If you criticize, criticism...and it is true,...then, you are a hypocrite. If you turn blind eye to it, yet you see...you are a liar.
Written By Bruce James Clyde 2016, Deming, New Mexico
Sunday, May 15, 2016
A Saying
The most obvious arrogance,
is that, which contrives to tolerance...
Written By Bruce James Clyde 2016, Deming, New Mexico
is that, which contrives to tolerance...
Written By Bruce James Clyde 2016, Deming, New Mexico
The Smoker
Someone this morning, was going on about, 'smokers', and how...if you smoke...you wont get, blah blah blah.
Eight, maybe nine years ago, I quit smoking, because my little boy, came up to my table on the patio and said, "Quit to live, daddy". I quit that day, for two reasons...one, for my children, so I'd live to be with them until they grow up, and two...for my health, certainly, not for my satisfaction.
My father, smoked like a stack...he drank...he cursed...he laughed, and he loved. Men respected him, and he fought a few that didn't. Women loved him. He was the wisest man I ever knew. His teeth were yellow, and shattered, and few...his smile could light up a room...he could play piano, like a maestro, after three drinks, and everyone would gather. Little girls would dance on his shoes. He would fart and smile...in mixed company, just to draw fire, and, whether he needed it or not...he would bathe once a year.
So, you see...you fools, and your little cuts...your 'political corectness', and your revolution to make men 'cunts'...you cast men out, you block their truth's and they wont get your little 'hugs'...so what?
Written By Bruce James Clyde 2016, Deming, New Mexico
Photo Credit: designtrend.com
Eight, maybe nine years ago, I quit smoking, because my little boy, came up to my table on the patio and said, "Quit to live, daddy". I quit that day, for two reasons...one, for my children, so I'd live to be with them until they grow up, and two...for my health, certainly, not for my satisfaction.
My father, smoked like a stack...he drank...he cursed...he laughed, and he loved. Men respected him, and he fought a few that didn't. Women loved him. He was the wisest man I ever knew. His teeth were yellow, and shattered, and few...his smile could light up a room...he could play piano, like a maestro, after three drinks, and everyone would gather. Little girls would dance on his shoes. He would fart and smile...in mixed company, just to draw fire, and, whether he needed it or not...he would bathe once a year.
So, you see...you fools, and your little cuts...your 'political corectness', and your revolution to make men 'cunts'...you cast men out, you block their truth's and they wont get your little 'hugs'...so what?
Written By Bruce James Clyde 2016, Deming, New Mexico
Photo Credit: designtrend.com
Easy Rider
It is easier to ride a horse, than a woman...is it not? A horse will buck you off. A woman will too...then, she'll stomp you in the dust, take all your stuff, and leave you with a limp...
Written By Bruce James Clyde 2016, Deming, New Mexico
Photo Credit: wisegeek.com
Written By Bruce James Clyde 2016, Deming, New Mexico
Photo Credit: wisegeek.com
Saturday, May 14, 2016
Manifesting Destiny
When cleverness and cute have shut, claimant of the storm to come, still balls of steel clang against the standing of so few...remaining straight; neither flag be found. This land, that once, was populace'd, by buffalo; the savages that brought them low...lay down their, stolen destiny. The ashes of their silent cities, reaped...their harvest come. In interim, all blood was dust, and red as rust...now blown away and gone; where ghosts alone, in spirit...carry forth, while earth return...to peace.
In epilogue: All argument, all detriment...the guilty, with the innocent, were taken...for the few, who would not get along; would have nothing here...of God's creation. Where, all the one's who led and lied, forsook their faith, their oath, and sole remaining...sold.
And yet...seed waiting in the sand, hath faith in heaven's tide, and life will come, and death will not be given it's grim laugh. Children of all kind, will love...will play their time upon the grass...all will be raised...all will be raised...at last.
Written By Bruce James Clyde 2016, Deming, New Mexico
Photo Credit: Steven Schimmrich, herd of Buffalo grazing peacefully
In epilogue: All argument, all detriment...the guilty, with the innocent, were taken...for the few, who would not get along; would have nothing here...of God's creation. Where, all the one's who led and lied, forsook their faith, their oath, and sole remaining...sold.
And yet...seed waiting in the sand, hath faith in heaven's tide, and life will come, and death will not be given it's grim laugh. Children of all kind, will love...will play their time upon the grass...all will be raised...all will be raised...at last.
Written By Bruce James Clyde 2016, Deming, New Mexico
Photo Credit: Steven Schimmrich, herd of Buffalo grazing peacefully
A Musing
When I charge into the wind, and that's the muse...I make a thing happen. Problem is, it usually sucks, more than it blows...
Written By Bruce James Clyde 2016, Deming, New Mexico
Friday, May 13, 2016
The Small Voice Within
You hear, now boy? Don't get you, no where near, politics...they are crazy, corrupted and damned. Their wings are twisted, they'll claw and beak you...anyway they can. If you keep them, just set water out...throw scratch...stand back, they'll shit on everything...if they ever lay an egg,...it's broke,you'll find, and your nest...that they did it in...
Written By Bruce James Clyde 2016, Deming, New Mexico
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