Sore Wings Are for The Birds!

Like featherweight eighth notes,

they sit near our windows

and greet a new day,

as we wake and we hear them,

in our hearts we say,

how lovely it'd be 

to just once fly away,

on a song and a prayer,

to someplace where clouds play.

But the truth is that worms

taste quite awful at dawn,

and there's cats who will eat you

while your fishing a lawn,

and your life is short lived

what with windows and cars,

think I'd rather get high

at some fave local bars.

Leave the sore wings to birds

with some gin I'll go far.

after six or so shots,

I'll be seeing some stars!

Sore Wings Are For The Birds.  by-Matthew F. Blowers III

Love Misconstrued.
Somewhere in the
wee hours of the night
when loneliness ....
it grips my soul so tight,
I realize that I've
lost everything to you,
and now there's little left to do.

We shared a love
that made the angels sing,
A heavenly bliss
that let two hearts take wing.

Sometime in the
wee hours of the morn,
as every hope,
from my bruised heart is torn,
I realize that there is
nothing left to do,
but pack my bags,
and walk away from you.

I stayed beside you
all along it's true,
but I was all alone,
and that won't do.

Someplace on a highway
west of here,
why our love failed
may become clear,
then I will cherish 
all we knew,
as I'm fading,
miles away from you.

You graced the best part
of my life you know,
but now I've faced the facts,
it's time to go.

Somewhere in the future
I may find,
someone like you,
so sweet and kind,
then I'll begin my life anew,
with lessons learned
from losing you.
someplace beyond
love misconstrued.






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

Love Misconstrued.  by-Matthew F. Blowers III

When she turned 
her back on me
and walked away,
it became my prison.
I had gotten so into her
that there was
no chance for escape.

I was not alone,
for she was a
form of a succu-bus,
transporting the souls
of all who fell
beneath her charms.

Mostly in bars which
is where we ended up
permanently,
but behind them.

She never ever
removed her blouse,
but little did I suspect
that she was the warden
of my future dreams,
and I was just another inmate.

Her devious mind is closed
to any chance of us
breaking free of her,
her rib cage titanium,
the demons build them well.

She carries the corpses
of four in here
and several more about to,
the stench is overwhelming,
but after a while it dissipates.

Sadly another poor soul
inserted the key
to his living hell,
she's gained ten pounds,
and is making room
for his life sentence.

God help us
if she ever gets pregnant,
no doubt the baby
will feed on us!






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

In The Belly Of The Beast. by-Matthew F. Blowers III

His momma used to
buy him red balloons
when he was a wee lad
and watch his eyes sail upward
with that helium orb
in a vertical flight
as a smile stretched
in horizontal delight
across his face
he'd dance as it bobbed
and he'd bob as it danced
on the end of a string
in the warm April breeze
and he shout in a tiny voice
"I Love you....Mom!"
as they both tiny stepped
up the avenue to home.
~~~~~~~~~~~
His momma bought a red balloon
the day he left and launched it
in honor of her grown up son
in a vertical salute as he
flew somewhere far above
on a horizontal path
across the earth's orb
a tight smile crossed his lips
as he landed and embarked
on a mission for his homeland
that red balloon exploded
the very next day
two hundred and twenty miles
from where she let it go
and in the warm desert breeze
not too many weeks later
a piece of lead ballooned
inside the chest of her dear boy
his eyes ascended upward as
a splash of red imploded
then he danced and bobbed
as if on a string himself
and the men around him
heard him cry out in a tiny voice
"I love you, Mom." as he
tiny stepped a few feet and
fell down into a venue of death
that would bring her only child home
~
in Arlington
upon the date
that fate stole
her sweet son
among the many crosses
that stretch across
an endless field
the white is almost pure
but for a tiny spot of red
that sails above one cross  
and highlights
the intensity of a
precious Mothers love




~~~~O
---/
~~+ + + + + + + + + + + +
+ + + + + + + + + + + +
+ + + + + + + + + + +

+ + + + + + + + + +




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

The Lead Balloon.

