letters

letters from
the kind that bite, the bills, the fright
or those that waste, that have no taste
worse, those that tell of friends in hell
but some might be the very start
of matters pertaining to the heart
letters to
dear sir or madam, pleased to say
i saw your lottery win today
and should you have the spare to share
i too could be a millionaire
‘tis only fair
letters of
announcement conviviality
your presence sunday next for tea
or maybe sit in pews on right
for son at last his troth will plight
but better mend a friendship’s lack
over fine cigars and old cognac
 
©2011 Hey Hey

When your life ends politicians can go to hell

Laying motionless in the heat,
contemplating the psychedelic treat.
Levitating in this darkness; a comfortable room
(that might be a sardonic tomb).

Behind eyelids, a world oblique
has an essence of Angélique,
and shows what could be nature true …
… more colours with each turn of screw.

But as you act, o politician,
prior qualified (smiles) mortician,
the clock inevitably revolves
and no white paper ever solves.

So in this wakeful trance, I race
to find a secret smoking place;
somewhere you cannot legislate,
for wordfullness incarcerate.

Furthermore, should this sanctuary discover,
authority will not prevent my smother,
as dreams are merely in the head
and cannot be misunderstood when dead.

©2011 Hey Hey

Gift of Circumstance

Do the eyes have it, or
do the whys,
when a stare is a question?
Living within a
gift of circumstance,
can there be sincerity,
a credible answer,
or must truth
forever remain opaque?
So the response
should return from eyes?
And thus arises
the infinite reflection
of misinterpretation,
or simply not understanding at all.
Which circumstance
were you gifted?
Is it uncompromising
or did you look out
from your window
to see … that
the eyes have it?
Always the eyes.

©2011 Hey Hey