Constrast and Counterpoint

Across the lake, the crying of the birds
Within my head, the emptiness of words

The winter with it’s promise soon to come
The lonely cold inside that leaves me numb

The sunrise spilling truth for those who see
The darkness of my own hypocrisy

The world is glory, magic and surprise
And I’m no one I even recognize

This Is Where I Live

This is where I live,
This is where I go,
This is what I see,
This is what I know.

Maybe it’s not much,
Leaf and tree and fall;
Yet, though I’ve lived long,
I don’t know it all.

This is why I drive.
This is why I roam:
I must understand
And take in my home,

So that I may love,
So that I may give —
This is all I am,
This is where
I live

Dull

In real life, I am really dull.
So I made a persona:
A poet who goes everywhere –
To Spain, to Arizona —

Who plumbs the depths of human heart,
And gauges those in power;
Who sings upon a concert stage
And climbs the highest tower —

Instead of just some bald guy, who
By accident of birth
Was made to say things rhythmically
His days upon the earth

To make a world of sound and word
That’s rich, alive, and full —
Instead of being what he is:
That’s really,
Really
Dull

Self Portrait J

A helper, at best.

The world is full of alpha males
And I am very beta,
Or gamma.. or even upsilon

So I became a poet, where
Aggressiveness was not
A prerequisite

I am not a conquerer; I
am a helper, at best, and
A layabout, at worst

I am an accompanist
Not a soloist; I
Play rhythm,
Not lead

I sometimes
Wish I could
Conform to
Type

But
don’t
we
all?