An Audible Crash.
While tooling along in my Plymouth Miser
reading a script and taping it for rehearsel,
on the freeway at about seventy,
I glanced up from my lines to find,
a wall of semis  just ahead of me,
not far enough to sanely avoid
blocking all three lanes of my path.

I stepped with even pressure
on the brake, heart in my throat,
visions of decapitation in my head,
and pulled my steering wheel
all the way, hard to the right,
while mumbled some long overdue prayers.

My Marine Corps Military Police training
on a suicide driving course must have took over,
as my car swung completely sideways,
in a huge loop to the right as my front bumper,
slid into the guardrail alongside the road.
I literally was grinding like a skatebaorder,
along its length in the opposite direction
away from the sure death of the semis.

Cars behind me slowed and stopped,
time crawled to an eternity,
as the shrieking of metal and fiberglass,
and the rush of adrenaline and fear,
was halted with the friction of my vehicle
traveling over 30 yards hooked to the guardrail.

Then it stopped, and shaking I opened the door.
A lady behind me was shouting,
"Oh, my God are you all right?! "Are you all right??"

I checked my front end to find that
my car had massive paint burn,
the guardrail was intact,
and my limbs though quivering still worked.
I assured her I was fine and then,
I backed up carefully and drove away.

Later that day, while listening to my lines,
I heard the whole crash again,
caught on the tiny reels of the mini cassette.

Imagine if I had died, perhaps slowly,
or had been severly injured in that crash.
All of the horror would have been on that tape.

I keep that same tape in the ashtray of my car
even now, many years later as a reminder,
to rehearse my driving and save my lines
for solid unmoving ground.
Oh, and I got the part,
being dramatic came easy that day.





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

An Audible Crash.  by-Matthew F. Blowers III-(A True Story)

The Mathematics of Hope

For every bad person,
there are twenty good ones,
feeding the hungry,
teaching the uneducated,

millions of caring 
loving parents
raising God fearing children,
missionaries reaching 
out in Sudan,
with little help from 
the indifferent world,
poets crying out in voices
of angst and hope,
scientists working on 
genetics to cure,
environmentalist struggling 
to save the planet,
and God will give 
us a perfect world,
when we are free of this one,
and there will be no 
bad people in heaven.

Our goal is to make 
our surrounding areas
as peaceful and loving as we can,
like pieces of a puzzle
it can create a lovely picture,
in unlimited areas,
but evil has stolen,
so many of the pieces
that leave this world incomplete.
that is the legacy of man,
and those who seek 
evil will find it in the end,
in the bubbling lava 
and scalding pits
of a demon's paradise forever.







Art~Whimsically Yours Studio-(C)-20254
collab & photo credits to: me & suno

The Mathematics Of Hope

There are doors
in back street alleys
and in derelict structures,
that sorrow passes through daily,
where tragedy is ever prevailing,
Hunger squats on a
second floor walkup,
tiny soul silently wailing
on a filthy blood-stained mattress,
as a smidgen of malnourished life,
sucks a dribble of breast flow
from her crack addicted mother,
whom she may never grow to know.

Drunks lie in the basement
of the old Five and dime store,
closed twenty years now,
snoring through an alcoholic haze,
in various poses of stupor,
waiting for dawn to break
then staggering out in a daze,
so they can beg a dime from
enough folks that pass them daily,
to buy a fifth and later drift
on liquid dreams of better lives,
grateful when oblivion finally arrives.


Joe beats his wife
on the third level
of the butcher shop,
giving a hard-fisted thanks
in a quick short chop,
for her burning his precious toast,
he never could control his angst.
she wipes the blood off,
drops two more wheat down,
and prays the toaster
doesn't stick again,
while softly cursing
her choice of men.

Mary breaks her last
heart pill into quarters,
stretching what should have been
a one a day into four,
sips some tea from
a bag used six times before,
and stares at the three triangles,
between her and the floor,
Meanwhile fluids
fill her ankles
as the failure of
the bush health plan
slowly kills her.
in her world where
only the bill's sure.

