Archive | January 2019

Sicker Hickory Dock

I’ll come down with a fever and up to a few
Of some more fancy word stunts. I get my sick on
By constructing some scaffolding then laying brick
So to not give away the most secret word trick
That has ever seen daylight and then called it dawn
As if clocks and blind mice give a meaningful clue.

Some folks find that their hickory, made of pure dock,
Should not be locked in dickory, as it’s been told.
Many folks will have nothing to do with a dick.
When the word appears randomly, it makes them sick.
There’s no dick in the title. Perhaps this is sold
At face value, somewhat like the face of a clock.

Could one say that good hickory makes the mouse run
Any faster than it would on red wooded pine?
Thinking it doesn’t matter may cause time alarm.
We can see that it’s animate and can feel harm
All the while one may wonder if everything’s fine
When perhaps it is natural to feel undone.

So, no dick in the hickory! Not on my watch.
There are much better parts to use to build a verse.
There’s abundance of hickory and time to see
That the blind mice are fading most assuredly.
Often times it may seem that things couldn’t get worse
Then it happens again that we’ve come down a notch.

Dummy Load

Jan30

So now what’s the next theory? This one didn’t work
Like I damned well expected. At least it makes sense.
I have tremendous output, but it doesn’t reach,
Through the airwaves abundant, the world I beseech.
Is there off-time reserved for the load who repents?
Any semblance of feedback for me is a perk.

When at all I’m turned on and transmitting, I feel
Like a well-tuned transceiver with standard high gain
And acute sensitivity to frequencies,
Sometimes sanguine and subtle to put folks at ease.
Could the truth be that I have been rendered insane
By believing that what I say is a big deal?

Dummy loads are transceivers who do so alone
With themselves and no others – not in the small room.
Those with voice of high wattage are heard peak to peak
By those who digest carefully all that they speak.
Feeling hot like a dummy load, does passion fume
Even though interaction is not to be shown?

I will just keep transmitting, perhaps in the blind,
And receiving what’s out there. Might I be there too?
After all, what I want is only within me.
Am I fortunate that I can finally see
The stark difference absent between me and you?
To myself and to others, I should be more kind.

How I Think Is How I Feel

Jan29

If I think like I give a fuck how come I feel
Obsolete in my usefulness to humankind?
Is my thinking fallacious? Does it sound profane?
With my thoughts in a bad place, ‘damned right I feel pain!
I would not be a thing to which thoughts are assigned
Nor a non-willing subject resigned to ordeal.

If I think someone’s wonderful I cannot hold
Deep resentment toward that person, nor can I think
Someone’s awful and have feelings of sheer delight
For that person. Indeed, I may be prone to fight.
But often it so happens I am out of sync
With my thoughts and my feelings. This makes me grow old.

It is this fluctuation within mind and heart
When one acts, in my judgement, not in a kind way,
Pent up feelings can’t turn on a dime and concur.
Might adjusting my thinking do much to deter
Out-of-phase oscillations that may screw my day?
I have choice in the matter. I need not take part.

Taking part in existing is simple enough
When I take not for granted all things as they are.
Life will be as it will be. I am as I am.
A possessed algorithm within a program
In a system of consciousness, I’ve not strayed far
From the nerve I am given to call my own bluff.

Surrender Yourself

Jan28

When one speaks of surrender, what does the word mean?
Passing from limitations of one dimension
To the ones of another… That seems to be fair
In describing the need to be lighter than air.
Giving in to a good thing is most often fun
Otherwise, if it’s stressful, no freedom is seen.

And we do value freedom more than we may know.
We will slither through filth and scale difficult heights
To hold on to what everyone claims as a right.
If we feel we’re restricted, we will get uptight.
Challenge to basic rights is the cause of most fights
So the best thing to do is to go with the flow.

In this physical form there are gates I won’t pass.
But becoming inane in an unbridled way
And in no way conditional is, I may find,
A wisely prescribed method to settle the mind.
When to know to surrender is but mine to say.
Between feeling and knowing, there is no crevasse.

