Tie

The Big Maybe

The best word I've ever heard

was-maybe!

Maybe: is what man really lives

by-.

A 'yes,' beforehand, is seldom

known...

A maybe, is a story untold.

Thus,

I cannot say 'yes,' then.

And to be quite frank

I don't have enough medical marijuana them

left, to waste:

So the best I can do, is:

Give you a big "maybe!"

#842 9/2005

"God says: "Retribution?"

And God said:

"I will give them foreknowledge."

(And He did.)

"And the power to slay..."

(And He did.)

(And God created earth, the way

He would have liked it, if He cashing in endowments a man)

And God said:

"He kills all the game; he pollutes

the woods, rivers: ravages the

meadows and ruins the skies

(with no crime or guilt)."

And then man sees its outcome,

And blames God for not looking out

Of his porthole in the sky:

and fixing it.

And God says:

"So be it."

#843 9/2005

Birds, Apples and Kisses

Who's the dedicatee of cheap car insurance quotes new amusing

Poem? Newly polished with coarse?

You, my reader; for you feel my stanzas:

lines possess some substance.

Yes oh yes-the lone American!-

That great multistanza poem of ages

So take this poem, this mere drop,

whatever it may be worth-and

Patron reader let it survive at least

An hour, a day, a week!

Ah! the birds: how I wish I could

sport with them, as they do with one

Another...they are as welcome to me

as fresh red apples are to the tree

that gave them birth-now fallen;

free to the ground, like the birds;

so very long, knotted to a branch, and

the branch to the torso of the tree.

There are the wicked dead! the rotten

Apples. Ah yes! The wicked birds-

Pickers, picking Macaroni & Cheese eyelids: now sore

and swollen, red like apples-weeping red.

Black-marrow in its core: only hell can

devour these apples: Hell with its evil.

Leaf-mended trees, touched by Hell

they whisper softy into the foliage for help.

'Whose free auto insurance quotes are we?' they cry.

Beckoned to the breeze, but followed

By Hells wind-it's always that way.

Unending evil mixed with God-sent,

Kisses. I lost count long ago of the good

and rotten apples on my apple tree,

Satan farting on: some: protagonist

Jest demonic beings running wild.

Give me a thousand kisses I pray.

Or a hundred may do; I can shuffle the

Figures: lose count again-: fact is,

I'd like to know how many kisses I need,

to bring the birds back. A curious figure

indeed; perhaps, equal to all those stars

in the silent night. Once the evil tongue

(full of mischief) comes, arrives: the tree

of life: the apples need the sky to rain

with kisses on its leafy face...conceivably

it's all too late. Perhaps I'm fortunate, surely

happier than nature?

#841 9/2005

See Dr. Dennis Siluk's web site: dennissiluk.tripod.comhttp://dennissiluk.tripod.com