Susie goes dumpster diving
behind the "All You Can Eat"..
Chinese joint,
she's an Iraqi war veteran,
so horribly burned, and scarred
from an I.E.D. that left flesh charred,
no one will dare hire her,
and who'd have the nerve to fire her,
so she spends her nights
sucking crab juice
from mulched leftovers,
and eating soggy eggrolls
weary of the public's disregard,
she lives life hard,
in a large cardboard box,
she calls her home,
once a hero,
now just a bum
all alone.

There are doors in back alleyways,
and in derelict structures,
that lead  straight to
the ruins of mankind,
because most men towards
kindness are disinclined
so the poor and rejected remain
tucked out of sight,
way out of mind,
as out front, strolling sidewalks
the better off, are better off
staying clear of all
of those left without any luck
who gaze with envy through
dusty paned windows
to the crowds passing
and at the well-to-do massings
in the brightly lit streets below,
going to places they'll never know.





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

In Cloistered Shadows They Struggle.

In that summer that 
wasn't anymore,
in the mode of her 
exit, front seat,
right side for her, 
but so wrong for me.

She became a 
passenger northbound,
sad face bathed in 
the August sun,
the taste of her petulant lips,
still fresh on my own,

she couldn't look at me,
without tears welling up,
in those lovely liquid eyes,
so she sat chin up,
and stared at the paradise
where we'd spent 
our summer love,

as the taillights vanished
down the long dirt road,
she turned back once
with a sad wave,
a kiss  blown
and then she was gone.

I never saw her again.
Sometimes when I am
lost in the vast
extremes of lonely,
I am back on 
that dirt road,
just under the 
shade of the trees,
sharing that last 
kiss so tender,
eyes closed, 
heart aching
for more than fate 
could ever grant.

Summer Love.

Back seat dreams
fill her contemplative mind
as lives go by in a blur,
just a young girl
still waiting on dreams 
to be made real
as in realizations
She sees the world as
a kaleidoscope of poetry,
the stubby old man hobbling
down fifth avenue, 
a modern day troll,
the little girl on the corner
with an oversize lollipop
just a fairy with a magic wand,
She wishes that the wand
would make her drive less bland,
then between yawns and
a blinking railroad crossing
A cute guy on a Schwinn
becomes her next husband,
and at the tail end of a long train,
she's still kissing him,
and then the tracks are crossed,
the rumble bumple of its rails
bringing her back to the drab.
But soon she is home,
as her old familiar room
encases her in a secured box,
that her mind escapes from
every once in a while,
as she composes a poem
she is still there in a 
time warp of her youth
now faded.......
as an old lady 
in the care of a nursing home
living out her literary dreams
that will become
forever unrealized.
such is life.





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

An Extra Ordinary Trip Revisited.

The Ultimate Voice Mail.
It came in a strange black box,
that appeared out of nowhere,
right next to another box 
I'd cherished that sat on 
my mantle for so long, since 1997.

Its unexplainable presence
piqued my curiosity,
and so I opened it carefully
a bit leery of its contents.
Suddenly a warmth
overwhelmed me as a voice
emitted from within
that said,

"I just wanted you to know,
how much I love you,
it's very nice here,
I am doing fine, and I 
have prepared a room
just for you the next 
time we are together."

Then I felt a soft kiss 
on my cheek,
as I closed the lid, 
and sat in shock
in the chair behind me.

You see, it was my 
precious Mom
who was taken 
so suddenly,
sending me a message 
from beyond,
left lying next to
her cremated remains.

It was the
ultimate voice mail.

When I opened it again,
there was only silence,
much like what I'd endured
since death claimed her.

I wiped a tear, and smiled
my heart relieved, as I
placed this precious voice-box,
next to the ashes
of what was no more.






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

Summer Love.

Matthew Blowers

Related tracks