Jay Bradley, 3 january 2012
Can someone please explain why some words are "bad"? Make me
Understand the source of all evil, because I think it's just people,
Not the words themselves which can't even see, know, feel or
Touch this planet; they just dwell in our souls but are all fine to me.
Jay Bradley, 30 december 2011
Shadows lurk behind every corridor,
This is the rain,
Shadows hide away in their hideaway,
And the jackrabbit has a crack habit,
How he scampers with might to cause such a fright,
What he sees in the shadows makes him scream,
He screams like a Siren in the gorgons' eyes,
So stoned that jackrabbit, he hacks the ancient mountain,
He uses a jackhammer to construct the great halls of yesterday,
The great halls of yesterday become the bread that the future eats,
Though we hunger today, if we survive the dusk and meet the dawn we'll be fatter than the cow, we'll have milk for the children,
But they'll just drink our blood, the scamps,
And the jackrabbit sees all this, and he works all the harder
He pushes that jackhammer up the mountain like a boulder,
And as it cuts his shoulder, he'll cry out into the night like a grim,
And he'll be happy in his sadness, so happy because he's so sad,
So he struggles because that's life, and he should die to deny himself that,
And he should die too if he won't look to what lurks beneath the furnace, in those shadows,
Because that's the rain, too, and it washes everything away until nothing but nothing remains in the echo of a new day:
The jackrabbit lurks behind the shadows.
Jay Bradley, 28 december 2011
I'm waiting on the thaw,
It won't come along,
I've been sitting here since fall,
Still, the thaw, it won't come along;
Frigid is the grass on which I sprawl,
And still the thaw won't come along,
Oh how I've waited here since dawn,
And still the grass won't green to thaw;
In my lungs the air comes to draw,
And still the thaw just lingers on,
From dawn to dusk, spring to fall,
The time it takes is oh so long;
The dead air splinters my vocal hall,
And still the thaw just won't dawn,
Perhaps it's right, maybe it's wrong,
It chokes the deer, from buck to fawn;
The geese up high soon take their fall,
And still the thaw won't come to call,
It's like we've licked a wicked wall,
Rotten feasts and the men will draw;
Yet the kids still love their mall,
They don't care much about the thaw,
Wives flock to Dillard's to buy a shawl,
Daughters comment but this is all;
Will I enter, asks itself the thaw,
Do I emerge from this sacred mall,
Or will I winter until winter destroys it all,
What lingers stiffly outside the hall;
The good squirrel saved from spring to fall,
It knew the frost would come to call,
Then came the bad one who had eaten all,
They both would starve before the thaw;
Bears at the stream once feared the thaw,
The were glad when the gal came to call,
They could withstand most they were so tall,
But cried the creeks' corpses when it turned fall;
Yet still I'm waiting on the thaw,
I know it may never come along,
I don't care much, been here since fall,
I'll fade away even if it comes along.
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