
Smaller in form, feat and feature are tips of their eclipse that horns
little music for our popularity as an employer.
© 1999 Jarrod C. Lacy
January 7, 1999
1. An Old Mother's Word
The smell of boiling pigs feet,
The serving of water cornbread,
Apple sauce for dessert, in a wooden bowl,
And the soft drink is red.
Eat it all, drink it all, and don't waste anything.
Then take a bath and take yourself to bed.
Get up in the morning and always do the do.
Put on your shoes and socks; your clothes too,
Slap a lil' water on your face, brush your teeth, smile.
Go to school and learn for a lil' while.
2. Lots
They've gathered all over, in the house.
Neighbors and friends of the family
Some big-mouthed and gossipy.
Wannabes who wouldn't know their own identity,
Others are quiet, but all hoping to 'bum' a meal.
Whatever happened to the 'cup-of-sugar' days?
Bold habits live fast and totally free.
No, they would wish and beg for credit.
Feed 'em anyhow, and payment? Forget it.
3. Photographs
These are the days when privacy is empty
Stop and pose for a camera.
What one does at the moment really doesn't matter.
Snap: a teenage boy is biting his toenails.
Click: a ninety year old man's diaper dropped.
Snap: a woman's dress is caught in the wind a notch.
Click: a football jock slowly adjusts his crotch.
Finger in a nostril, a sloppy kiss.
Gamblers at the black jack table with trump cards,
Or the old lady tossing leftovers in her own backyard.
© 1999 Jarrod C. Lacy
******
Ravens
March 9, 1999
We'll go far from a standard peck and a caw, then easily brush aside
any cornfed crow.
They laugh at us because they covet us, and perhaps they're
ashamed of their turkey's feet.
Farmer's field is a hiding place where they're wreaked under the coverage
of conceit.
We're the brothers and sisters that possess the formality of grandeur.
We know the flavor of the seed. They crave this.
Our pedantic lunch we seem to vomit on a plate of prejudice;
There is their gloss that doesn't mirror a relic glam of an eternal royal.
Smaller in form, feat and feature are tips of their eclipse that horns
little music for our popularity as an employer.
© 1999 Jarrod C. Lacy
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Teddy Bear
November 23, 1998
Little ones, every babe, all to your
surprise.
It's a cuddly nose, and soft to the touch,
With welcoming, innocent eyes.
How lovable, how sensible this memorable,
youthful peer.
Carry him softly, wholly and with care,
And he will bundle you with cheer.
Furry features and a kind face, what
child wouldn't want to escape with their
pal to a spectacular dream-time
place.
The gentle thing with fluffy hair
Lying on a bed, a teddy bear;
The other playmates lie simply
floored; all everywhere.
As pretty pinks paint little girls,
Baby dolls and dresses, their ribbons
whirls.
Powder-blue, light and new, tells of a
little boy.
Airplanes and video games are put
aside for one tuft toy.
Shiny cheeks from a toothy smile
After a hug he gave.
From the comfort next to the pillow
Oh, what a timely save.
Cradle that stuffed creature, feel
happiness blend, among
All the toys in the great playroom.
No choice compares, no toy is there
unlike that of a child's first friend.
Note: This piece was inspired by Engene
Fields, poet.
© 1998 Jarrod C. Lacy
******
Rime On the World (or a Frothy Ground)
January 5, 1999
When downy flurries have had
their fill of the sky, encased within
a crystalline gleam, then does their
nature heed to the cool command, so
clouds can finally release them,
those excess loose bits of fabrics in
allayed contrast.
Depending upon a place, those soft
tufts sew into winds to intermingle,
forming polar quilts; now our
earth truly lies asleep.
As the fabrics still form, the more
their restfulness becomes the impression
of warmth.
The inches are icily seething, the covers
become more condensed, and as days
pass, many feet will intervene and press them,
then vehicles will thereby crush, swerve by
and mash them during this comatose season;
changing, molding them into a crisp comfort,
a chilling mattress.
© 1999 Jarrod C. Lacy
November 23, 1998
Little ones, every babe, all to your
surprise.
It's a cuddly nose, and soft to the touch,
With welcoming, innocent eyes.
How lovable, how sensible this memorable,
youthful peer.
Carry him softly, wholly and with care,
And he will bundle you with cheer.
Furry features and a kind face, what
child wouldn't want to escape with their
pal to a spectacular dream-time
place.
The gentle thing with fluffy hair
Lying on a bed, a teddy bear;
The other playmates lie simply
floored; all everywhere.
As pretty pinks paint little girls,
Baby dolls and dresses, their ribbons
whirls.
Powder-blue, light and new, tells of a
little boy.
Airplanes and video games are put
aside for one tuft toy.
Shiny cheeks from a toothy smile
After a hug he gave.
From the comfort next to the pillow
Oh, what a timely save.
Cradle that stuffed creature, feel
happiness blend, among
All the toys in the great playroom.
No choice compares, no toy is there
unlike that of a child's first friend.
Note: This piece was inspired by Engene
Fields, poet.
© 1998 Jarrod C. Lacy
******
Rime On the World (or a Frothy Ground)
January 5, 1999
When downy flurries have had
their fill of the sky, encased within
a crystalline gleam, then does their
nature heed to the cool command, so
clouds can finally release them,
those excess loose bits of fabrics in
allayed contrast.
Depending upon a place, those soft
tufts sew into winds to intermingle,
forming polar quilts; now our
earth truly lies asleep.
As the fabrics still form, the more
their restfulness becomes the impression
of warmth.
The inches are icily seething, the covers
become more condensed, and as days
pass, many feet will intervene and press them,
then vehicles will thereby crush, swerve by
and mash them during this comatose season;
changing, molding them into a crisp comfort,
a chilling mattress.
© 1999 Jarrod C. Lacy
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