The Dating Blogger (A Cautionary Tale)

She wrote often on intimate subjects;
He obsessed often about them.
So, to his mind,
They were perfect for each other.

And she lived in the very same city!
So, he contrived to meet her;
Fascinated with this beautiful woman
Who wrote so passionately about
Enjoying physical relations with men —
Sex without relationships.

So, he did meet her.
She was polite, but, most definitely,
Not interested.
He was confused and angry.
How could this be?

Oh, my poor unfortunate friend:
Just because she enjoys dating men,
Doesn’t mean she wants to be with you;
And “Sex without relationships”
Doesn’t mean “Sex with people
You aren’t attracted to.”

The moral of the story
For heterosexual guys looking for
Sex without relationships
Is as follows.

Attractive jerks:
Welcome to the 21st century!
It is all yours.
But then,
It probably was ever thus.

Unattractive jerks:
Sorry dudes.
Life can really suck.

Of course, you COULD
Look for an actual relationship
With a woman
Not based solely on sex.

There is even a rumor out there
The sex in an actual relationship
Is considerably more satisfying.

Schrödinger’s Cat

So, I was here watching Schrödinger’s cat,
Now it’s both dead and alive:
How it has managed this, I do not know.
Somehow, though, it did contrive

So both to be and to not-be at once
Putting poor Hamlet to shame:
So the old Law of Non-Contradiction’s
Broken, and I am to blame.

So in the middle of Animal Rights
Physics, and Theater too —
I’ve violated immutable laws
What’s a poor blogger to do?

 

Spent Manic Blossoms

The few, short hours that we get
To sit upon the dying grass,
The days of sunlight soon to fade,
As they, like we, are born to pass –

Habitual endearing of
Those close enough to plunder —
And this, we’ve come to glorify;
It sort of makes you wonder

A song this morning played, a song
Of love that just went wrong;
It had a beat, we danced to it,
It didn’t last that long

Then guided by our appetites
We craved the beat unceasing –
And bought what wasn’t anyone’s
For having or for leasing

It’s only life. It’s only art.
It’s only six A.M. —
The sun is shaking off its sleep,
It’s soon to rise again –

I think the sun’s benign, another
Elementary blunder;
In days that butcher who they can –
It sort of makes you wonder

The girl that’s looking straight at me
Is only eight years old;
She knows no trepidation, she
Is wild as she is bold

How can the aging father say
The young should wary be?
I turn to go about my day,
And trust posterity

Will lead her to a world of light
The world she sees before her;
I won’t pour water on her soul,
Not badger, nor ignore her

Perhaps, she is a healer, not
One made to mar or plunder —
What she could be, we should have been,
It sort of makes you wonder

Behold, the living narrative
Is spun before our eyes;
It’s there to tell us how to live,
What we should hate, or prize –

But every kind of shadow blocks
Some other kind of light;
And wear whatever mask you will
It’s coming off tonight

Insanity and vanity,
They’re our one legacy;
As we will follow slavishly
Our prized un-parity –

It kind of makes you wonder;
Then again, it just may not —
The few, short hours that we get
To sit until
We rot

The vistas of your mind

I see the vistas of your mind
  as carried through your words;
  the colors of your feelings,
  ever-changing –

The way you restlessly explore
  each strange and new adventure;
  the many places that your heart
  is ranging —

And what this is, is hard to know:
  your vision, planted in my mind,
  a place, I’ll never, ever go,
  but can see, nonetheless

Your mind is ever altering,
  responding and transforming,
  and my own thoughts and feelings
  rearranging

Blog Lonely

Blog Lonely

People, they long for connection
They yearn to be touched, to be heard;
To bathe in the warmth of affection
To soak in a passionate word

They worry their time has receded
That they won’t escape from their shell:
People, they want to be needed
And need to be wanted
As well

The Poet’s Fate

They wonder why he writes so much,
That there’s so few will ever read;
And what this strange compulsion is,
This all-embracing need —

But long he travelled through the shadows
Of the vale of night:
He first wrote just to breathe,
But now he breathes
So he can write


 

(“The Poet’s Fate” – 11/6/2014)