The Sun Sets on the Standing Stones

The widsom that I seek seems out of reach.

The sun sets on the standing stones.
The clouds, the moon, the stars still move in track.
The widsom that I seek seems out of reach,
And questioners and doubters, still catch flack

Especially from those who pose as questioners.
These hunt down searchers with great indignation:
Returning then to palaces of folly
In orgasms of self-congratulation

The Price The Tribe Demands

In thought and look and feeling

In action and in word

That’s overlooked, or sanctioned

To swallow the absurd

In reasons for our reasons

To hide what’s true or real

Complicity –
Acceptance of what’s evil

And paucity
In truth to what we feel

The Purple Sheep of the Family

I don’t do anything the way I should.

I don’t do anything the way I should;

I failed my class in simple fitting in.

But somehow, I feel happy anyway —

In spite of all the scrapes I’m getting in


And out of everyday, from being weird.

I don’t think my condition is that rare —

I don’t do anything the way I ought,

And what is more, I do not seem

To care


Very human traits.

Foolishness and hatred?
That’s what other people do –
For in the world of politics
There’s only “us” and “you” —

“You people” who don’t care, and want
All good things to destroy —
To hate from safe within a crowd:
That brings some people joy

But if you don’t see crowds, but see
Each person as they go:
The words seem empty and belied
By every truth we know

For foolishness and hatred, both
Are very human traits:
Beware those who encourage them,
And leave them to their fates

For life is hard when squarely faced,
And good we manage, barely —
For it is all that we can do
To treat each other