Surprise Party For One.

Bruised and broken
he stumbled into
the guerrilla tunnels,
claymores set
every twenty feet
and securely aimed
toward the entrance
only to endure
hand to hand struggles
but victory
with two Viet Cong
bone-crushers
just outside.

On hands and knees
he crawled forward
one ankle shattered,
six ribs fractured,
to the center of
a grassy field,
feeding and trailing
off the detonator wires
like umbilical cords.

He rolled onto his back,
letting the hot
tropical sun,
saturate his aching
flesh and bones,
but his respite
was disturbed
by the sound of
advancing troops
headed his direction.

He belly-crawled
into the brush,
and lay low, his clackers
carefully removed from
a satchel under his arm,
and placed under his belly
leaving just a two inch gap,
then he held his breath to
still all movement.

Twenty-seven enemy Cong
entered the tunnel
passing by his cover,
but one rear scout
stumbled on him,
laying an AK-47 up
against his head.

He looked him right
in the eyes,
and wickedly smiled,
then flipped
the Cong soldier,
a middle finger,
and took a hard chest slam,
right across five clackers
triggering devices,
as the shot pierced his brain.

Twenty-seven enemy
destroyed in one blast,
leaving one Viet Cong alone,
with a very brave Marine corpse.





Art~Whimsically Yours Studio-(C)-2024
photo and collab credits to suno & me

Surprise Party For One.-by Matthew F. Blowers III

The truth lies, 
hidden under curling lips,
hurling invectives

It squats hooded
beneath blinking eyes,
that shift like
a transient wandering
aimlessly under your
inquisitive glance.

Restless fingers
expound the air,
or simply grip
each other
in sweaty palms.

A crimson blush
quickly graces
the cheeks of their
"It wasn't me!" faces
betraying the true
colors of their
addiction to fiction

They hunch forward
in gargoyle poses,
unable to relax
in the turmoil
of  their untruth.

Liars paint a portrait
of forgery on the canvas
of their stretched flesh,
using pigments of their
imagination to paint
a prettier picture.

Lies can kill, maim, 
and destroy evidence
lies can wound hearts 
and souls, destroy marriages
fool believers, twist elections
banish hope and cause
massive mistrust.

Lies are a far more
major crime then society
treat them as.
perjury is too mild a 
punishment for 
stretching the truth
into pure fiction.




Art~Whimsically Yours studio-(C)-2024
collab & photo credit to suno & me

Myth - O- Maniacs.  by- Matthew F. Blowers III

A Travel Guide To Love.

Love's freeway, is a traffic jam,
at times the wrecks of families 
stranded litter it's many twists 
and turns, while long lines seeking 
to exit the weary journey it took them on, 
leave many who travel its splendorous path, 
to sit pondering the many traps it holds.


The lonely hitchhike endlessly 
across it, with thumbs up hoping 
positives will come, and carry 
them away from their bleak 
landscape, to paradise that waits 
just around the bend.

Sometimes two travelers 
must find a detour,
when the bridge between 
their souls is washed away,
they pass each other 
in the night unknowing,
of joys that such a crossing 
would entail.

The lanes of loves are 
many times denied them,
construction blocks the 
easiest ways to go,
we all must map our hearts 
to find express ways,
to sail together down 
love's winding roads,
passing all the obstacles 
that might impede us,
then pick the right direction 
we should go in


Love is a freeway
but it can be costly
with many tolls and
hearts broken at where
they wind up in their journeys
buckle up and be ready
to stop quickly when the right
choice comes along or to
speed far away when the
choice is not what you 
had hoped for.




Art~Whimsically Yours Studio-(C)-2024
collab & photo credit to suno & me

A Travel Guide To Love. by- Matthew F. Blowers III

Snow Reasons To Mourn.

I pause in my journey
to the grave of my friend,
to commemorate his birthday
in a mid-December snowfall.

The trees are skeletons
beyond the gate
coated in white.
It is as if the bones,
buried far below,
have pressed their
way outward to taste
the sweet air of life.

All is purified
and hidden deep
under a thick  blanket
woven by mother nature,
but my feet
know the path well.

His stone soon looms
above the thickening drifts,
and windblown snow
obscures all but part
of his epitaph.

His name and
inscription which read:
Harold S. Nottingham
was laid to rest here,
born: September 5th, 1951
Died: in Vietnam
January 11th, 1971
and forever cherished.
now reads:

Harold S Not
here

So I turned to go
whispering softly,
"Semper Fi, Harry."
to a long-closed chapter
of another time,
it's last words
cryptically
comforting me.