The Shoes People Choose

Jan27

When some people are wealthy they tend to buy shoes.
It’s a faint curiosity as with most things.
But for sole reinforcement it is but a farce –
An insult to the poor one whose wardrobe is sparse.
Incomplete satisfaction self-indulgence brings
To flamboyantly rich ones compelled to abuse.

Our feet must have protection. The soles must be tough
To defend well the tenderness of the bare feet.
Our lives must have fulfillment or else we will feel
That we have not a reason to deal with what’s real.
Nothing beats the reality of sheer conceit
Intertwined with our natures. We can’t get enough.

To master economics and stay in the black
Or to tread life in true work – which path is more wise?
Shoes require some polishing. They’re prone to wear.
If some look at my shoes I don’t need them to stare.
They may speak of my status. They are not a prize.
They get me where I’m going, and I don’t keep track.

Dealing With Insecurity

Jan26

I believe in telepathy though I have mind
To curse others who have it because I do not.
If I’m not good with social cues, why am I here?
Since I am so disabled, should I live in fear?
Hanging tight to my own tree, I’m destined to rot.
Life would be a breeze if human nature were kind.

Am I out of my element? Which would that be?
The same one that we all are suspended within?
Why can’t I see what happens the way that you do?
Are we kids on the playground where I have no clue?
I feel so damned transparent and riddled with sin.
I sequester an anger that may become me.

Is there any way out of this confounded mess
Surely of my creation? I should not forget
That I’m here to experience – not to avoid
But a measure of wonder. All will be destroyed
At some point in existence. I feel not regret.
There is nothing to gain nor lose, therefore why stress?

I’m A Christian

Jan25

Can’t you tell I’m a Christian? I only do right.
With my face bright and holy I edify God.
He and I are best buddies. He gives me his word
Then I act out in ways in which I had preferred
All the while feigning praises as those close applaud.
I’m a Christian, and I know damned well how to fight.

But with who am I fighting? God points out the ones
Who deserve condescension and my holy wrath.
Controlled women, more guns and straight sex is a must
Unless I’m made a preacher immune to distrust.
The direction I choose is always the right path.
I’m a bible technician whose mind has the runs.

What you do is my business, dear brother in Christ.
It’s made clear in the document, therefore repent.
We shall sing halleluiah together Sundays
Then right after revert to the usual craze.
To identify that which can cause ill content
Is a God given talent, and not highly priced.

How To Make Sense Of A Handful Of Wind

Jan24

One with pregnant unseemingly birthed from a tree
No command of a semblance ensnares proper thought
Cast off feelings deterred amid marble in flight
Would be shrouded in wonder if nothing went right
Carried apples with caramel never store bought
Leaves a fine world to marry for just you and me

Right upside the sick poodle can a noodle bite
Like a flea-bitten flood hound defaced and made odd
To the ear that discerns all that has to take place
In a foul fisted hammer enrolled in a race
To the finishing rainbow who’d give not a nod
So selectively sequined soul sturgeons seek sight

Sadly salt savers surely since sugar sanguine
Says that all who may master the muster made mild
One can know that one knows not all that one has known
Throughout eons existing one has not a throne
Where as one sits upon it one must become wild
Even though not long winded the hands are just fine

A Danger To Self Or Others

Jan23

I do not what to be here. I’ll cut to the chase
And the heart of the truth about being alive.
To be made to feel gratitude is servitude
To the aspects of nature that make creatures rude.
So, how come there are apes now? Or did we contrive
Our cosmetic comparisons to praise our race?

We are doomed to the drama. We can’t get along.
Neither pair nor two dozen or whole nations full
Of a vain human species can hope to be kind
To all persons at all times. This serves to remind
Me that life has no meaning and bull has much pull.
Latency becomes blatant with numbness to wrong.

