from Peter John

Archive for the ‘Consequence’ Category

Autumn Weeps


Image of "Autumn Weeps", Croveted Tree by "The Amazing Noodle"

Photo of crochet sculpture "Autumn Weeps" from Instructables.com. Used by permission of Kerri Lincoln of "The Amazing Noodle". Click image to visit "The Amazing Noodle" on the Web.

Autumn Weeps
by Peter John

Smile in Summer’s sanity,
Wail in Winter’s madness
Springtime laughs in vanity.
Autumn weeps in sadness.

Broken hands on faceless clocks
That tide will never turn –
Friendly animosities
That bridges never burn –
These are all of yesterday
Our children care to learn.
These are all we dare to leave behind

Smile in Summer’s sanity,
Wail in Winter’s madness.
Springtime laughs in vanity.
Autumn weeps in sadness.

Jagged scars on swollen breasts
That healings never smooth –
Raped emotions throb in screams
That drugs will never soothe.
Yesterday has offered these
To help our children toothe,
All we hope their teeth will never try.

Smile in Summer’s sanity,
Wail in Winter’s madness.
Springtime laughs in vanity.
Autumn weeps in sadness.

These have marked the women’s days,
Crystal cages,
Passion plays,
Scattered leaves and prophecies
All wasted by the wind,
All the fruit of all that men have sinned.

Running in a walking race,
Cursing in a pew,
Promising a harvest
From a seed that never grew –
All our children smell the bread
We ration to a few.
Who are men to say which children die?
Who are men?

Smile in Summer’s sanity.
Wail in Winter’s madness.
April rains the teardrops shed
When Autumn weeps in sadness.
Autumn weeps.
Each secret keeps,
And Autumn weeps in sadness.

Immage of nest and eggs detail of crocheted tree sculpture.

Detail of "Autumn Weeps", Nest and Eggs. Used by permission of Kerri Lincoln of "The Amazing Noodle". Click image to see more surprising details at Instructables.com . See more of "The Amazing Noodle" on Facebook, http://www.facebook.com/The.Amazing.Noodle?sk=wall

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Poem “Autumn Weeps” © 1991 by Peter John Stone. All rights reserved. Contact the author for permissions, which are on reasonable terms.

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Simon Says


Simon Says
by Peter John

Simon says take one step backward.
Simon says jump up and down.
Simon says pretend you’re laughing
Even if you want to frown.
Spill your milk, or question roads
The grown-ups fear to tread —
Now you’re out, you stupid child.
That’s not what Simon said.

Simon says go out for baseball.
Simon says you play to win.
Simon says arise and shine and
Take your dose of Ritalin
Play for fun, or try a different
Drug to still your head,
Now you’re grounded foolish kid.
That’s not what Simon said.

Simon says to pay your taxes.
Simon says that men don’t cry.
Simon says to drop for push-ups,
Shoot your gun and kill, or die.
Call the game insanity,
Refuse to even play.
Join the ragged ranks of
Honored madness held at bay,
And soaring genius crucified
‘Cause Simon didn’t say.
—-
(c) 1991 by Peter John Stone All Rights Reserved. No use is authorized without permission from author, but the author offers reasonable terms, and entertains any proposals.

Dark Oracles



Dark Oracles
By Peter John

Electric jungles, black and white,
With bullets broadcast every night,
And body counts from Walter Cronkite.
That’s the way it was …

When screams from someone else’s war
Entranced me on the parlor floor
And Daddy said, “We’re killing for the right
Our country does.”

Now Technicolor airwaves beam the battles from abroad.
The heavy decades of regret and still we’re playing God,
But I have shed the biases my father taught his son,
And recognize the wrong our country’s done …

Now I scream –
This is the wave of tomorrow, it’s breaking,
No soldiers to train.
No sons for the motherland.
No daughters to chain.
No fathers can force us to follow
The trails their lies have worn
No beatings can bring us to follow
The empty oathes they’ve sworn.

Dark Oracles blind us from knowing
The destiny we earn.
They tell us tomorrow must burn,
But the tables still can turn.

Today we are contemplating
Destroying Earth and sky.
No armies will need to be marshaled
If we should ever let the missiles fly.
Our navies will drift unattended
On seas of glowing blood.
Our bones will be washed with extinction
On shores of steaming mud.
A thousand millennia linger
Till dawns another age.
We’re smudges of ink on a finger
That helps to turn the page –
That’s all we are …

Dark Oracles echo our questions
With riddles of their own.
The answers that slice to the bone
We interpret alone.

Our planet is plagued with a species
A tumor in her head
Infesting her face with a growing
Malignant urban spread.
We poison her provident waters.
We scrape away her skin.
We synthesize sunspots in kettles
And melt her flesh to tin.
The hands of the stopwatch are frozen
A second to the bell.
One moment will show if we’ve chosen
To make the Earth a paradise or hell.

Dark Oracles’ blinding ambitions
Are fostered by our fear.
They say a catastrophe’s near,
We create what we hear,
And then we say Dark Oracles are right –
Dark Oracles calling in the night –
Dark Oracles swallowing the light.

The future offers these footsteps,
Oh, Mothers! Your sons refuse to kill.
Your daughters’ desperate oppression is over
Protected by the pill.
No promise of life without aching,
But one more day to live.
No glorious prize for the taking,
But one more chance to give.

Dark Oracles promise tomorrow
Humanity must die,
And then leave us wondering why
Without a clear reply.
It’s time for Dark Oracles to die!

Electric jungles, colorized,
While bullets go unrecognized,
With freedom blindly jeopardized,
Just like the way it was.
——-
“Dark Oracles” – Words and Music © 1991 by Peter John Stone. Video © 2010 by Peter John Stone; Brief tune in video, from “Dark Oracles, © 1991 by Peter John Stone. Please contact author for permissions on any use, but the atuhor offers reasonable terms.

Tequila, Sheila


Tequila, Sheila
by Peter John

Pour me a shot of tequila, Sheila,
Draw me a draft of beer.
It’s getting late,
But the music’s great,
And I like drinking here.
I don’t care if it’s after ten
And I get up at four.
One more shot’ll drag me home.
I can pass out on the floor.

Pour me another gin and tonic.
Pop me a couple of Buds.
I’d like to wade
In the mist I’ve made
And swim in the golden suds.
Lost on a foggy sunset road
I seek a thirsting soul
Drinking misery I don’t know,
Swallowing sorrow whole.

Another shot,
Another bottle,
A filtered quart of my blood —
Another cocktail,
I’ll trade a meal
For a swallow of Tennessee Mud!

Pour me another neon headache,
Congas announcing the dawn.
My pocket’s bled,
And my pounding head
Is taking the morning on.
Bloodshot images steaming thick,
The mirror hears me pray.
Wake me up with one more shot
So I can stagger away.
Hey! Pour me a shot of tequila, Sheila,
Another shot and I’ll stay.

(c) 1991 by Peter John Stone All Rights Reserved. No use is authorized without permission from author, but the author offers reasonable terms, and entertains any proposals.

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