So what now, of betrayal?
When your ‘friends’ leave you behind
For others, or because they think
They’re too good for your kind.
You open up yourself to those
Who look, and then reject you,
But don’t stop there; they then go on
To gather, and subject you
To gossip on your many faults,
As all inside you reels;
To be betrayed by those you trust —
Do you know how this feels?
Ran into her at Target
She said she’d just been fired
Her eyes were glistening and wet
And she looked rather tired
Her hulking boyfriend standing by
She said she’d not foreseen
This coming; nor had she been warned
By any word or mien
But now, well, she would start again
She wanted me to know
That she’d enjoyed our work together
Then she turned to go
And somewhere here on planet Earth
Amid the swirling mob
There’s one more corporate worker
Who’ll wake up
Without a job
I went to see some friends today
Who have a lovely pool –
The day was hot and sweltering;
The pool, though, very cool –
I floated on my back awhile,
And laughed with my old friends;
Then hurried to get back down to town
For work – it never ends –
To overwork is baneful,
I don’t need to be a fool;
So soon, I hope to go back there
And hang out at
The pool
She brings alive the spring, gives summer, heat
Makes autumn blush, and regal winter, pale
She lightly tells the truth, and shuns deceit
And leads to wonder like
a slow unfolding tale
The primary domain of her existence
The natural, the loving, and the weird
I advocate for her, with some insistence
As seasons, glorious,
are there to be revered
“My excuse for writing…, notwithstanding, is merely the human excuse which every new poet has for writing about the spring. ”
Excerpt From: George Santayana. “Three Philosophical Poets.” iBooks. https://itun.es/us/dF_QE.l
He asked me, “Man, what am I supposed to do?”
I told him that I could not answer that.
“You’ve seen her, dude, you’ve know this woman, too;
I don’t think I can stop from where we’re at.”
I had no answers, none. No dim advice
‘Bout who it was he loved and owed his weal;
He said at home, his heart had turned to ice,
And there, no longer, did he really feel.
He left. My counsel he’d not really sought.
I knew the girl, and hoped he would be wise,
And win the sordid battle that he fought
As I had not, when I looked in those eyes
= = = =
(Not a true story. – Owen)
I asked for a friend who’d never leave
And so I got the rain;
She said she’d share a drink with me
Then asked me to explain
Why I’d all these dry habits and
Why I had yet to shed them:
Don’t ask for friends who’ll never leave
You’re just liable
To get them
Have some wine, my friend. It’s good:
It might make you happy –
Just don’t drink so much that you
Go and get all sappy
Watch out for that dark-haired guy,
He’s your kind of cute:
I think that he’s trouble, though,
And engaged to boot
Have some wine, and so will I.
We’re both in our prime:
Friends who have each other’s backs
Having a
Good time
I was contacted by someone
Who lives way off in Kerala;
Whose blog I had been reading and
Whose poetry engendered awe
In me off in America
Here somewhere in the hinterlands.
To make a friend is always good;
But talent makes it own demands
I felt obliged to tell her that.
Her writing, so vibrant, alive –
A voice so brilliant and unique
Should find a place to grow and thrive –
Which she is doing, thankfully.
Reshu, my friend, may you be well:
And may your life give you the chance
To tell the tales
You tell
So well
