Watch the sky at night and see
the nothing we will come to be
when at last we all are free
to enjoy eternity.
Count the value of a word
nothing else is so absurd
forgotten soon as it is heard
only friendship
is worth the trip
be with me
Friday, December 26, 2008
January 7
Now the Christmas rush is ended
past the business season's peak,
Orthodox joined in devotion
celebrate a later week.
Then without commercial frenzy,
no distraction from The Word:
peace on Earth, mankind's salvation,
Christ is born is all that's heard.
past the business season's peak,
Orthodox joined in devotion
celebrate a later week.
Then without commercial frenzy,
no distraction from The Word:
peace on Earth, mankind's salvation,
Christ is born is all that's heard.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Close Encounters of the Hallucenogenic Kind
Whistling dizzily overhead,
the saucer spins, I leap from bed,
the little green men float eerily,
I watch them waving, wearily.
It's always the same, they seem to say,
we're glad we came to Earth today;
but, don't you wonder, won't they stay?
They drift and tilt and go away.
It's always the same, they never speak:
I never hear a peep or a squeak.
Quietly staring, whatever they seek,
their alien eyes are always bleak.
It's always the same, I seem to dream,
like smoke that gleams in a fading beam,
their eyes aglow, like wisps of steam,
and time goes by like a stagnant stream.
Whistling languidly, singing goodbye,
I wish you a pleasant trip, I cry.
The little green men float eerily,
I watch them waving, wearily.
* ****** **** ******* *
saucers spinning overhead
draw me from a troubled bed
tossing turning aching dreaming
listen to the aliens screaming
see them fly above the town
get your rifle shoot them down
the saucer spins, I leap from bed,
the little green men float eerily,
I watch them waving, wearily.
It's always the same, they seem to say,
we're glad we came to Earth today;
but, don't you wonder, won't they stay?
They drift and tilt and go away.
It's always the same, they never speak:
I never hear a peep or a squeak.
Quietly staring, whatever they seek,
their alien eyes are always bleak.
It's always the same, I seem to dream,
like smoke that gleams in a fading beam,
their eyes aglow, like wisps of steam,
and time goes by like a stagnant stream.
Whistling languidly, singing goodbye,
I wish you a pleasant trip, I cry.
The little green men float eerily,
I watch them waving, wearily.
* ****** **** ******* *
saucers spinning overhead
draw me from a troubled bed
tossing turning aching dreaming
listen to the aliens screaming
see them fly above the town
get your rifle shoot them down