Tuesday, November 14, 2017

Sunday, November 12, 2017


What Survives Of Us Is Love

When all is said and done
And all is done and dead
It’s not the declarations shouted
Or hard thoughts in the head

It’s not the way we walked
And not the turn we took
It’s not how much we spent on shoes
Or how fashionable we looked

It’s not how long we waited
How strong the stance we stood
How many days we held the fort
Wondering if we could

It’s not the might or money
Our fall or rise above
But when we’re gone, one thing lives on
What survives of us is love.

©by Voo
July 3, 07

                                Love Can Build a Bridge

Wednesday, November 1, 2017


             Piano,  Play Me

            Piano, play me
            With wordless tune
            Through breezeless desert
            And 'round the moon.

            Piano, play me
            On black and white
            Pale ivory chords
            That gleam in night.

            Piano, play me
            Forgotten songs
            Like footprints, written
            To guide me on.

            Oh, let me hear
            Your thunderous roar
            Your soft, sweet ebb
            Upon the shore.

            Like starlight falling
            From skies above
            Raise me up high
            To fall in love.

            Your keys have glory
            And notes of gold
            Soothe newborn tantrums
            And hearts grown old.

            How many masters
            Composed and wept
            Upon your keyboards
            While dreamers slept.

            Piano, play me
            Let me draw near
            To music's kingdom   
            Within my ear.

            Piano, play me
            Like rain falls down
            In hands of rapture
            Oh, let me drown.


   ©By Voo
   May 3, 09 7:08 p.m.

Beloved by Dax Johnson

Sunday, October 29, 2017


The Hillbilly Boogie Man Leaves Home

Cleanin my ears with a chicken leg
And munchin on a piece of chalk
I talked myself into standing up
And takin myself fer a walk.

Now I'd been sittin there in the shade
For nigh on fifteen years
Chewin on snakes till my belly would ache
And drinkin jars full of rain and tears.

The old junk car that I leaned on
Was rusted beyond repair
But she was fine once upon a time
Before she was junked out there.

Now for company I will whistle
And for dinner I will beg
But if you don't talk right, I'll put out your lights
With my fists and my wooden leg.

The ole lady done run right off, see
Back in 1942
With a peddling feller by the name of Teller
And that's why I sing the blues.

I cannot work, I cannot plow
I used to hunt but I can't hunt now
I used to fish but I lost my pole
And my worms fell into a crawdad hole.

I used to dance, I used to sing
But I'm useless now, can't do a thing
But moan and groan and lay about
And wait for the hillbilly haints to come out.

And then we boogie
Till the cows come home
And it never stops
Cause the cows are gone.

We howl at the moon
And fiddle and pick
And dance with partners
Made out of sticks.

We drink moonshine
From little brown jugs
And rap a little
Like we is thugs.

Then mornin comes
And they go away
And I just lay here
All damn day.

Chewin on snakes
And drinkin my tears
And the people pass by me
Concerned and afeared.

They look at me crazy
Like they think I'm a haint
And touched in the noggin
But I know I aint.

I see hillbilly ghosties
Even if they don't see
And the rednecks come riding
And a visiting me.

But today I'm a walkin
And a leavin this place
And a going to somewheres
Where they don't know my face.

Fifteen years I've been settin
'Neath that old cedar tree
Awaiting my true love
To come on back to me.

But she ain't a coming
I reckon she's dead
At least, in her last letter
That's whut she said.

So I'm a waitin no longer
I'm leavin my tree
And lookee there back a yonder
The car's a follering me.

©by Voo
August 22, 2005
 1 a.m.

The Dancing Outlaw
Jesco White

Wildwood Flower

The bridge and fridge dance

Thursday, October 26, 2017


The West Wind Knows

 Wonder who else but the west wind knows

Just where the pale moon flower grows
And if the moonshine in her power
Can reach to smell that fragrant flower?

This town has died and left it's ghosts

Now rolling tumbleweeds for hosts
Lead you to doors that swing and sway
In saloons where old pianos play.

The cowboys rode the trails near here

They'd hunt the bear and rope the steers
But there's no beast left here to find
Like men, they've left this place behind.

Their bodies, though, are laid to rest

Most pierced by bullets in their chests
The cemetery, bleak and morose
Now populated by their ghosts.

At midnight, apparitions walk

Down these quiet paths but do not talk
They just acknowledge and nod and leave
Forgotten too long now to grieve.

Such hope they had when first they found

This western soil, this dusty ground
But greed and life took hope away
And in this dusty land they lay.

Moon flowers grow upon them now

Bloom out at night upon their brows
Coyotes howl but don't come near
For nothing living will live here.

This town of ghosts, with dark red mud

Made darker still by spilled red blood
Where only that pale flower grows
In the place I walk when the west wind blows.

