paper cutting glass 2

  Pushing the Reset Button or Making Asinine Great Again Image: MaGA (Making A-Holes Greedy Again) How sad that we regress Telling us that with which we grew As a lie a game of the founding fathers Their mothers, wives, children and brothers Was no more than a flower basket of lies Now wilted down so a felonious rich boy Can get more money, a king of fascist lies Thank you ancestors for the bouquet That we grew up to think possible That the was the land of the free & the brave That indeed the doors our migrant Fathers, mothers, ancient brothers We shot down or enslaved could Erase our cultures and languages To join in the brother/sisterhood of man That freedom for all Could come and that son of god You told loved us, asking that we L ove On e A nother Should go from his humble manger Running to a land where his ancestors were slaved Should return to die nailed up by Romans The same people who later Made a religion for him The Universal gift o...

Sing Song Holy Molely Diddlely doo help me sing this song through the words dance into my head recalling my chimpanzee named Fred He was my fuzzy big ol’ boy sat upon my bench for toys Daddy made that bench of green the finest toy box I’d ever seen He sat on it next to my bunk bed waiting for a story to be read to float into his monkey head and he listened to all I said oh, now sing along with me wish I could have climbed a tree in my tree house of wild cherry viewed the world, ate black berries I read a thing on Facebook, mouth agape about how Earth was formed for us apes I felt, oh my how can this be the apes would be mad at me Calling us one of their kind  furry their minds to tow the line to think that we were one of them would send them to the loony pen Humans might talk write and sing and think that they know every thing But Fred told me a little story so true: “ Monkeys, and Chimps and Orangutans too Are not humans like you ...

  ☼ That sorta Weather Time ☼ ♥ ☼ ♥ Hello there my little sop-pickle this is the season that brings a tickle or is it a thing-a-ma-gig that wickles smickles under your wig? Oh that is just your hair is it not? a woolly bear weaves to make a knot oh, no that ‘tis a golden butterfly flying from the heavenly blue sky You are indeed like a flower pot with bugs and skeeters make a dot or more upon skin, legs and arms not any reason to pull alarms It is indeed after all summertime when the world says you are mine Birds & bugs fill the world with beauty all on wings, bees & bugs do their duty to flavor all the flowers and the crops tasting you flying crawling and their hops just to let you know that without stops time for new life makin’ moms and pops To begin our year, with fresh food for all knowing summer is a sacred call I feed you sweet ice cream and pickles with sunshine you know summer tickles ♥ ☼ ♥ © James M. Frase-White, 6 August ...

"Phases of the Moon"  Mixed Media j.m.f-w (Sold)   Awake at 2 AM, My Dear Sleep seems to have left me eyes wide open as if to defend myself from dream elixir upon which imagination does depend I would love to be in the ocean even wading into the shore if should I fall into sleep I do pray I’ll not snore I’d ride great green seahorses sing to seaweed fishes, golden bottom sand where beneath those soft waters I’d serenade with a joyful clam band They would open and close those gay gilded shells ringing happy hallelujahs like joyful church bells Dreams suddenly drift strange flotsam of picture words making funny cawing sounds like a hungry seagull bird Oh, Teddy come dance me to sleep hold me in your arms just like a child and fly me away, sweet angelic bear turn my wild awake into restful mild O dear magic magic fairies listen to my nighttime desire call me back to dreamland sleep play your flute, your sweet harp lyre ...