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

The bad luck raised suspicions, on a path that was beat down.

No one dared to look within or see the wise men in the town.

It was happening for eons, as long as Grandad could recall.

Like a dark foreboding plank walk or a dream in which you fall.

Until the child spoke her words that, “Maybe somethings wrong with me?”

So we made a meeting with the Doc, down at Family Psychiatry.

The doctor raised awareness and we all took a look.

Things are looking so good now, might take Grandma off the hook.

Now life is far from perfect however the family’s not so sad.

Looking in the mirror, not blaming blind luck, good or bad.

The internet makes the world small. She threw the word Useless my way from Hong Kong…

Without a clue of how that word is so Esoteric or Useless in my world.

I grew up with psychopaths who reminded children daily that they were USELESS as tits on a bull.

Did she think she could carve me with such a dull word as useless? As if I don’t know my own worth. Did she think her beauty that powerful? The internet draws the delusions of the world into manageable sized pieces…

Don’t you think?

It’s In The silence…

We are left alone,

With thoughts about the others.

Usually the detestable and deranged.

I can’t imagine that there is silence there…

Between Those Ears.