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A fence post
between good friends
moved and the judge
accepted the insanity
defence
The norms of society
as learned by hundreds of students
were doubted and the musician
incorporated the definition
in his thoughts of the song
The tune
sung that night
was accepted and the audience
applauded the insane
group
life is family
brothers are friendly
Copyright 2000 Peter Timusk.
Your heart beats a song.
I love you in sound.
I hear your soul.
Your tounge screams.
I love you more.
Your fingers on the fretboard move.
I fall in love more.
Your truth is my mood.
I feel afriad of death.
Your breath is dancing.
I hear your durge.
Your place in days.
Your life is living.
I am working a little.
Your truth is love.
I find you I like.
My heart is yours.
You see my hair is yellow.
My eyes see the yolk.
You see I am yours.
Copyright 2000 by Peter Timusk
As my eyes and ears opened to the old 45's s
And my teenage years went to many dives
now my mature mind listens so much more
But my pen somehow lacks my score
True I have written near ten a song
And sang them all well and strong
But mainstream's taste is rock and roll
Heroes and idols have kept fellow musicians from the hall
While music is for lazy minds
The real truth is the hero's crimes
As each has the right to express
It is those who steal the tunes that depress.
Kind of music, type of song
The way I listen was dull all along
And now we make more tunes
That never seem to leave the rooms
Here we come with new songs
And now some of you can sing along.
Copyright 2000 Peter Timusk.
I like to play
But sometimes I get tired
Then tempers of my playmates flare
So it becomes like work.
Why do you not pay me for work?
I lift these things for you,
I type this data and I get paid.
But when working for you no money.
Do you not know how to be a boss?
Shouldn't you learn this?
When you can be a good boss,
You will know how to return this.
If you were a good boss,
You could employ anyone.
Even those with bad backs
And computer hacks you would employ.
But work becomes a bore,
Or does it become more?
A pile of finished goods,
Or a poem on a production line.
Copyright 2000 Peter Timusk.
He was thrown out for duelling
His learning of fighting
She was his love
Never became a dove
The society spent on guns
And the new country begun
To live in independence
And own language of true defence
As life carried forward
The new formula of worth
But the numbers were a measure
Of water's temperate behaviour
So that his class analysis
Was cruel and baseless
And even sex and love
When shot
Brought the mind to stop
And thus Karl wrote a story
That his theory
Had made the world gory
So that now a tragic idea
Was declared a delusional idea
And now poetically said
He was one great Red.
Copyight 2000 Peter Timusk.
I'll have my revenge,
my head always blown.
Monday morning noise is something I have known.
But up until dawn writing now that's the thing.
Joining in my madness,
Joining in my work,
My friendly other coworkers hammer their nails for bucks.
My time on this stage is now vying for luck.
My phone connected.
My pulse is tone.
I have words that have I want to bring.
I won't leave it until the dawn when the birds sing.
I slide into bed,
to rest my head.
Copyright Peter Timusk 2000.
Copyright Jennifer Arbour and Peter Timusk
All poems Copyright 2000 by Peter Timusk
Sent me fan mail.
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