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poetry

Christ is not the power of positive thinking.
                       the power of name-it-claim-it.

                       the power of Caesar.

Christ is the power of laying down your life

                      for everyone else.
© 2016 David W. Jones

“Poets are rather uncomfortable chaps to have round. They are capricious, irritable, temperamental, selfish, and usually demand all the attention.” – Mr George Percival Jones in “The Carpet From Baghdad” by Harold MacGrath

Just how did my parents put up with me in school?

That came first, made using SimpleMind Free mind-mapping app for Android:

Then it was translated to text by Copy-Paste Translation Services, Inc:

Poetry

: eats
my soul
and
spews out
chewed up bits
pretending to still have
meaning

: inhabits
my mind
like
an ant-like dweller in
my subconscious

: is
the obscenity
that
hides off-stage yet
affects
everything you see

Hope you like. Took lots of jiggering around in Wordpress to make it look the way I wanted. Still learning Wordpress stuff.

Sunshine on my shoulders
Gives me cancer
Sunshine in my eyes
Gives cataracts
Sunshine on my car
Fades the paint …

So who the hell needs sunshine?!

[Sorry, John, but I have no idea why my first response to your songs is to parody them!]