The Groom’s Song

Hello my dear unselfish one please come right here you will be spun.

Under my hand you soon shall dance, my hand, your hip, a step or two.

See my eyes tell me the color I do not know your eyes are fuller.

Give me your cheek, take back your tongue and feel my heart transcend you love.

I see your lips the way they pout the way your sad the way you frown.

Not today my little lady just for once give up the heavy.

Just for once this world of sharks can fuck itself and disembark.

Take this dance, this dance with me, take both my hands and smile please.

I’ll smile too, at least I’ll try, I want to feel the joy inside.

I want to be the pair right here that dances fine that looks happy.

Take a whirl, not yet a bow, see my eyes and hear that sound.

Yes my darling this songs for you I know, I know, its not your tune.

You don’t like slow you like it fast, you like to move and speak with crass.

But not today my sweet sweet muse ’cause on this day slow is for you.

Why you ask? Why must this be? You’re not the type for romance things?

Hush hush my darling, my baby love, I know you claim you’d rather fuck.

I would too, at least I’d claim it, but not tonight this night’s been saving.

All your life you’ve been pushed down and told to quiet and to crouch down.

For much too long you’ve stood aside and laughed and clapped for other brides.

But on this night, this night my love, there is no other, you are the dove.

Please do see this songs for you, your beauty breathes out true love too.

Do not cry, not yet my darling, the song still plays please stop your running.

Step on closer, head to my chest, cry a tear but fuck the rest.

This is your night my baby doll. This is the time you are not small.

See it clear please look around. We all love you and love your gown.

We want you to just laugh for once, not at expense but at joy’s brush.

Baby will you please come here, will you please just flee from fear.

Try to see that once in a while it’s a-o-k to feel like a child.

Okay to dream and hope and love, it’s not so bad to just give up-

all your fears your terrors too, all your thoughts of end and gloom.

Baby how I love you now, how much I want you to feel found.

See this night the star is you, to love my wife I say I do.

– Thomas M. Watt

Tired.

I feel your pain your hearts demise the thoughts of lonely killing time.

I know your sights I feel your eyes I see the thing between the lines.

i know that when you sing to me and when you smile and when you think,

It all comes out as just one color a depth of blue a smidge of palor. 

I’m sorry for the pain of old the thoughts of knowing what you’ve been told.

How much pain can one heart take how much longer until what’s fake –

Is no longer is no more how many lives have burnt for sure.

Just come right here your hand to me kiss me with smile fill me with sing.

I’ll take you in swirl you around and show you how to kill a frown.

Hello my little lovely one I love you smile I love your fun.

I’m sorry I can’t express too I’m sorry I can’t say I do.

I’m sorry I am just a wall like one dumb man slow thoughts and all.

It brings me pain you never guessed to know exactly how I impress.

What kind of creatures bumps like this? What kind of man can’t enjoy bliss?

What has happened when one man takes all that’s outside and sees the cake.

What is wrong that my mind see the thoughts inside with clarity.

And why is it that what’s in front, in front my face at felt with touch, why is it I don’t know you I can’t seem to divide the two.

I have no wall built in my brain the thoughts are filed the things are lame.

Can’t quite tell you how it goes cannot explain why no one knows.

Cannot quite give you my hand because you see I don’t understand.

Cannot break through a wall of shouts cannot make sense of why some pout.

Cannot know why some do lie cannot quite see why some speak dry.

Cannot hide behind this mouth cannot quite state what others shout.

How much pain does right thought bring, how much loss do good hearts string. 

I wish I could get up go there and say the thing I said right here.

But instead the words jot down just like a poem kind of profound.

See me laughing shake my hand say good day say bye old friend.

The days of life though they are numbered are adding up and still they slumber.

Not one knows and not one cares that I see clearer here than there,

– Thomas M. Watt 

Hello Good Morning

 

Hello, good morning, good day to you.

No more frowns or thoughts of doom.

Let’s be happy just this once,

Let’s have a laugh and then a bunch.

No need to be so over-dramatic,

No need to live by overreacting.

It’s not the time to up and quit,

When will you realize it’s pursuit that wins?

Lovely laughing laughing lots.

Smile widely there is no cost.

No need to fret or disagree,

Just take my hand and laugh with me.

– Thomas M. Watt

The Writer of Words

The words the words the writer of words,

The one who lives for the nouns and the verbs.

Alone in his attic, gone to his room, thinking of something, a plot twist or truth.