©by Voo

Sept 4, 07

Wednesday, October 25, 2017


Shape Shifter

I am a gentle man, you said
and kissed my hand, raising your eyes
in the process to meet mine
in the candlelight
Promise? I queried and withdrew 
My hand from your tightening grasp
I wouldn't hurt a fly, you answered
And certainly not the heart
Of a fair lady
And I believed you and went tumbling
Down into the spell you cast
The web you wove
The love I needed so badly
For days on end and nights
Falling for you and your lies
And then the spell was broken
And the web began to strangle
True colors came to light
And cruelty took the place 
Of tenderness
I saw the true you in full sunlight
One day as you shape shifted
From knight to ogre and reached
Out to crush my soul in your hand
You sneered at my fear and laughed
At my pain
You sir, are no gentleman.
You sir, are no gentle man.
You sir, are no man.

©by Voo
Jan 10, 2005
 8 p.m

My Scariest Writes Ever!!! ALL LINKS ON ONE PAGE PART TWO

      Click on title of poems below to take you to the page


(this may be the scariest thing
I've ever written)

Ghostly  Theater music


Tuesday, October 24, 2017


What Was Can Be Again....................

The past is dead but still alive in it's haunting, lingering way

We see tomorrow coming up while it is yet today
We think of things that we must do and things we should have done
And groan to think of work and toil when we could be having fun.

The little boy becomes a man, the man becomes a boy

Sitting in his rocking chair, bereft of childhood's toys
The little girl becomes a mother with children of her own
And then they leave to parents be and leave her all alone.

Cause and effect, response, react, reflexes unaware

We huddle closer to our heart to find some comfort there
The memories quiet in our minds till called to take us back
To happier days where we try to stay till the present's whip is cracked.

The days when we were beautiful, the days when we were loved

We treat those photographs like gold and hold them with kid gloves
We tell ourselves those days were real and these are but a dream
And sadly look in aging eyes knowing we 're not what we seem.

The lovers in us yearn for love, the singers, for the song

The painters long for palettes full and murals ten miles long
The teachers in us need to teach the lessons that we know
Could help the young still having fun to spare them from our woe.

But lessons learned must come from life and pain and joy and sorrow

We cannot hold to yesterday grasping for tomorrow
We cannot keep what pulled itself from our tightly clenching hands
They must be empty of all that was......... so it that can be again.

©BY Voo

August 27, 2005
2 a.m.

Monday, October 23, 2017


Black Like The Night
She wore black like the night
Downtown in that little dive of darkness
I watched her from my bar stool;
Nursing my beer and my recently shattered, manly pride.
Somehow, I couldn’t see her in a place like this
She looked mythical, like a creature rising from a song
Long, black hair and eyes like midnight;
I wanted to fall into them but I held back.
I wondered if she was a spell caster
Or evil masquerading as sweetness
We stared across the dim lit noisy room;
Until my soul could no longer resist.
I wanted to buy her champagne
But they didn’t have any
I wanted to take her for a walk on the moon;
But I knew she’d already been there.
When I came to myself, night was fading
I was in the middle of a dream at the edge of the world
I opened my eyes and saw her standing on the water;
Beckoning me with music in her fingers.
Her smile was like honey, but it was not warm
Still, I starved for her and reached out as I stood
I heard a murmur as I stumbled in the dark trees;
But no matter how hard I reached, I could not touch her.
She was an angel, she was a demon
She was a siren and a premeditated crime
Taunting me with whispers till I ran screaming;
I fell into the black water and plunged to my despair.
But that was then and this is now
Now I sit on a different bar stool in a different dive
It’s midnight and I have no pride left in me at all;
And there she is, wearing black, and shining like a promise.
She beckons me and I follow, as she knows I will
As I do when the madness calls and I am lost
She carries the keys to my desperation;
And she always finds me.

©By Voo
August 1, 08
five after midnight

Sunday, October 22, 2017

THE RAN MAN DANCES one of my scariest writes

The Rain Man Dances

and the rain man dances on the dark divide
of heaven and hell, beckons me inside
and I run but stop at his grinning face
there in the dark and gleaming space
of death and dream, found then but lost
there at the foot of the unfound cross.
the black skies darken, if indeed they can
to hide the shadow of a shattered man
but in the flashing of a lightning bolt
I see what's left of my last last hope
a pale hand reaches to touch my face
to pour on me it's soothing grace.

pushes back my hair and pats my cheek
and fills my mouth with something sweet
I swallow hard and wipe my eyes
then look in stunned and sad surprise
to see the rain man dancing still
as the cold rain falls and melts my will.

the desert of my soul has drowned
my cries imprisoned in a well of sound
the rain man stops his dance of death
as thunder roars and grabs my breath
and down we go on paths of pain
to eternal desert and no more rain.


      the iron gate shuts and the lights grow dim
on my voiceless prayer and my wordless hymn
I fall in the nightmare where the lost ones reside
and the rain man dances on the dark divide.


scary soundtrack for poem
this music adds so very much to the read.....

©by Voo
Jan 21, 05 4:42 p.m.
based on a nightmare