A life led by blind desire,
Lurching toward the funeral pyre
Happenstance spun into meaning,
Private times spent posing, preening
Strings of words on worthless air,
Tableaus struck with no one there
Emptiness and vanity,
Sheltered by insanity
Carved from cells once formed by bliss:
All of this
(“So Familiar” – 10-23-2014)
beauty, solace, wealth, and fame –
these fight out a lethal game;
greed and envy sanction hate,
rich to poor, or wan to great.
glamour, passion, toil, and lust:
idols turned to ash and dust —
beauty, solace, wealth, and fame:
gain the wind, but lose
Picture credit : Yung Chao Chen
Within the vineyard of her honeyed youth
The red wine flows through long and draping vines;
From sharpest grape it runs to sweetest tooth,
Down where the soil and the sun combines
To bring about a type of miracle.
A marvel that she’s not thought on for years:
A thing that’s not the least satirical,
A sober thing of ancient engineers.
For light and flippant are her thoughts these days,
Of vanity and life amid the stars;
The latest trend, the hottest fashion craze,
And all the best of nightclubs and of bars —
She stops and blinks, a teardrop to conceal;
Within her father’s vineyard, life was real
Picture / Photo Credit : © Mikhalevich | Dreamstime.com – Vineyards. Watercolor. Photo
Not knowing / anything, really
The only symptoms that we see
Are those expressly chosen for our eyes
The diagnosis we arrive at
Has been shaded and shaped
By clues deliberately dropped there for us
And even more by what hasn't been shown
So we recommend treatment
Not the nature of the disease
Nor its real symptoms
We have no hope of finding a cure
And we genuinely, fervently believe
That we are the enlightened ones
Lucy sat out in the sun
In cold and clear September;
She modeled for us her new life,
I always will remember
The pride she wore upon her face
As she soaked in the rays;
Not knowing pills and Crystal Head
Would soon cut short her days.
The pride of Lucy, young and full
Of beauty and its power;
The sharpened razor blades, so cold,
That hacked to death
(“The Pride of Lucy” – 12-27-2015)
What matters fame? The world is dumb and vain,
And if you do not see, I can’t explain.
For we live complicated lives, and steal,
And lie to make ourselves look more ideal:
It’s foolishness, a flapping in the wind.
The rich make noise, but then die like the rest;
It can be hard to tell then worst from best,
For all, alike, have secret maladies,
And stand accused by old Diógenes
Of emptiness, and flapping in the wind.
For where now is the king, the financier?
Where’s the conqueror, the privateer?
And how much can the dead afford to spend?
Investing is just one means toward our end.
What matters is a day of honest toil,
And some connection ere the day we pass;
It’s knowing that our lives are like a breeze
That ripples gently o’er the summer grass,
For yes, we are but flapping in
How this house sits empty,
That was full of people;
She is now like
She that was great
In our community
The princess of all palaces
Is now good for nothing