Are we bored? Then let’s argue. It’s all just a game
That we may end up making a fight to the death.
Don’t you dare disrespect me whoever you are.
I don’t like being human. That should leave a scar
On the face of psychosis ‘til its dying breath.
That I’m still here and breathing, I do take the blame.

We are locked in our corners. We each have our views
Of how things must be looked at. This is a good thing.
It will grow to infect us and hasten our will
To engage self-destruction unto nature’s thrill.
If I weren’t feeling dangerous you’d hear me sing
Like a sick sack of suds who has nothing to lose.

Approaching Death With Grace

Jan22

When someone we know dies it’s as if a big piece
Of our own life is suddenly taken away.
Most get through the process of their grieving with grace.
Still there is a deep sorrow that time may erase.
Yet we know this will happen to all life someday.
Every life that we know of will at some time cease.

Life decides when to leave us. We have not the choice
When it should or it shouldn’t. We will, while alive,
Try our best to sustain it. At birth we inhale
And at death we exhale. Nature’s law does prevail.
From the moment of being we’re here to survive
So the last thing to do here would be to rejoice.

We’re all dying through living in this time and place.
If I stop to examine the life I live now
Can I see death as part of life and be content
In the process of being? I feel we were meant
To embrace our mortality and to allow
Life to spend a brief time here and then leave in grace.

Successful Introvert

Jan21

How dependent on labels our lives have become.
Confusing exhalation with inhalation
In the midst of one’s breathing is how one behaves
When engaging delusion. It only enslaves.
One’s direction is set only by intention
But one must take the journey and celebrate some.

No such thing as an introvert or extrovert
Does exist in reality – only in thought.
Some of us feel the need to stand up and take charge
While some others are not so inclined, by and large.
So they’re not using twitter. Contentment is sought
In their own way of life with no will to assert.

No conclusions are needed to identify
What I see right before me with an open mind
And clear vision of what only I can provide.
In pursuit of the outcome, process is denied.
As I’m focused and engaged, I am more inclined
To be much more successful than fate would imply.

Forest In The Trees

Jan20

There’s an awfully big picture. I’m told this is so.
They do call it a forest. I only see trees.
And each one monolithic is massive and whole.
What is outside the forest I cannot control
Nor all that which is inside. My mind clearly sees
Conflagration of detail with passion to grow.

I can move about freely. I make my own path.
I may meet other travelers and test their ways.
The big picture within the big picture, it seems,
Is the one I’m accustomed to because it teems
With more that I can handle in all of my days
Pondering its beginning and grand aftermath.

Somewhat safe in the forest, I should take some care
That the trees I encounter are worthy or not
Of wholehearted attention. The world then becomes
Not an unfriendly jungle where beating the drums
Of resentment can too often get one’s ass shot.
There are so many pathways that lead to despair.

Hoboken Hobo

Jan19

The Hobo from Hoboken has nowhere to go
Knowing he has no future nor past – only now.
He has time to consider mistakes he has made
While all others just like him are made in the shade.
The man does not feel lazy with sweat on his brow.
And for all his hard work he has nothing to show.

He’s the Hoboken Hobo who’s broken and beat
To the pavement from competition in the race.
Certainly there are others, but he is the one
Who is seldom believed in. No growth has begun
In his long run attempting to keep up the pace
As the corporation aims to crank up the heat.

Perhaps not quite outspoken, the Hoboken man
Is a token identity too often seen
Not on billboards across our divine fruited plains
But in urban streets where disillusion remains.
Is it fair that society is a machine?
Ask the Hoboken Hobo who has not a plan.

Make A Decision You Won’t Regret

Jan18

To identify dreams, goals and aspirations
Is to be a fine citizen worthy of praise.
What I did twenty years ago is not the same
As what I’m doing now. And by that I proclaim
That my dreams may entrap me in manifold ways.
Maybe I should have heeded my wise older ones.

Take a break from distraction and influences
That surround me, and take a long look deep inside
To discover what moves me. This way, I am told,
Is the way to choose rightfully that which is gold.
Quite unlike personality fettered in pride,
My true calling is absent of all weaknesses.

