booksartyoume

Two, one for lovers and more, And then another one for Patrick's Day in all that allow it....

'Friday the 13th, and a day or more after' timothy r gates, 3/15/2009

'slip sliding away,'
i hear the tune, as i do,
'jesus is just alright with me,' and more,
'cosmic cowboy,' only to return to a youth's,
'Toadstool,' Cream's 18mins on the radio
wow!
Friday night's solo
dance moves to fantasy's smile
your hand in mine,
one of mine placed, gently,
upon the small of your back
here lovers are friends,
friends are lovers
every touch
another
note.


'Patrick, st or' timothy r gates, 3/16/2009

robbed of innocence
enslaved by another's fears,
Patrick, St or Sinner,
he'd claim only the latter.
Gaelic charm
chained by Celtic wonder,
lived not knowing when the Ancients
would deem it their right to
murder
their
slave.
Irish chains fed by fear
swordless monk
given a bad rap
serpents driven,
taken literally by those with agendas,
pagans and christians,
celebrating and or demonizing,
cowardice gets in the way of
storytelling.
Who was first,
matters not
who gave us Celtic
knots or crosses,
matters not a twit.
Fairies dance, prance, glance
Patrick
skips with his old friends,
old souls
want not, wont's not,
his wit intact
neither are seen, today,
by those wearing
four leaf clovers
sewn by politicians wearing
national flags.
Now drink a pint,
kiss a friend,
hug an enemy,
and sing till all songs sound
simply
delightful.