Art~Whimsically Yours Studio-(C)-2024
collab & photo credits to Suno & me

Snow Reasons To Mourn.  by- Matthew F. Blowers III

God is real-lizations
God is real,
I sing his praise
he gleamed from
the adoring gaze
of my newborn son,
freshly swaddled
set in my arms
and gently coddled
formed out of,
nothing but our love,
plus, prayers
to distant
realms above,
for we were both
told way back when
that we would
never have children
but all the heavens
defied them
forming the gift 
that God would send
a blessing in
the flesh was born
I held him,
I know God is real
his love from
barren flesh was torn
to two whose lives
were so forlorn.


In other ways
my God is real
he carried me
through broken hearts
that could not be
repaired for good
through ever endless
stops, and starts
the shattered pieces
would not match
the way they were
when two knew love
once prized by both
for such a catch
and so, he healed
the breach in mine
but left a scar
to help remind
my soul to seek
help from above
when love that's
gifted to me falls
in need of exchange,
or repair
it should be laid
at his feet first
and trusted to
his loving care.

I also know
my God is real
through close calls
where I faced
death's grin
and prayed so hard
that I'd be spared
and promised
to relinquish sin
and so he granted
me more time
escaping blades,
and bullets whine
car crashes that
with gentle hands
let me emerge
as a whole man
the illnesses that
struck me down
could not hold on,
thus life abounds
and though my
promises weren't kept
I'm partly why
my "Jesus wept,"
he knew our failings
way back then
yet still grants
saving grace to men
and offers his
forgiving choice
I know he's real
I've heard his voice
his gentle whispers
urge me tell
you of his wonders,
thus I spell
the testaments of
his love here
now you decide,
my choice clear
without a God,
life ends at death
I'll see him after
my last breath
because I've seen
him all my life
from joyous birth
to sorrow's strife
open your eyes
and see him too,
enjoy all that he
has for you.





Art~Whimsically Yours Studio-(C)-2024
photo credits and collab to suno & me

God Is Real-Lizations.  by-Matthew F. Blowers III

Love personified in triplicate.

If I could but once gain access
to your petulant, waiting lips
I'd ask the Gods to grant us pardon
and free us from redundant breathing
so that we both could meld together
one act of hunger, so breathtaking
all warm, and wet, impassioned suction
our faces joined in Siamese kissing
that would last for days, unceasing
then when we're quenched, we'd pull away
leaving lovely smiles upon our lips
two grins hard pressed to ever vanish
as we gasped air, now so much sweeter
then back before our lips found purchase.

If I could paint a portrait of you
I need a yard of priceless silk
woven so fine, and pure, and textured
with softest skin of peach rose petals
I'd dip the wingtips of rare monarchs
newly emerged from their cocoons
into the sweet stains of wild berries
and deep in flowers powdered pollens
then as they fluttered cross silk canvas
they'd recreate your gentle touch
no other brush could match those strokes
Lo, there'd unfold a perfect likeness
of you, for me, a cherished work

And if I could, I would devour you
though you would have to be a smorgasbord
an endless feast, all I can eat
and I would have to be bulimic
so that whenever I desired you
I'd have my fill, you'd be filled too
and then politely I would purge myself
beyond your presence, out of view
that way I'd never get enough of you
I would return again to savor you
I want some more, and you'd oblige
I'd sample all your hot, and steamy fare
and you'd be served in every way.





Art~~Whimsically Yours Studio-(C)-2024
photo credit and collab to suno & me

Love Personified In Triplicate.

A Chance Encounter. 

He spotted her in spite 
of a sudden brownout, 
at Sunnydale’s Harvest Fair. 

She sat sipping concession 
stand cider in the dining hall pod. 
He remembered her from childhood, 
the girl next door, his love for her
 
sadly, left unspoken. 

There were changes the glitter 
of youth dulled by the shellac of years. 
Her spun gold hair was now a 
faded maize, but it's crowning 
glory untouched by dye. 

Her eyes were still a captivating 
cornflower blue, A cure for an old man's 
empty days on the cusp of eternity. 

She glanced his way, noting his attention 
until sudden recognition flooded her thoughts. 
She flashed a warm smile, mouthing his name. 

He longed to leapfrog, over the 
wheelchair bramble between them 
and hold her, but his legs ignored such impulses. 
Instead they both zigzagged in 
rickety paths back to yesterday. 

When the lights came on,
 they were holding hands 
reliving moments they’d 
both thought lost.

Love knows no time limit or age. 
it can be rekindled as quickly as
love at first sight and can be
picked up where two left off 
even if it were to be even 
centuries between their last
encounters together.





Art~Whimsically Yours Studio-(V)-2024
collab & photo credit to suno & me

A Chance Encounter. by-Matthew F. Blowers III

They came to the old hippie,
a poet of great merit,
asking him for hope.

just some peaceful
solutions freshly penned,
and read in lilting form
to soothe their tired heart.

But sad, bloodshot eyes
reflected the chamber of his soul
as he replied in a
whiskey laced voice:

"I Gave peace a chance,
so many times we danced,
some days to the
beat of nightsticks,
and sometimes to the soft
whisper of a dove's wings
sharing temporary shelter
in the shadows of hope."