When you make a decision, do so from the heart.
Personality means that persona is fused
To the person. Indeed, I must pry it away.
If I leave it stuck to me all throughout the day
It becomes ineffective and then self-abused.
When it comes to your choosing, let spirit take part.

Wake Me When The Witch Is Dead

Jan17

It’s a good life in Kansas. I’d rather stay here
Than be knocked quite unconscious and grabbed by the house
To be dropped on a brick road of red, white and blue.
I engage with the storyline and as I do
Its perverse, wicked witchery I will espouse.
The suspense, a surreal thing, is rooted in fear.

I would be called a munchkin if I left my state
Of alignment with selfhood and lightness of heart.
In the dreamworld we see technicolor as real.
There’s a hint of nostalgia in how people feel
About wizards who strive not to drive folks apart.
Does this tale have a climax? We’ll just have to wait.

But while waiting, do I care to watch the grass grow
Through the cracks in the pavement? That wouldn’t seem wise.
I know that the big city is glittered in green
And the folks who play games there can play rather mean.
To be bored with the world dream comes as no surprise.
Wake me when it’s all over. I may want to know.

Operating System Corrupted

Jan16

Get in touch with the enemy. Model their acts
And make sure that their vanities can be controlled.
As their ways are well studied one can gain access
To their innermost workings. Their minds are a mess!
They will sell you their secrets for trinkets, we’re told.
Easily they are driven by alternate facts.

They believe in their system. We must do the same.
Though we raise much suspicion, no one will respond
In enough time to stop us dead cold in our tracks.
As we screw them, their journalists air our attacks.
Those who matter are impotent and tend to bond
With whoever is dominant. They have no shame.

Easily they’re corruptible, gaping in awe.
In slow motion, explosiveness looks like a dream.
As it happens in real time, is real damage done?
They will speak all about the man holding the gun
As he shoots at them. Not even thinking to scream,
They’re a curious system confounded in flaw.

Whiteface

Jan15

Does America have a big whiteface again?
Or can we ever have one that all can call ours?
Do we seem like a friend to bewildered allies?
Has the fate of our statehood become someone’s prize?
Is it likely that we are now governed by czars?
Do we act out in whiteface like proud gentlemen?

What’s the state of creation in our nation now?
Is it one of relationship or battle cries?
We’re at war with our damned selves! No thing leads us on
Like rekindled resentment from which hope is drawn.
We’re a state in a state of most lethal white lies.
We could redeem ourselves if we only knew how.

We depend on our dough-people maybe so much
That we think they aren’t human. Therefore, the machine
Of self-government needs a full check of its gears.
But it is somewhat human. It does shed its tears.
Absolute in snow whiteness, much chaos is seen
And the heat of our drama is cold to the touch.

Why Am I Stressed?

Jan14

Do not work, and don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.
You may be under pressure but make no mistake.
I will clothe you and feed you and give you a roof.
One who’d make such a promise is made of disproof.
If my thinking is heavy and clearly opaque
Is there anything worthwhile that I can then do?

Can I sit and be blissful alone in one place
For a brief march of minutes? That should not be hard.
If it is, then it means only one sundry thing.
I have not done what is necessary to bring
Simple mindfulness back into proper regard.
If the masses can’t do that, is that a disgrace?

Like the fragrance of jasmine on life’s summer breeze
I’ve no choice but to linger until lingering
Dissipates in completion of purpose assigned.
What I’m thinking and feeling are so intertwined
That I can’t blame another for what life may bring.
On that basis, can I put my stressing at ease?

Head Or Heart

Jan13

Head and heart are two totally separate things.
What is seen on the surface also is within.
We alone complicate things. The creatures of wild
See all life as one simple thing – much like a child,
But with intent well focused. I’ll dare to begin
A statement of inquiry as if it has wings.

