Prices soar, politicians whore, and prostitutes score;
One door closes, another opens, everyone wants more
To hoard; the journalist is bored; strike a new chord;
Renegades for hire guns to fire, while children in dire
Need of food ‘n clothing are sold to the highest buyer;
Ah! but there is one Stream, beam of Light, that runs
Through our world, curled round the globe, and her
Body is full, free-flowing, and glowing with righteous
Indignation; she’s ready to flood, wash away the blood
Of the Innocents along with the mud of wickedness,
To cleanse this Earth of pollution and destitution
In resolution of Creation’s absolution, and her Light
Will shine brighter than the Sun with new life begun,
And there will be no more war, tight lumps of hunger,
Or loud political trumps, or over-satisfied billionaire
Plumps who thump along life’s highway day after day;
There is indeed the Stream, and she’s about to overflow
And blow away the chaff and trash as she flows on…
And on and on.
No, I am not old and cold and stale,
But I am not young, my life just begun;
Age is creeping in, yet I’m no sage,
Just one man with heart broken into
Too many parts to piece back together,
But not for lack of trying with crying;
Too much has come-n-gone, some good,
Much not, and I’ve sought redemption,
Sanctification and glorification, too,
But I’m left in mortification of life
So rife with pain with no gain, and I
Wonder if I’m going insane; yet there
Is also some joy in more than mere toys;
Real life peels back layer after layer
And I begin to find my true self without
Any skew of reality and hope God will
Yet renew this tarnished man, who once
Was varnished in youth but shy of sooth;
I hope upon hope one day to find my way
To the Valley of Peace for new lease
On life; to right some of the wrongs
That haunt me day and night in plight
Of aging while yet not old and cold.
My life is mid-stream. Can I reach back to reclaim something good and worthwhile before heading on to the other shore? Or is there more where I am that I cannot see to be grasped and enjoyed in maturity with the surety of heavenly days and carefree ways? Ah! Spirit of Life, help me to see and to be all that I can be as an unyoung yet not old man!
Such variation and complexity in such simple beauty,
An icon of Beauty, incarnation of complex simplicity;
This is you, primal and true, intriguing narration of
Ongoing evolutionary creation and with no stagnation,
But only continuation without cessation; ah! I can feel
Vibration of all-Life in your sinews and veins and in
Every joy and pain in the chain of existence linking
Each part to part in the Cosmic whole, enlivened by
Soul, pulsating in captivating Life in so many lives,
In my life … miniscule life in your Life, precious.
The lawn is now green,
Hides an unseen world,
An amazing scene…
And teeming with life,
Seeming so simple,
Hymnal of grandeur…
Icon of Beauty,
And duty of Life
Against strife of death.
She gave me a touchstone, my love, an amethyst quartz
From the ports of heaven to leaven my days with hope,
To broaden the scope of my dreams, my Sélená, screams
Of laughter in place of disaster; all I have to do is
Touch and there is so much in the amethyst, catalyst
To happier ways through brighter days; and I kiss this
Stone and there is bliss, even though I dearly miss her,
My Sélená of Ten Thousand Falls, but she calls to me
In the night and then the dark is bright; ah! she gave
Me an invaluable gift to lift my spirits; there is no rift.
Thank you, dear and gentle and strong Sélená!
They’re coming for you, man; that’s the plan.
They’re at your door; you’re on the floor,
Sore from trying to bide your time and hide,
But it’ll do no good; you’ve stood your ground
For the last time; you hear the clock chime
And you know, don’t you, the rhythm and rhyme
Of your sordid, self-centered ways have come
To the end of their days; and what can you say?
You pass thru life like a crass ass and expect
Everyone to throw logic into the wind and bend
To your every whim, even though in the main
You’re quite insane… But it’s over now, boy!
You’ll no longer toy with other precious lives
To satisfy your muck and mire desires, oh no!
They’re here for you now; you may as well bow
To the hand of Fate finally slammed down now
To satiate justice by the compass of heaven,
And how luscious it is, so sweet with every
Beat of your pounding heart — no good part —
Ah! you weren’t smart enough to see it coming,
Looming on the horizon, but you’ll agonize in
Crazed, bull-headed sin now, so crawl on the
Floor, but they’re at the door to even the score!
Note: “Titty Baby” is a derogatory term used for someone, usually an adult male, who’s “still on the tit,” that is, coddled and pampered (usually by his mamma); an adolescent-type man, who usually has to have his way in life and throws a tantrum if he doesn’t get what he wants; a “mamma’s boy.”
Do you dream of higher ways on better days
That lays like a brick thick in your heart,
Cutting at the corners, making incisions
With precision, leaving you with decisions
To make that bake in your mind, the kind
That leaves you panting on the bare floor,
Moving around your house like an ugly boar;
It’s an undiluted chore to dream such dreams
Of a lighter future within brighter tomorrows;
And is it worth it to birth thoughts of mirth?
Or is there only pain in store for the whore
Of such fantasy? You take your time and make
Your pretty cake and eat it, too, no matter
How blue you feel as you peel away reality
Layer by layer all to still dream your dreams
Of much brighter ways on much better days…
They say that a smile is but a frown turned upside down;
One smile can lift the heart of a stranger you’ve just met;
One smile can leave joy in the soul, a lasting silhouette;
One smile can be a precious gift that heals a painful rift;
One smile can sift thru the muck and mire to find a choir
Of angels singing, bringing happiness to the dreary weary;
One smile can turn tears of fear into a sphere of splendor,
An atmosphere of grandeur and render terror quite tender;
They say that a smile is but a frown turned upside down;
Perhaps, but one smile can certainly turn life right-side up!
So silently, surreptitiously, and smoothly do you slide in with ocean tide to abide in abode of my soul, making hearth of my heart your home, again and once again, yet never to stay, to be held at bay, whatever I might say; so sing your song sung blue and true, old and ever-new. Have only some few become your lovers, who hover around your every word, hoping for your tender, titillating touch, not much but just enough.
Oh sweet Selene of Yaşam Ruh’u, what do you do in your smoothly silken, silver brush through the air, so fair and wild, what we cannot bear yet in which we share but for fleeting moments, enough to lift our care. Ought we beware of you, so true but wrapped in mystery, your history largely unknown because that you have not shown. We have but some small share in the treasure you bring, as you sing in the breeze with eloquent ease.
We used to kiss in the grove of old hickory trees and honey bees;
You would tease and I would please.
We used to hold hands along the beach, our passion just within reach;
And each of us promised to teach.
We used to lie side by side, naked under the moon, hide under stars;
Not too soon to move, and sing a lovely tune.
We used to be and see each other — sister, brother; mother, lover;
Was it all a fabricated lie in some sweet by and by?
Now there is not even glances or the casual visit, but do we miss it?
You go your way, and I go mine, and that’s just fine…
But it tears my heart, part by part.
I miss you.