"I shouted it from rooftops
in soapboxes and cafe's
when all the world
was in turmoil,
while boys were being killed,
and sealed into government
boxes and body bags."

"Most people saw long hair
with oddball clothes
and shook their heads,
calling me insane."

"Others thought it was nice,
but not a career, and moved on
into the financial worlds awaiting them."

"I wrote till my fingers bled lead
and the visions grew dull,
but dictators still reigned."

"Now we live in a time of
such great strife and angst,
a world chewed up and spit
out by madmen intent
on destruction."

"Peace sleeps in
the dust of lost 
dreams long denied,
and I can only offer
words blended with pain,
pierced by the screeching
of many nails
on the blackboards 
of denial."

"War looms as a 
starving beast seeking to
devour all who would flee its path."

"Thus, I am shaving my head
and training to be a sniper
from great distances."

"I will find peace one shot at a time...
in the dark corners of our world
where demons plot the demise
of all God's children."

Then he left them
stunned into silence,
down a trail of tie-dyed tears
as that ol' familiar
smokey scent of yesteryear
drifted behind him.

Thus the last hippie vanished
in a noble effort to find peace
by going against the grain.





Art~Whimsically Yours Studio-(C)-2024
collab and photo credit to suno & me

Peace Sleeps In The The Dust Of Lost Dreams. by Matthew F. Blowers III

She's Playing My Song.
Just an everyday kind of gal,
who makes everything superb,
she's my best friend and my pal,
there's no adjective or verb,

To describe the way 
she moves me,
Ain't no gravity in love,
hearts go sailing, 
hope befriends me,
transcending all 
I'm dreaming of.

She's the song 
that I have written,
on our heartstrings 
stretched in glee,
in our sweet duet 
I'm smitten,
every kiss brings 
harmony.

She's the girl who 
chased my sorrows,
from my soul, each pain erased,
she's the rest of my tomorrow's,
I see heaven in her face.

There are many girls around me,
who could lure most men away,
but it's her smile that astounds me,
and her soft lips that convey,

How I'll never have to wander,
any farther than her arms,
When temptation calls, I'll ponder,
all the wonder of her charms.


She's the song that I have written,
on our heartstrings stretched in glee,
in our sweet duet I'm smitten,
every kiss brings harmony.

When we're old and grey in slippers,
as we shuffle off to bed,
I will still be dancing chipper,
down the pathways love has led.





Art~Whimsically Yours Studio-(C)-2024
collab & photo credit to suno & me

She's Playing My Song. by- Matthew F. Blowers III

An Arresting Development.

To steal a kiss from you
would be the greatest crime of all,
skip the diamonds, 
gold and cash,
a kiss to cherish 
surpasses these.
To deftly sneak
in between blinks
of your lovely eyes,
and press my eager
lips against yours.
Just a few seconds
of sheer bliss,
hoping you will
fall for this burglar,
and return what 
he values most,
even before he stole it.

I could win any jury over,
they would fail to convict
me of any such grand theft,
when they laid
12 pairs of eyes on you.

To sweetly unlock
your passion in such
a daring manner,
like Pandora's box,
It could be
marvelously wonderful,
or a Medusa stare
turning me to stone.

But it matters little,
for your lips are like
a rare pink orchid,
or two exquisite
elongated ruby pearls,
I must have them,
damn the consequences.

Smmmoooooch, 
whoooosh...SMACK!
as your hand impacts my cheek,
but I see a hint of a smile,
a blush of surprise and awe,
and a glimmer of hope 
in your eyes.
 
I just might return
for another attempt,
satisfied for now,
with the memory
of having something
worthy of stealing.






Art~Whimsically Yours Studio-(C)_2024
collab & photo credits to: suno & me

An Arresting Development.  by-Matthew F. Blowers III

"His eye is on the sparrow,
and I know he watches me."

Tiny sparrow collides
with the glass,
that frames my sun porch,
Its bang disrupts my tea,
as I hurry to its aid.
Perhaps God's eye was on
some distant crisis in Iraq,
thus the mid-flight interruption.
I cradle the bird in my hands,
and study its beauty,
then suddenly it stirs,
eyes popping wide.
It trembles in my hand
as I open my fingers
till it flies free,
back into the blues
of an obstacle free sky.

I can almost feel God smile,
as it vanishes,
and I remember my times
of near death experiences,
when I beat against
the glass of eternity,
and fell broken to the earth,
and how he gave me wings again,
allowing me to sail on
to where I am today.

We are all survivors of something, 
I believe, and it is good to know 
that something positive can come 
out of something so very painful.





Art~Whimsically Yours Studio-(c)-2024
collab and photo credit to: suno 7 me

Chance Meeting Of 2 Survivors. by- Matthew F. Blowers III

Matthew Blowers

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