Can the heart speak of anything? I would think not.
It just wants to keep blood flowing. That is its job.
It need not be articulate – only steadfast
That its date with my breathing will not be its last.
Now, there are quite a few things that make the heart throb.
People could say it’s speaking then. I’d say they ought.

The heart has only two sounds: Dub-Lub and Dub-Lub.
Only on rare occasion does it verbalize
In an aberrant manner. But, unlike the brain,
Nothing can happen to it to drive it insane.
If I came to believe that the heart can be wise
Would that mean I’d be giving my poor brain the snub?

Meditation is not interrupted by thought.
I would not ask the kidneys nor liver to cease
Their sustaining their function as peace do I seek.
It’s refreshing to learn that all organs do speak
In the language they’re used to. The mindful release
Of the unwanted chatter is then what is sought.

Wisdom, Meditation And Bliss

Jan12

Mysticism means exploration into things
That I have not the knowledge of – so far, so good.
Everything that I know not, I can’t understand.
If I find one with wisdom and peacefulness grand,
Is that person anointed with true guruhood?
Is what I know that others don’t worthy of wings?

If I lost all my assets and felt quite depressed
My mind would try to trick me into true demise.
But if I held my breath for two minutes, I’m sure
That abundantly free air would act as the cure
For my habit of teetering on compromise
Of my spirit. Sometimes, it’s adversely expressed.

The most sophisticated machinery here,
The unique human body is of pure design.
Yet it can be encumbered with high maintenance.
That appears true for most folks and seems to make sense.
Living totally means that there is no deadline
When it comes to engaging all that we hold dear.

Put Your Bitch On The Street!

Jan11

Messed with government workers, here’s some good advice.
I can tell that you’re just a tad miffed, but don’t sweat.
So you’ve tried a few yard sales, and that didn’t work?
I can show you some sympathy. I’m not a jerk!
You may eat cake and suffer my unyielding threat.
I’m profoundly grotesque, and it’s hard to be nice.

Have you talked to your landlords? They should share the blame.
After all, there is plenty. You all must partake.
Everyone in this nation is under my rule.
Anyone who thinks otherwise is a damned fool.
I can’t care about you. My own ass is at stake.
Fairly soon I’ll feel justice. You should feel the same.

Put Your Bitch On The Street! Leave the kids on their own.
Her income will replace yours while I break some wind.
If she’s not in the best shape, offer a discount.
Anyone with cold cash and is willing to mount
Is an asset you cannot afford to rescind.
All this talk of a crisis is way overblown.

Mow The Grass, Tyson!

Jan10

Oh, go Mow The Grass, Tyson! Please shut your machine.
No one else is as smart as you. We all get that.
Your profound observations and statement of facts
Are akin to how one with an attitude acts.
If Einstein were alive now you’d get tit for tat!
You may not be the smartest one this world has seen.

You don’t have to wear black so much. We see that too.
Perhaps done quite unconsciously, there’s no mistake
That there’s pride in your presence. The smug in your smirk
Is a testament to your most outstanding work.
But when you are on camera, please give us a break.
Few can understand most things the way that you do.

Mow our minds, Mr. Tyson. We all need a trim.
Some intellectual aristocracy can,
In the course of a short while, enlighten the heart.
The bright mind and warm spirit are not far apart
In the person of this brilliant jerk of a man.
After ten minutes of him, I’m filled to the brim.

Compassion And Virtue

Jan9

When I do not identify with anything,
Then in absolute virtue my living will be.
I am filled with compassion for all that exists…
Even those who, in blindness, are flailing their fists.
Only when not identifying can I see
What I may have to offer. What peace may I bring?

People are sympathetic to some noble cause.
But in being so biased, compassion declines
For all else not identified with what we love.
Therein lies some resentment. Can we get rid of
Unbecoming behavior? The heart undermines
The intent to think clearly from adequate pause.

When compassion encompasses every last one
On this planet or wherever consciousness plays
Throughout space-time and being, will we have done well?
Within every infinity chaos must dwell.
So, it does well behoove us to measure our days
As if all of creation had never begun.

