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John McLeod

of

Berkshire, England, UK

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Doggy Style

by

John McLeod

I have been walking in the park for ages now
my paws are getting sore
my masters legs keep getting in my way
I think I will pull him even more
I have fetched the stick a thousand times
I do not know why he throws it away
perhaps he is just a sadist
seeing me exhausted must make his day
I have thought of ways to avoid this
however none of them seem to work
I have even tried just lying down
but he just pulls me along with a tug
I like it when it is raining
it helps me to get my revenge
muddy paw prints on his nice car
it might make him see sense
tomorrow I will wake him up
loud barking should do it right
I will do it early in the morning
better still the middle of the night
I know he will be a bit grumpy
probably shout at me for a while
but you know every dog has his day
this will be mine: doggy style.


The Butterfly Man

by

John McLeod

Everyone laughs at him down our street
for they think he has a strange passion
he too laughs inside as he ignores the jibes
he knows beauty will always be in fashion,

With net in hand he scours the land
looking for the Painted Lady
her delicate wings so beautifully mirrored
glides through the sky so gracefully,

The Monarch sits on his throne
condemning those who criticize
he joins forces with the Mourning Cloak
they laugh at the passers by,

Butterfly man does not seem to mind
he knows that they are just jealous
for he has know Admirals,Emperors and Queens
for them this beauty will never be seen.


Day Trip

by

John McLeod

Lost in my mind for good this time
reality is slipping away
places and faces even tying my laces
I forget more and more everyday,

Dreaming of horses riding the courses
the finishing line is not far
I open my eyes and see to my surprise
I am actually driving my car,

What is my name I think I am insane
I cannot remember who I am
the bath keeps on running
while my breakfast is burning
I sail through the rest of the day,

A knock on the door I get up from the floor
holding my army at bay
the men from them places with smiles on there faces
have come here to take me away,

I think back to the time when I was feeling fine
but I cannot picture the scene
I am off to that place with a grin on my face
where everything is sterile and clean.


Pay The Price

by

John McLeod

He does not care about what other people say
just takes his time as he goes his own way
no particular direction and no set course
no love or affection thatís his own choice,

His life is stored in a secret hoard
that he visits from night to night
a bed of leaves beneath bushes and trees
thatís hidden well out of sight,

He did not always live like this
he worked in the city a real whiz kid
then there came that fateful day
when all went bust and his money went away,

Now some might think that this popular kid
would have friends that would see him all right
but a friend in need who was familiar with greed
has got to pay the price,

So as he walks the streets looking for the means
to have a comfortable life
he thinks back to the time when he drank the best wine
had a car had a house and a wife,

To those out there whoís got more than their fair share
always remember who you are
for money cannot buy everything
your friends are better by far.


The Sands Of Time

by

John McLeod

Death,

I welcome with open arms

Awakening my need for rest

Delivering nothing I have ever dreamed of

Seeing nothing from within my soul

Yet the sands of time run freely,

Death,

Freedom from the chains of life

That tug harshly, biting into the flesh

Reminding me of my need for pain

To understand the true meanings

Yet the sands of time run freely,

Death,

Life is death

For without one there is not the other

A contradiction defying logic

A sentence without an end

Yet the sands of time run freely,

Death,

Oh yes, I welcome with open arms

Break free from this self destructive existence

Set sail into the eternal rivers of time

Stopped only by the peaceful wall of darkness

Yet the sands of time run freely.


The Skeleton In The Closet

by

John McLeod

Often dreamed about but never spoken of
the skeleton in the closet peeps out
smiling wickedly, knowing the truth
secrets of my wayward youth,

Teasing me and reminding me
of events that are best left unsaid
skeletal hands holding the proof
of things that belong to the dead,

As I look into the darkest eyes
seeing the images appear
my heart is pounding beating hard
I remember what it is like to fear,

I bravely stand on evil land
as I embrace my fear and hold it's hand
take me there my skeletal friend
these dreams you give must come to an end,

Back in time my soul does go
images fly past from a time long ago
I see the ones I used to know
cold as ice as white as snow,

I walk amongst the husky forms
breathing deeply into my lungs
the dusty pieces of ones long dead
so I can sleep at night in my bed,

I close the closet and turn the key
locked forever, eternally
being at peace at night in bed
sharing my life with the ones who are dead.