Norman Rockwell Streets

One by one their numbers swelled, 
As they entered the Country Buffet.
Old black toupees on white hair,
Tossed their privacy away.

The brotherhood of passé men,

Laughed while stacking drumstick bones…
Reminiscing about the “Better days”
Finishing with ice cream cones.

The strange men were a mystery

Diners stared; speaking in a hush;

They didn’t see the 80’s car doors,

With magnet signs saying, “Fuller Brush”.

Those black toupees mapped suburbs,

While traveling door to door,
A free brush was their handshake,
And those old cars were their store.

Lenses

With lenses and technology,

We can see ourselves from space…

Sadly we lose our vision,

When meeting face to face.

We all are peaceful poets

Seen as a planetary star;

Losing our sight in public

Forgetting the miracles, we are.

Each and every one of us

Needs to look through the telescope…

To see alone we are but one,

In an orbit without hope.

Humanity Fail

Lab rats when stimulated,

Will f# *k themselves to death…

Human’s love for oil profits

Makes us gasp till our last breath.

What a time for science deniers,

Whose god frees them all from sin…

They’ll immolate unprotected,

Life gives back what we put in.