On An Old Abandoned Hospital

“I’s” unknown,
So many “they’s”,
From untold places,
Bygone days,
In rooms for healing,
Pass away:
We know this.
But we just

With our contumely
Carry on,
We’re here —-
What matters who is gone?
We think
It isn’t real, beyond,
A faint remaining
Crust

An echo, an
Enablement,
A bill of life
That’s elsewhere spent;
We needn’t hear
What there was meant,
Nor sit down to
Discuss

The primitives
Who came before,
Who lay in here,
Or built this door,
Whose tears and blood
Call from the floor,
“All dust is made
  Of us —“

On An Old Filling Station

Out here, abandoned in the grass,
A vintage filling station:
Where many sat preoccupied
By labor or vacation

As fuel was pumped and windows washed
Supporting life’s-won fruits
To aid the modern family
In nuclear pursuits.

Out here, abandoned in the grass,
And desolate to view,
The end of every precious thing
Once loved for being
New

These Secret Dreams

To give me all I want.

For years these secret dreams my very waking soul would haunt:
To make me into someone, and to give me all I want

But in my dreams, as I’d approach my conquering of all,
I’d walk out for my great debut into an empty hall

The life I wanted then: of glory, riches, fame and lust —
Would prove to be mere vanity; just empty air and dust

I wanted then whatever things to me life could commend:
Not knowing without purpose, I’d get nothing in the end

For life’s more simple – and complex – then I back then suspected:
For purpose, to be meaningful
Must be
Outward
Directed

 

(inspired by this interesting idea.)

The Pride of Lucy

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 flower


 

(“The Pride of Lucy” – 12-27-2015)