There is little comfort in this Quiet Cold.

I have ceased to ponder riches and fame.

This too died near the cold frozen tundra.

Now it will happen that I have freed the thoughts.

This is the power of ego and self indulgence.

The great I am…

How else can one survive these fucking temperatures?

If not to curl up inside and see what exits and transpires.

I don’t know why my baby loves clowns.
Whose painted on tears never fall down.
I don’t know what she sees in their eyes
Perhaps the line between horror/surprise…

I don’t know why my baby can’t sing.
Why carnival music isn’t her thing.
It fills my head when I’m at the fair.
Searching for clues in clowns everywhere.

I don’t know why she screams at night.
I hope it’s not why she holds me so tight.
Because I’m the type I’m weak for love.
Carnival music I rise above.

Is it the pain or is it the tears?
For some carnival crime from yesteryears.
Maybe it’s you, maybe I’ll never know.
Maybe it’s me, baby let go.

(chorus)

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.
All the kings horses and all the kings men.
Tried and they tried but she fell down again.

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
She went to her shrink ended up at the mall.
Humpty Dumpty wanted it all.

Dennis Mantin

They said it was a holiday; but you know they lied.

They said they were in mourning. All those tears were held inside.

There’s no chance that they will like me and less chance I will care.

They say they are all humanists; but they’ll carve you like a pear.

I’ll be rolling in the thunder and the sun will break at dawn.

I’ll be wishing you were naked in your thoughts with nothing on.

I’ll peddle dreams and honesty and I will break the curse.

And you are green with envy; and no feeling will be worse.

You will know that there’s a meter but you won’t pay the price.

I’ve been hanging with Saint Peter. He’s gone silent on advice.

All credit cards are bloated and the baby needs new shoes 

And all spirits are logged and noted; and Saint Peter’s got the blues.

He’s all wrapped up in the rapture; and and he wants to say goodbye.

I know I’m going to to miss him; but they’ll be no tears to cry.

All the credit cards are bloated and the baby needs new shoes.

All the spirits logged and noted and Saint Peter’s got the blues.

It started out as leisure.

Just a story with a name.

Just a dirty little poem.

With no guilt that wasn’t shame.

Then there was the paintings.

Looked like something maybe art.

Then a thought became a film.

Just no stopping once we start.

Was a murmur from a choir.

And a voice that rattled hymn.

From a note that just got higher.

In a light that knew no dim.

In the moments that were awkward.

I learned to listen and looked to see.

Saw the living and breathed spirits.

You can’t guess which one is free.

(A song I wrote about leaving high school)

Chances were the premium at the chances store.
Called up their proprietor and asked for just one more.
Inside information suggested relocate.
When they closed the chances store it sealed the users fate.

With no plans for the future and the future it is here.
Who knew that the sun would rise and whisper last nights fear?
So we headed for the highway which ended at the light.
Looked upon arrival, no chances store in sight.

Searching for the answers that will ease the fears.
Some will stand there crying and find few are buying tears.
All are someone’s baby lost along the way.
Strangers and sojourners who have lost the need to pray.

And I say, “Pray”

Get down on your knees sweet Charlotte, get down on your knees.
I know you have a mission and I hope it is to please.
Take me to your leader because I think I’ve found the cure.
It’s a love that is botanical with determination pure.

Dennis Mantin

The air is dried from heaters.

Our lips are cracked and peeled.

We are here in search for moisture.

And a fate that’s not so sealed.

The winters blues are blowing.

Summers dreams are smashed and torn.

There’s a silence almost deafening.

There’s a madness being born.

I have written a novel called:

LOOK THEM IN THE EYES

Which is sitting in the vault, edited and re-edit edited.

I was going to go the self publishing route however I am once again delving into the desired forum of being published by a legit Publisher.

I am putting this out to the universe that I am in search of a ‘LITERARY AGENT ‘

Today I wrote the first Chapter of my second novel entitled;

THE PROCTOLOGIST, THE COUNSELOR AND THE NARCISSIST.

The statistics are 1/1000 of finding and being accepted…

This will happen fast…

Dennis Mantin