Dialogue With Metropolis

Tell me,  city,  of your dusty sidewalks

Shopping carts led by wrinkles and whiskers

Gunshots and brown'd parks

Garbage cans and starless nights

Tell us,  city,  when church bells chime

And garden squirrels play in sunshine

Do you enjoy the tread of office workers

On a coffee-drunk day

Tell him,  city,  he that arrives from farmland

Sit in parks that still shine green

Lock your doors tight against television news

Read the want ads,  seek fresh views

I tell you,  city,  your sunset is redder today

Building shadows are darker lately

Can you feel sweat on your streets

As my cigarette dies in your gutter

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Is it human nature to take so much for granted;

To never appreciate anything until it's gone,

Or not realize how beautiful a face is

Until you never see it again?

Is it natural instinct to face the world

With blind eyes and deaf ears;

To see only what we want to see,

And hear what we want to hear?

Do we even notice life while we live it?

Will we miss life when we have to give it

All up to a higher power

When the hands of time have struck the final hour?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

You don't know what you've got til it's gone.

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From souls deepest essence,

Blemished haunteness does echo.

Confidence and Obscurity battle within.

Living in a pretense of virtue,

May be one's greatest sin.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Those who judge. Need judge themselves.

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Memories of Youth

Real Women


I remember when women wore gloves,
Stilettos high heels.
Wore suspenders with stockings.
Had breasts that were real.
Before collagen implants,
PMT and their cellulite thighs.
Women who were soft to the touch,
With feminine wiles
Vivacious and luscious
Simpering and coy.
Fond memories of childhood,


When I was a boy.

Giajl © Jim Love 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I don't know why.
It's just true.

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We will no longer hide within the shadows

That you have placed upon us

By your ignorance and stupidity.

We will no longer bow down and kiss the feet

Of a Society that thinks it's God,

Treats us worse than animals,

And says we don't belong.

We will no longer fear your hate,

For it is what will give us strength

That we will use against you,all in time.

And we will no longer let you tell us

That we don't mean anything,

And that no one would care if we should die.

And I think it's about time that you recognize,

And realize just what you've done.

You,yourselves,have created the monsters

That we have-or will- become.

So don't you even bother running,

And don't even TRY to hide

Because WE cannot just run away

From the pain we feel inside.


Author's Notes/Comments: 

A voice for the silent and opressed.

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Sitting here in a prison I myself have created
Wondering if an escape attempt would be belated
I'm forced to be here dazed and dilapitated
I could leave but of that I can't be persuaded


I don't want to leave, it's more hellish out there
Especially because my heart on my sleeve I wear
I can't really help it, I'm not very aware
and the ones that are, just plain don't care.


Seeing others laughing at the jokes that are told
Not knowing if they'll be alive to be gray and old
But they're not caring about when they'll grow cold
Should I try to make them see? No, I'm not that bold


This idea of worth to myself I must sell
Go on with my life, pretending all's well
Hoping to find a person to tell
of my journey to heaven, straight out of hell.

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Painted Faces

Everyone walks around with a painted face.

They smile like eveything's all right.

But deep inside it's an awful fright.

Letting you see what they think is sutible.

Locking away everything else.

Letting feeling burn their souls,

Until they feel they're charred,

In the pits of hell.

Slowly that face will fall.

The paint will start to chip and fade.

The person will be exposed.

Vunerable to the world.

A cliff will seem like the perfect place to jump.

Because the ocean will wash away,

Whatever paint they have left.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is for those in denile.

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On Trashed Babies

A child was born to a child today

And out of fear was thrown away.

Afraid of what her parents would think,

From this responsibility she did shrink.

It was found in a dumpter with the trash,

A perfectly good child almost in the garbage truck mashed,

But a kind stranger dug it up

And rushed it to a hospital, passing deaths cup.

Where have our senses went

When our children fear telling us of such a blessed event.

Our past actions have put them at risk.

We are so busy the signals we miss.

There is no point in placing blame.

The children want to grow up too fast and that is a shame.

What's done is done, just let it go

Get on with helping this new life grow.

How do we prevent an unwanted child?

That question has driven more than one wild.

Who is to explain the birds and the bees?

Mom, Dad, the teachers? PUULLLLEEEAAASSSSEEE!!!

If you tell them too soon, you condon premarital sex.

If you tell them too late, your daughter could be next.

There is not an easy fix to the dilema now,

But when a childs life is at stake, you gotta hitch the plow.

As a parent it is hard to admit we failed

But the biggest failure would be to let mom and child ail.

No greater sin on earth

Than to damn a mother for giving birth.

We all are here to make mistakes and learn

It is how we profit that will determine if we burn.

Love your children and be very open and caring

Talk to them and mostly listen to what they are sharing.

Communication must not be cut due to fear

Or the warnings of a new life, you will not hear.

Be straight with your children, but ready to bend

So it won't be your grand child pulled out of that bin.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

News this morning talked about baby Rachel that was pulled out of the trash
where her 13 year old mother had placed her. If you have children around this
age, this may be a good topic to discuss to find out how they would handle the
situation, how they feel about it and explore and share your feelings on the
subject.  The key is sharing open and honest feelings and let them share
likewise.  You want them to be able to come to you no matter what, with out fear
of humiliation, degradation, or reprisal.  You want them to know that you will
support and back them up, but there are consequences of their actions that they
will have to bear, but they won't have to do it alone.  They will need to learn
to weigh the consequences with the desired outcome to determine if their
decision was a good one.

This poem was hard to write.  To many mixed feelings getting in the way.  On one
side a child having a child on the other parents who will be devastated, but
will get over it and cope.  The new mother carrying the guilt also knowing "she
is doing this to her parents, panics into a second bad decision", but the
justice system wants to punish this child who barely knows what she has done.
Wouldn't it be better to let her work out this mistake with her parents rather
than ruin her life.  What about the father (who was 14)?  Are they going to ruin
his life also?  There must be consequences, but locking up the father and mother
isn't the answer.

This poem is dedicated to all the unwanted babies.

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Spirit of 77-reborn

out on a limb

out on the streets

just you and me

and the boots on our feet

left in the rain

left in the cold

the last of your kind

your scenes been sold

where is johnny

where is sid

where are the leaders

i knew as a kid

Julie just broke down

and Sid, well he's gone for good

Johnny became a tv star

and Joey would be here, if only he could

seemed yesterday i saw Jimmy

had the whole crowd so excited

when he sang about how good it'd be

if only us kids were united

Billy made it big on mtv

when he finally went solo

and Debbie became a recluse

last i heard she was in Soho

Mickeys still playing

trying to keep the scene awake

and the Clash burnt out with Casbah

they got more than they could take

Jello reclaimed his bohemia

still supports the kids today

the kids who remained loyal

who never went astray

those who saw the rise and watched the fall

as punk rock was cast from heaven

many have died, but many survived

to resurrect the spirit of '77

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