Pictures tell a thousand words.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Philanthropic but not Rich
We run around the world having fun and praising ourselves
through the only system that keeps our image— entertainment.
This is the black water I have drank from;
I take irony pills for my blood.
I got to say I love my life at times
I live month to month
Paying credit cards off while I struggle to
remain in a heated facility.
I’ve been through gutters
Some cleaner than others
Apartment-size house
An acre of yard—I
could mow in less than an hour.
Running and trying to prove to my mother
I was more efficient than my brother— who
was grown up and still looking
to my mother for money.
At least he was working for it,
until the job was awarded to me.
As I know in hindsight,
my brother was probably pissed off;
and that’s probably why he borrowed my bicycle, that
I paid for with the money I earned, and after twelve months
the inquire was answered with
“I sold it!”
Night Walk
Is the concrete too hard for your fee?
The moon; her long life.
Do you ever think about death: how
you will die.
The words of passed writers,
do they think about what you think of them?
Is the moment too fleeting?
Lives without contemplation:
light still shines stained
glass knight windows,
tannins you drink prolong it—
cycles on.
The plastic and diamonds have similar spans:
unable to see the end.
Becoming old?
Difficult to fathom the cancer hiding
or the ulcers depleting
friends.
Four seasons are all we know.
We don’t separate the years
with dotted lines,
that’s left for the ones forward.
Held until those times,
Dementia: muggers
waiting— shadows.
Belt
Radiation: ozone
loosening up.
Communication,
tightens or ten pounds overweight.
It’s gonna run you...
mechanical serpentines:
SNAKES!
Slacky-two-leg canvas
Heavy: wait
matches soaking wet.
Sprinkle showers between
terrestrial red and the Great Red Spot.
Every other day,
mumbles¼
ending.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Mystery of Trees
Standing like a human
Or waiting for a
dreamer.
Strong and upright
Catching all the gossip
among the wind
Living years vicissitude
Not knowing where it
Begins and when it ends
The streets of solace
Seasons announced
Shedding and green forth blooming
Watching the ages progress
Of friends building nests
It’s becoming a small place
Dirt without many roots
As technology becomes seconds
In a capsule no one takes
Maybe it’s the spinning of the earth
That has created the restless minds
Of this generation
Though the tree believes in the seams
Ensconce
What
about the changes in a person
Where
does the absurdity fall
Where
does the truth lie
Nonsense
has been written
On the
tombs of those before
A distant
word for those who rest
The
thought of society
Need not
mention upon their graves
Only a
welcome of peace
The
fountain of youth waits
On grass
tips of stone
Buried
only for those who believe.
What will
I leave here for you
A tombstone
Or will I
dwell in the shadows of light
Will you
see me
On cold
evenings on empty streets
Of
sidewalks cratered holes
I think
of you and what I will mean to you
How you
will come to know me
In
troubled waters will my echo ring
I am
overly cautious of my own mortality
If only
you could escape knowing unknown like I did
Holding
on until we can both follow the sunrise
Until we
both know the moment of existentialism
Until we
know the moment of fate
Until we
realize we are always bound
In living
and in death and in spirit
—my son.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Library
They're many of cheap shots in life
But you got to know when to throw your punches
Not every battle should take your time
A life is but a second of good and evil
How’s one to choose when the choice is quickened
Who’s to blame in moments of welcome
The many sad times one faces
Death and love hold the hands of our time
It becomes hard to see the reason
A rhyme without any cadence
Picked apart fabrics of soiled clothes
If we could write it out, would it be any better?
Possibly, but the excitement would be mediocre
Just a book on the shelf.
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