Kill the Infidels

A battle cry heard throughout the world,
kill the infidels! are unfurled.
It is the words which they do not shout,
because they don't carry the same clout.
The real and scary secret they do keep?
Defeating the Holy crucifix!

Yes, indeedy, old chap and chapette,
you can fold your cards on this good bet.
Kill the infidel! is so oft said,
we hear, we smile and shake our heads.
That's how they talk, it means nothing, heck,
'til they lop our heads off at the neck.

The same ones in the U S of A,
who hate religion, all its clichés,
find themselves rooting and with much glee,
for these slaughterers of sanity.
Sometimes you can hate someone so bad
that it causes your thoughts to go mad.

Tongues lash out for political gain,
hurtful words from both sides calling names.
I never thought I would ever see
this much hate in the land of the free.
Some shout all are not free in this land,
just try speaking your mind in Iran.

©November 23, 2005 / Jerry Pat Bolton

Bird on a Limb

A bird is singing in a tree,
It seems he is singing to me.
His notes are sad much like a groan,
Has his lover left him alone?

He stopped singing and flew away,
Into the sky so dark and gray,
I wish he hadn't left like that,
Especially wish I'd worn a hat.

©March 1, 2010 / Jerry Pat Bolton

Clunk Slide, Clunk Slide (Monotetra)

I can hear you, clunk-slide, clunk-slide,

What do you want, my whispered cry,

Oh, leave this house you devil's bride,

Show yourself please, why do you hide.

Why have you come to me, you fiend,

Why don't you let yourself be seen?

Are you a monster colored green,

Or an enthralling old drag queen?

Have you come to collect my sins,

For things that I did way back when?

You are too late, too late my friend,

I'm not the same as I have been.

If you're here for my soul, please go,

I've forgiven myself, you know,

All those wild oats that I did sow,

So go away, stop! I said whoa.

Why do you not in me confide

If only to comfort my pride,

And please if you will, halt your stride,

As you clunk-slide, as you clunk-slide,

©August 8, 2010 / Jerry Pat Bolton

The Long Hot Summer

The long hot summer

The heat sucks the life from me

Let's hear it for fall

©July 31, 2010 / Jerry Pat Bolton

Summertime

Original form of poetry I call "Septcouplet;" from Septette (A set of seven similar things considered as a unit) and couplet (Two successive lines of verse forming a unit marked usually by rhythmic correspondence, rhyme.) The Septcouplet consists of seven free-style verses, with six lines each, no syllable count. After each verse there are two lines which rhyme, with four syllables to each line. The style is lowercase, except for proper names, punctuation when needed inside the lines, but none at the end of lines.



hot summer puffs of air
gives fair warning of a far-off storm
floating just out of reach
and touch
but there nonetheless
eating whatever it can on its way

I pen this note
Bonnie’s remote

an ogre
with the wrath of humidity
here in the sub-tropics
ninety-five, going on heatstroke
can't walk my mutt
round the block anymore

oh, she gives out
half block, no doubt

I walk with a cane
for protection
from animals and huminals
when I heard complaints of heat
wanted to break the cane
over their heads

they hated cold
so I was told

summertime living is easy
they sang all winter long
bull hockey
can't take enough clothes off
when you're frying
winter you just grab a heavier coat

dress for the day
that's what I say

crude floating in the gulf
smothering everything it clings to
bad management
top to bottom
BP bad
White House worse

two months it’s been
politic spin

hurricane season now upon us
nature upping the ante
weather channel soothsayers
vomit out the terrible news
gonna be bad
the storms are a-coming

tho not much fun
I've yet to run

©August 6, 2010 / Jerry Pat Bolton

Lust

Here's what ya need to know about lust
When you're in lust
Talking about guys
You're either in heaven
Or you've got the blue-balls
It's women's turn now
Lose all sensibilities
Spread dem legs in an alley

©August 5, 2010 / Jerry Pat Bolton

Love

Can I tell you what makes love so frightening?
You don’t own it.
It owns you.
It owns your body,
Scrambles your brain
Gives you the energy
To act stupid
Then wonder why divorce courts thrive.

©August 4, 2010 / Jerry Pat Bolton