Saturday, July 25, 2015

If I Were To Help You

A hobby army with forces to unite
Does get something done...
That is your occupation, perhaps in days last light
But my workload seems to destroy me in plight
For the days are too hot for me
Yet you'd work me more
The nights too long for your longing yore
And when day is done we, me and you, have little fun
That is, little fishing, little camping, and little alone time
Not to say I'm your wife, but I am your son

Tomorrow you promise, tomorrow seems to be your graveyard anymore...
When it does come.
  Tomorrow we did do, too, but tomorrow I seem to have to forget first
  When promise comes through.

Little joy I have, but a great many comforts
Like privacy but soon I'll exchange it for pleasure
As everything seems to be given over to stolen leisure
"Why inspire confidence if we're to leave him sodden graves"
In that case do less, earn less, and leave memories of love.
For your time is invested poorly as it stands now
Leaving me with memories of spitting in shadows at my soul
Let it not be said I have no memory of your hard work,
But all work and no play breaks trust on Saturday or Sunday or Monday or Tuesday or Wednesday or Thursday or Friday or "Every Saturday"

Little time for me in all your time leaves me leaving you playing fool, again.

Sunday, July 12, 2015

Chasing Pavements

she don't know how
To ride that now
Don't do that thing
That makes souls sing

Can't dance or take wing
Can't make the dig
Can't find the hand to hold

Liking it calm and quiet
Screams quietly in silence
A silent lucidity
She just like me

Or as I used to be
Wishing a million miles between my head
Or all the words said that would fix instead
Quietly screaming this lucidity
Left unsaid

Wanting the prize, but unwilling to commit
Willing to suffer, but hating moments
Knowing she/he could win, but fuck it.

And whoever they are lie just enough
Whoever everyone really is, leave just enough alone
And no one really has it good, it all kinda sucks
The escape is not blocked, the exits are marked
And we're small enough to get by.

For when the quiet creeps in, the silent lucidity dreams
Solipsticly... sometimes enough... to have room for me

Because I am loved and can sometimes love
But the lies get to wearing thin
When human nature rubs up... against itself
And people choose themself over and again

I really think either God, Gold, or Guns
is kinda satanic, either that... or..
Worlds revolve without Love in pursuit of success

Success with capital Succor, that of
Money, Power, or Respect
again... satanic
a different name for the same.

The self-same need that made me run from me
10,000 things that had to be paved in front
And then I sought time itself and love
Realizing, "oh, that's what I want"
That's whats fun or hot or happiness is made from

And prayed life no longer fleed me
As I pray now! and in 10,000 poems

Tuesday, July 7, 2015

If You Were Cherished, et al.

    You ignore me
I learned and trusted you to meet me halfway;
And you don't.  I don't even care why anymore.  I think you self-absorbed or snobbish.

You lead me on in public and in private bide your time, it seems.
For your inability to express how you feel...
Or how you feel or think about anything or everything.

You wish to be aloof, like anything, but that just makes One nothing
Known to no-one or anyone alike.
Without a care perhaps, but uncared for as well in retrospect.

Sunday, June 14, 2015

My Aloha From the Warmest Hug

My great Aunt passed away yesterday,
She still lives for weeks or more, now.
When I visit, she's out
But stirs quietly... knowingly... saying glad you come
For when do the dead ever really sleep?
When do the silent stop up ears?
They have eternity for that,
           and they know it!

I tried to thank her for being in my life
All I could do, were bring her my sort of flowers...
Said hello, and ran out to hug the family in tears.
I tried holding conversation,
             Could only say hi and goodbye.
It certainly isn't easy dying,
   but life isn't an easy matter either
   and so I stopped by rather-than get on road
   driving to greater grand canyon where it feels
   like I am every-time people start to depart on some long-goodbye

Long like the grand canyon and as unbridgeable for the current times.

The flowers, they free the space through sound
The visit, but an aloha
But she was glad, She knew like I knew when waking from coma
One can feel people when addressed in that state
And like any waiting room, say in hospital, one doesn't really want to leave
Not really, because most often... it's not to leave
But it is really nice to run into someone you know to pass the time
Or ease troubled mind

Thursday, June 11, 2015

Why Should I be the Bum to Tell You

Pop, don't think a lot!
It makes you dangerous, they say.

Dangerousss, to be educated this day
DANGer ossified
dangerUS the accomplished life
The one entrenched in warfare

But is it war to drive a car?
Is it fighting to stoke the stove?
Last I checked it was getting by...
For the fight is with time, I'm told,
With each us indebted billion-fold.

Once when our heart beat faster from our first kiss
Once when our heart soared from father's pride
Once we found our home in our favorite stick
And once for every pulse shared in any hug

Once when muscle pulled ball to outfield
Once when feet made class on time
Once when teacher smiled with pride
And once, when friends clapped... aside.

Once when deer, dead, had died
Once when beer, bred, had sighed
Once when prose had lied
And once, when fiction had excited.

And in the telling your lives are told, too.
Throw you son down a well, or do your job, cold tale.
Burn that synapse, let it languish and die
Let the light find it's own height.
Which isn't True!
We heart, and laugh, and live beyond four square walls
If the internet is no small testament to that.

Live effin' life, laugh, sing...
Even dance if you have to, because life is poor without wings.
And poorer still without any of these things.

And in stirrings of stillness, the world without does too.
Does live, does laugh, does sing, does dance, does wing
So bums may be happier than you, but with no one to rescue,
While they listen to the mutterings of judgemental people.

But they aren't judges, and neither are you
And just as indebted for the gift of time.
So why not get your money out of politics!
'Tis madness, people are so mad
To think time won't reclaim its losses.

A Place to Paint

Places! in this geography of time
Like news races! in place of mind
I languish thinking of places!
In both space and time
And think of cases! to paint the rhyme

But a place to paint!
And rebutt there's no place of mine...
But there's places!
People spend their life...

Perhaps that's the stasis!
I need to keep in line... with my paint!brush
With an open eye...

---------------------------

With all the fluid of yesterday
Flowing in the holes of paper, fine....
And all the morrows of yesterday lying
In paintbrush, or paint, or page of mine...

It seems such a small thing, then why?
Why agonize finding the prize
When worlds surmount expectation with or without
Frames of surmise or justified heights

Perhaps to surprise!
But also, to fly! with an artistry of mind...

Tuesday, June 2, 2015

If Free Birdies Perched on my Radio

Life was fine the last three
Can't seem to pray more apology
Than thanks to God in heaven for the rain,
Or fine cats, or silent television, or tricky coyotes,
Or sunshine in painting, or ugly goldfish, or clean floor
Or bright birdsong, or saving bucks, or running truck
The world is so green today while yesterday there was a faint rainbow
Just for me, and one before... in public vale of mountain and stream.

There was no me in you I found out, but similarity in tongue and coat.
There was no answer in who I learned, but the capricious found.
And there's thanks be to God for that, too, I suppose,
Where Turns go or don't, they erode the bank
For a river runs through Seldons psychopharmacology,
And all one is left for company when mythory is dispelled.
Even thanks might remain empty, and so I would not give Haldol to the dying
Because within the poppies one would at least need sunshine to make them grow.