Money
by Ted L Glines

He said to me, "My time is money"
I said to myself, "Ain't that funny!"
He's so poor - I have to mention
he don't have time to pay attention,
mortgage - cars - insurance bills,
strapped for cash - it gives me chills,
he'll take his status to the grave
tied to the ground just like a slave.
I ain't got those fancy frills
and I ain't got them fancy bills,
I can tell the boss to shove  it
'cause I am free - you gotta love it,
you'll never catch me bowing down
to the dollar bill which rules this town,
while I am free and life is sunny,
I thank the Gods - my time ain't money.

Author's Notes: If  this sounds like a hippy song - I  suppose it is - from my life  in Monterey in the 50s and 60s, that's where and  how I grew up  among the sensical messages of Timothy Leary and Joan Baez. I knew  many of the residents of Pebble Beach and Carmel Valley, monied  people, owners  of major corporations, financiers. They had everything  money could buy, but they  were always under constant and tremendous  relentless pressure to protect their  empires and market share,  with never any time to relax and unwind and smell the  flowers.  It seems like such an awful waste for some to devote their whole  lives  to enslavement under the Wall Street God of Profit - to  the exclusion of  everything which is good and uplifting and lovely.  Wealthy or poor, we are born,  we grow up, we live, we grow old,  and we die, and I have chosen to spend this  one lifetime having  fun and smelling the flowers. I think I am truly the wealthy  one.

Monsters
by Ted L Glines

Amazon warrior - she's the very best
her bow is dripping blood in an endless killing-fest
skeletons and witches dying left and right
monster killer-beetles spoiling for a fight
dead monsters rise again - a shaman raising them
and when we kill the shaman - perhaps he'll drop a gem
be it topaz or ruby - that gem is magic power
to upgrade your weapon to your victory hour
here come the zombies - bogies - look out
they're coming by the dozens - got to take them out
running down the hallway - dashing - firing - hurry
rounds fired in salvos - a killing-field flurry
rob the bodies of their armor - get their weapons too
for if they kill you now - they'll do the same to you
been playing this game since nineteen-ninety-six
almost seventy years old and still it gives me kicks
I've won the game many times but still come back for more
because the fighting is waiting - all that blood and gore
in a way it reminds me - every time I play
of a cop's average day in the wilds of East LA

Miss Understood
by Ted L Glines

Miss Calculation - always sheming,
she has a plan for goodness sakes,
as she revels in her details
and shrugs away her sad mistakes.

Miss Chievous struts her stuff,
the pure embodiment of sin,
as her wiggles and her giggles
make it hard for all the men.

Miss Apprehension always jumps
at every shadow on the wall,
seeing monsters under street lamps
when there is nothing there at all.

Miss Representation has a tale,
her audience cries and sighs,
no matter if her stories
are a made-up pack of lies.

Miss Salvation smiles and smiles
while pretending to pray,
scaring folks with “End of Times”
until they've lost their brighter day.

Once a week they go to see
the one who makes them stop and think,
and they come away repaired
by the wisdom of their shrink.

“Why should you be guilty,
this you certainly must see,
when you can be Miss Construed,
and be as powerful as me!”