Utility Futility

A woman walks into a bar
Trying to be seen for who she are
She might as well stayed in her car
Been ignored at home, not have to drive so far —

Then there’s the man whose words were said
Trying to get her into bed
Without that, he’s as good as dead
‘s not lying, man, the truth’s lost in his head —

We think we know, we think we see
Utility futility
The aberrance that sets us free
From sanity’s sobriety —

She comes home and lets down her hair
Her heavy purse plopped in a chair
She hates it when there’s no one there
Except, she doesn’t really like to share —

And he, too’s gone home for the night
With Brazzers and a Miller Lite
A mouthpiece for his overbite
This warrior whose never seen a fight —

Utility, futility
With shyness or temerity
We wonder wandering and free
As struggling bits of human


Some people say that where they are
Is where they’re meant to be;
For years, I never understood –
Those comments puzzled me

Sometimes, you’re down and desperate,
As I was, long ago:
I saw no reason at the time
Why it needs must be so

For almost thirty years ago
I tried to end my life;
I never would have known my kids
My grandchildren, my wife –

I never would have typed these words
That you are reading now;
I would have been a nobody,
A nothing. A no how —

I couldn’t find a reason,
Couldn’t generate a spark
To see me through the nightscape;
Through the hopeless, whirling dark

But somehow, day led on to day;
And I regained my voice.
Then I decided living
Was my only living choice

I do not know where you might be,
How your life’s filled with pain;
I do not know the grief you’ve felt,
And that, I will not feign —

But this I tell you, reading friend:
There is, most times, a light:
So you can climb the hill ahead,
And fear
No more
The night


(“Nightscape” – 7-1-2015)

And, What Is The Dream?

And, what is the dream?
Is it to own a home?
To build and keep a place
To call your own?

To have a bit of this and that,
Some sour, bitter, and some sweet,
To make the picture, somehow,
Seem complete?

And, what is the dream?
Is it to find real love?
That person who
No other is above?

Who puts you first, and everyday,
Makes silence seem to sing —
Or do you not believe
In such a thing?

And, what is the dream?
Is it to look ahead?
To leave behind the past
And hope, instead?

To maybe think that falling comes
By simply having feet?
And that, only in quitting,
Comes defeat?

In Youth

You asked me once, when we were young,
If love was made to last.
I said I had no way to know:
“The future’s not the past.”
    And on a bridge, beside a pond,
    We sat there, full in youth,
    And wanted nothing comforting
    But truth.

It wasn’t many years before
You found yourself a place,
And built a home and family,
And filled it up with grace.
    For youthful as were all your ways,
    You lived true to your feelings,
    And marked your life with love in all
    Your dealings —

But I went on to just go off.
My heart and mind betrayed me.
I traveled through the manic lands,
For no one could dissuade me.
    Though youngish in experience,
    I felt old in my pain,
    And strove for nothing; all of it
    Seemed vain.

But in those last cold days of youth,
I still remembered us,
And saw you’d made another choice,
Got on a different bus.
    And so I traveled back in time,
    And stood beside this pond,
    To try to look around, and see
    Beyond —

For “young” is everything at once,
And little in return;
There’s cold and empty nights for those
Who always blaze, and burn.
    But honesty’s its own reward.
    In truth, you’d chosen wisely,
    And how my life had gone could not
    Surprise me…

You asked me once, when we were young,
If love was made to last.
A thing you answered for yourself:
“Depends on how it’s cast.
    For love’s a sturdy building
    If we’re careful in its making,
    A thing that starts and ends with