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 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.

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)

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?

 

A Litany of Slightest Madness

I’ve always seen what isn’t there,
And so, I’m under doctor’s care;
For through my window eyes I see
Far, far beyond reality

I see the workings of your heart,
How love leaks out in midnight drips;
And how you’d hide it, if you could –
But will and tongue have frequent slips

I’ve felt you kiss me in the night,
In circles all around my face;
But yet, we have not spoken yet,
I guess you need your breathing space

But yet I see the world set free,
And through stone portals, one lone tree,
A sky of blue, a field of green,
And no more bullies. No one mean.

The doctor says I’m very bright,
Her thoughts will be with me tonight;
I view them when she’s not around
You won’t believe what all I’ve found

Her fantasies are very great,
And sometimes, inappropriate;
She also sees what isn’t there,
So maybe my gift’s not so rare —

But you, blog reader, don’t you know
We all have been afflicted so?
We’re mental patients, all of us,
Who blog for therapy. Discuss.

But still, I see inside your head,
Where you would rather be, instead
Of glimpsing what now you full see:
My steadfast, bald insanity

But maybe that’s not there, as well.
With crazy folks, it’s hard to tell:
Tonight, what isn’t there I’ll see,
And aren’t you just a bit
Like me?


 

(“A Litany of Slightest Madness” – 8-7-2015)

I Wandered Into Poetry

I wandered into poetry
Since little else made sense;
For all the clots and retinues
Grew steadily more dense –

But here, in this reality,
I’ve found it to be true
That where our finest speech does naught,
The slightest touch
Might do
 


 

(“I Wandered Into Poetry” – 7-17-2015)

On The Transience and Vanity of Being A Writer

He let imagination play
And spill across each fevered page;
Of life spent at a breakneck pace,
Of love and hate and
Sex and rage

And peaceful moments that would touch
The hearts of any who might see;
But wonders now, and over-much,
If all of it’s
Not vanity

He wanted what he wrote to shine,
The brilliance of a million suns;
But now, he simply wants to write
Some thoughts that you’d read
More than once


 

(“On The Transience and Vanity of Being A Writer” – 7-11-2015)

Near Miss

Years ago
I knew this girl
With a beautiful face and
A beautiful heart

And I didn’t fall in love with her
Nor did I date her

Just in case readers of this blog
Might have started to think
That never happened to me

As a matter of fact, she is now around 50
Like I am
And she’s still beautiful
And we’re still friends

Truthfully, I am still friends with
Virtually all of my
Ex-girlfriends
Mis-dates
Even my ex-wife

Possibly because
None of them know about this blog

I would hope, however, they would approve
Of the models I choose to represent them
In the stock photos I use on these pieces

Anyway, this girl
Looked like the model in the picture above
And she was always cold
Even during Florida summers

And last year, online
As we exchanged pleasantries
She told me that
She had a cat years ago
That she named after me

Because he was so bizarre

And I kind of liked that

Shoes

He’d heard that shoes could make the man.
And so he chose them, carefully:
To show his mastery and span
Of wide parts of society

But one day, when he had to go,
He left one here, to long decay;
It’s empty of its context now,
And baldly shorn of its cachet

For things that outward we display,
Without our inwards, lack all worth:
Like tracks whose trains have gone away,
Or blogs whose authors flee
The earth