The Infamous Pipedream of Dragoon Baboon

If I could create a nonsensical cartoon,

I would have as its character a silly baboon

Who lives in an old-fashioned western saloon,

And spits long, black spirals in a rusty spittoon.

Dragoon Baboon

  His digs would have gold, brass and silver festoons

With paintings on the walls of colorful balloons.

 All his rooms are a mess, with his music bestrewn,
For he loves to entertain with his woodwind bassoon.

                    Dragoon's Digs              
            
        
               

His breakfast would be honored at every forenoon
With the same menu item of fried crab rangoon
That he caught on his outings with his trusty harpoon,
Which he bought from a pirate for fifteen dragoons.

Cheap Pirate

So, you see, if my ink pen and I were attune
We could write a queer story of Dragoon Baboon
Who got up mid-mornings just to commune
From his music hall mansion we call a saloon,
And eat strange food daily at the crack of forenoon,
And behave as a crab killing, harpooning buffoon.
My bassoon playing, cartoon of Dragoon Baboon.

The Rose and the Candle

Carefully carry the flickering candle.

Make sure the flame is secure and well lit.

The surface beneath it is liquid and fragile.

The slightest misstep can extinguish it.

Love the rose gently, and carry it softly.

It's beauty is fragile and bruises with ease.

The velvety petals are lovely and fragrant.

But gone in an instant in a strong breeze.

Lovingly, carefully hold to your loved ones.

Their lives can be fleeting and gone at a turn.

Press closer always to give them assurance

Your presence supports them brightly to burn.

So, thus the existence of candle and roses.

Their lifetime is shortened if jostled about.

Take heed if you love them, but always remember

They brighten our days, but are quickly snuffed out. 

Broken

It's a place of confinement with shutters all around.

Not a sound enters in to soothe or mask the pain.

The shutters won't open for just a glimpse of sun.

They've bolted all the doors, and no escape remains.

Frantically I search the walls for glitches they've not seen.
Running in circles, reaching out for hidden roads to take.
There's nothing. No one. It seems they all rush by.
Their life explodes with laughter and, like fine glass, mine breaks.

Unknown voices venture closer. Do they threaten? Are they mine?

How I need a voice of reason in my maddening despair!

As the voices strive to calm my anxious spirit, I can see

The walls begin to crumble, small rays of hope lurking there.

It's a tragic, solitary place of doubt and fear, like dying.
The loneliness of being lost in a strange and hostile world.
The demons crouch and hover, taking all the breath you have.
It's the loneliest place I've ever been, where I am broken and hurled.