The words the words the writer of words.

Prose doth he speak, knows what he knows, sees what folks doesn’t, see what folks done.

Thinking it always, see words less speak, teaching us something, writes what we read.

The words the words the writer of words.

Always he does, tinker his best, lays down the rules, opens his chest.

Let’s us all in, to that weird little mind, provides for us glimpses, of thoughts stuck in time.

The words the words the writer of words.

What is this talent to roll and to go. What is this desire to describe just one rose.

A man of the world? A man of the arts? A maker of stories? A thief of used plots?

What is his trait, why does he think. Why does it matter if we like what we read?

What is this passion? From where does it come? Secluded in nothing, promises to him none.

Not laughing funny, not getting laid, not getting read much, not getting paid.

Still he can’t sleep. Still he does write. Still his pen scribbles. Still he sees light.

Where is this end? At what tunnel he thinks? Does he not know that he’s working for free?

Find his reward, please show it to me! Tell me the prize to take on this disease!

Tell me for once, just give me one word, give me a reason this mans lives so absurd!

Well I’ll tell you reader, I’ll say what I know – The thought of not writing fills writers with woes.

For when pain does come, when life is unfair, there’s two kinds of escapes, addicts all do share –

One is through drugs, sex and bad things. The other’s through art, hearts raised to beauty.

For a man of the world does not see these two lines – he is a fool who thinks they’re both of one kind.

But I tell you something, for I have once seen – A man in his mind accomplish impossible things.

For hours spent thinking, writing fine lines, imagine the way to reach that pinnacle high.

How does that happen, to whom does it go? Who are these writers we have come to know?

They are the ones who persisted the best, they are the writers who pushed on from the rest.

Through all the rejection, the hatred and such, the loss of a lifetime, the miss of one’s touch.

Keep going forward, make that book great. Get that shit perfect, work through night’s late.

At the end of your life, on your death bed, would you rather have quit, or stuck it out to be best?

Is it not worth the struggle, not worth the strife, to see your own words, passed on through time?

I say it is, I say that I do, the words I do love you, now please love me too.

The words

The words

The Writer of Words

– Thomas M. Watt

Before Comfort’s Bliss

Thighs sliding, fingers cramped, sweaty pores, moving hands.

Rocking swiftly, moving gently, moaning sounds, hefty taking.

Hands caress, muscles push, breaths grow heavy, lamps are shook.

Moving swiftly side to side until a turn brings her to rise.

Rising up from up to down, pushing forth, pulling out.

Turning over, once again, breaths do mate, fingers blend.

Kissing, touching, quaking lots, moving down from neck to next spot.

Lips do squish, tongues they kiss, elbows bend , her pelvis kicks.

Eyes they meet from eye to eye at first they see but soon they fly.

Enter back into her body, watch her glisten, feel her naughty.

Twisting over to one side, slides to hip, leg twined is fine.

Hair grows wild in his hand, pulling hard, faster again.

Moving closer, dripping sweat, to her forehead, feel her breast.

Sheets all rustle, bed does break, blankets fall and moans do rage.

Raising volume hear the sounds from one man’s push till one girl’s found.

Voices quiet, thoughts they bleed, grips of holding pressing deep.

Heads come closer, heat it rises, slanted mattress provides for driving.

Springs they rattle, muscles ache, one limb stiffens, one girl shakes.

Hurrying on, fast again, lips they meet, breaths quicken.

All at once the sounds explode as does the load as does the show.

The two embrace for one small kiss before a rest and comfort’s bliss.

– Thomas M. Watt

Surgery Yesterday

This picture is actually being taken as I write this sentence. That’s right, using only the mouse. Don’t ask me how, this kind of technology has not been made available to the public yet.

Will be here much over the next week. One handed pen-edits? No problem. One-handed typing? Sloooowwww.

You can see my sleep station beside. It’s that white blanket.

Probably not going to be traveling much further than here.

I Should Not Post This

Surgery, hand’s asleep, drugs are messing with my head.

I am not a little boy nor good thinker when I’m floyed.

Yes that word I made up there  ’cause currently I don’t give a care.

Good time to post? Not so much. Hard to think I’m all drugged up.

Get me Cheetos and some cheese ah forget it I’ll take the keys.

Oh what’s that I cannot drive? Well fine then you drive I’ll ride.

Cheetos Cheetos what a plan, cat named Chester seems like nice friend.

I like his glasses and his wit, be fun to hear him joke a bit.

