From The World

… he stood out from the rest…

Among a world of narcissists
He stood out from the rest;
The model of unint’rested
And heedless selfishness

But all who came to know him longed
In time, to get away;
As he turned inward evermore
And sank below the fray

The selfless lead so many lives
The selfish lead but one;
As daily their few pleasures shrink
Until they’re left with none

The energy we give, somehow,
Is what we come to get:
But we give nothing if we think
Each other is a threat

The scarcity of empathy
Pervades this age and space:
Although we see clown substitutes
Dressed up to take its place

And there he was, the model of
Impassiveness towards others;
No women are his sisters and
No men are seen as brothers

He’s in the world, he’s from the world
And free from sympathy:
He’s everything that’s going wrong
And our
Facsimile

Youngest

My dancing family.

I was trying to dance here too
But at but three months old
I wasn’t very good at it
Or so, at least, I’m told

I was always the youngest
Of the litter, just a pup;
In spite of decades ever since
Of trying to catch up

My sister and brother would retell me –
Every chance they could:
That my youthfulness was annoying to them
And I was little good

Like many youngest children, though
I learned after a while
That what I lacked in size and age
I could make up
In guile

A Round

I should have known better.

She said, “You want to go a round?”
I thought it would be fun —
Until she hit me so damn hard
My eyes began to run

She knocked me on my rump, and then
She kicked me in the head
She didn’t see some gray-haired man
She saw her ex, instead

When I came to, I’d learned a thing
Or two, both quite profound:
An angry woman is no fun,
I’ll pass
Next time
Around

This is My Mom and Dad

.. there’s a story in how they’re looking …

This is My Mom and Dad

This is my mom and dad
About ten years before my birth;
Where it was taken I do not know
I think somewhere on earth

But there’s a story in how they’re looking
Each at one another;
And somewhere within that look there came
A father and a mother

To three little children, a girl and two boys
As different as dawn, night and noon:
They, of course, did not know all this back then
But they would find out soon

They traveled the world with their children in tow
As each one came along;
From high mountain peaks and the valleys below
With sorrow and with song

Just one other family, I guess, to those
Whose god is “society”:
Obscure and unknown to a fame-obsessed world
But everything
To me

Grace: Full or Less?

My wife would be the ‘graceful’ one, here…

My wife accepts our age, while I
Find it a thing insulting;
That it should come upon us
Without so much as consulting

My strong desire to remain younger.
But it seems, so far:
We’re not as old as we feel, rather
We’re as old
As
We are