Electric Gods

We see put the legacy
Places hanged from a ancient tree
Power driver sounds black lights
Fright, flight, fight
Ought to see the electric gods
Standing on the dualistic mother lands
Clouds raised
A old god appears
Throws his Hammer
Beard in the wind, his time has come again
He drinks the blood of the electric gods, dead as clips
It’s a mighty day

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Jack the lad

Jack the Lad

By winters light he holds deer
The flowers of spring in his ear
Seeds of wattle for good cheer
Grass growing in a cup of beer

By the full moon days
He builds a grave
For all those taken by winters frost
He holds vigil, plants seeds

He wears a coat of brown leaf leather
Crow feather trousers
A big cowl he uses to dig around
A hat of fine bear skin
Boots of barks of trees long gone

He drinks a acorn cup of mead a day
Then puts it away

Little wrens feathers he collect
Puts them in a mat
Reflects on the days he’s lived
Then walks on to the next lap

Given all that
He once had a black cat
Whose name he can’t remember
But he sometimes thinks it might have been September