How was my surgery you want to ask? Wearing arm sling but it will pass.

Naked walking through the streets, buttoned shirt on just one sleeve.

Like the way girls look at me, like I’m wounded just to treat.

Favorite parts of girls is there – the way they care when life’s not fair.

Yippy, yes, yippet-yeah – I like the girls who love to share –

All their kindness with a stranger, even when he could mean danger.

Danger sexy or a risk? Hope I didn’t myself convict.

Meant to say a sexy way, now my image is in decay.

Well, ripe, welp, outwith, forgive me drugs are writing this.

What to do oh what to say, kind of stuck on girls all day.

I wonder if writer’s get laid by well-played prose and timely plays.

Quite so cool oh it would be, to say a line and make them scream –

“Oh you’re so brilliant sexy man! Oh please come hither to my bed,

Say me more so I can dream about your brain you dazzle me.”‘

I would respond, “Oh, ha-ha, aha tee-he, girl you’re… something autumn leaves.”

 “You said something in that phrase, I am quite sure you’ve ruined this blaze.”

“What, a blaze? You mean this trick? You mean the way I feed my dick?”

“Oh you bastard! Don’t you care! And your followers, with them you’ll share?”

“Shit I guess so, wrote it down. Damn my lady you’ve made me frown!”

“Perhaps you should now, after-all. You’ve proved yourself has too much gall.”

“Hmm… I like that!”

“Well they won’t! In fact they’re turned off by your quotes.”

“Damn I tell you, damn I say, girl just run please go away.”

“Ugh of course of course I will. You’ve turned me off without your quill.”

“Well I’m drugged so it’s okay, but one quick word before you stray?”

“What! What is it? I’m leaving goon, I hate the thought I thunk to spoon.”

“Yes me too just with my wiener. Shit I said it -“

“Dare go on I’ll kick your knees. For the love of blogs what did you need?”

“What? Oh yes now I remember – please purchase Cheetos and bring them hither.”

– This has been Thomas M. Watt post-op and on a variety of drugs.

Various thoughts that fit Together in my Untamed Mind

Pretty girl, sitting there, gazing wide, looking fair.

I know you see it, I do too, the art from God, the voice of truth.

The problem is, you know it’s true, we’ve come from heaven with work to do.

I know my calling, know it fine, called to live my life divine.

By God who judges, He who speaks, the One who whispers my heart to sleep.

I know you want it, want it bad, knowledge of this so makes me sad.

For it’s not quite me of which you want, nor my heart, nor my cock.

But you want the dwelling bruise, the heart that aches, the lasting blues.

I’ll say it simply for some ears – the truth hurts me, the truth you fear.

For when she longs and so “Wants you,” all she wants is the pursuit.

Give her mystery, give her myth, a taste of wrong, a hint of bliss.

Her one true goal is to have you chained, but once she does, you’ve lost the game.

– Thomas M. Watt

Oh where do we begin? The rubble or our sins? – Bastille, “Pompeii”

And there I was just sitting there,

Watching fire fall from air.

Vesuvius boomed and did explode,

I sat down and prayed in pose.

Oh my Lord what have I done,

This is the end and no more fun.

God what happened why’d we leave you,

Now my city burns to ruin.

I hope to God they see some day,

I died right here, right where I pray.

– Thomas M. Watt

Perhaps I’m Not an Idiot

Tired eyes, sleepy sighs, words are ringing singing rhymes,

Bells are back, the ruse it floats, I’d sure love to write good quotes,

Hope someday this dreams lands here in this present atmosphere,

Keep on going, almost there, getting close produces scare.

How much better can this be? How much work I’ve done for free.

All for one to read it true, all for buyers to say I do.

Cannot imagine a greater feeling than to produce an intrigued viewing.

Read my book, won’t you please, take a look, enjoy the read.

If you don’t, I don’t care… No I’m kidding to be fair.

Writing words that make you quit will make me throw a childish fit.

But to see you turn that page, just to feel you feel my rage,

To know the man is not alone, to know for sure I wrote true prose,

Just to see you stop and stare, to feel your eyes on what I’ve put there.

To know my pen produced that scribble, to hear my page played like a fiddle,

To know I’ve conquered the t.v., to see for once the thoughts of me –

Carried on into another, shared by those who pass the cover.

To see the work amount to glee, to know for once I’m not diseased.

Finding out is not so bad, as long as finding makes you glad.

– Thomas M. Watt