Gratitude Is Not Attitude

Jan8

It’s an intricate fabric of which I’m a thread.
There is always a place where I’m part of the fold.
Neither feelings of loneliness nor perceived guilt
Can convene to antagonize what has been built
Over eons. My true heart cannot be controlled
By illusions of misfortune that lie ahead.

As life happens around me, the thing I see most
Is how much is involved in the moment at hand.
Every bite that I take… many did make it so
Through the chain of production, as most people know.
What goes into each moment, then, is rather grand.
I can take time to be and be fully engrossed.

Gratitude is not attitude. It’s a wellspring
That flows freely from feelings of utter content.
To call such thing an attitude doesn’t say much.
It implies I’m aggressively cold to the touch.
Gratitude is a break from my will to resent.
It’s a pleasure to be a part of everything.

Decisions

Jan7

Much of life is of choices made throughout the day.
I can meet every moment in torment or joy.
I can help this behavior through clarity keen.
No one else can act for me nor stand in-between
Me and what I’ve decided. My will I employ
To live life as I choose to. Is this not our way?

My emotions go up and down. Talk in my mind
Is quite often chaotic. It makes not much sense.
It says nothing of import. It changes its tune
Pitching one thing at breakfast… its counter by noon.
Clarity in the moment is one’s sole defense
Because therein, one’s choices cannot be maligned.

Difficult are decisions made under some stress.
I’ll become then compulsive with clarity gone.
As I make them in happiness, clearly I see.
If I fuss much about them, confused I will be.
Yet there is inner guidance I rely upon
If I can but remember when under duress.

A Peaceful Mind

Jan6

As we grow to be human, our lives get complex.
Other creatures with stomachs full just lie around.
But when humans are satisfied, really, we’re not.
We will seek out new problems and give them a shot.
What is sought after diligently is then found.
One’s illusions are built upon what one expects.

Life ends not with survival for we human kind.
It begins with it, and that is not a good thing.
We’re not meant to be busy. We’re meant to chill out.
Most our illnesses come from our stressing, no doubt.
If we did much less of it, would happy hearts sing?
Everything is at peace to one who is aligned.

Yet, A Peaceful Mind is not the highest of goals
As it is fundamental to all that we do.
If done so in enjoyment, all acts must be done
In the state of A Peaceful Mind. Can life be fun?
Surely turmoil is lessened with a clearer view
Of a much grander clockwork engaging our souls.

Bad Hair Day

Jan5

One might ask a Zen master if he has bad days.
After all, it’s a good question. Most of us do.
He would probably answer, “That wouldn’t be wise.
I’m alive and at peace below clear sunny skies.
If I labeled my days good or bad as do you
Any worm of a thought might engender malaise.”

Processes that define us, too many to name,
Are of yet a few categories to be known.
Existential are most, and we pay them no mind.
But the ones psychological are of a kind
That when focused on too long, the mind can be blown.
Most of us with no training can play an ill game.

The Creator’s creation must impact the soul…
Not the one that I made and placed inside of me.
Concentrate on the grandeur? Can such a thing work?
I’ve no choice but to try or go waxing berserk.
I’m some clinical label if I want to be.
But I don’t. Peace in tranquility is my goal.

God And The Scientists

Jan4

It so happened in the twenty fourth century
That a small group of scientists went to see God.
When they got there, they greeted him, “Hi there, old man.
We have something to say. Please do hear if you can.
You’ve done great with creation. For that we applaud.
But you can now retire because we are as thee.”

God replied, “Is that so? Tell me, what can you do
That I have done already in my divine way?”
“We can create a human! Just watch if you will.
We have evolved a billion-fold… so has our skill.”
They then zing-zapped some soil and without much delay
A new human the dirt became, with feelings too.

“That is somewhat impressive, if I may be kind,”
The prefect of divinity said in response.
“You have made a fine human from soil that I made.
Can you make one from scratch and without the charade?
It would seem you’ve not mastered the subtle nuance
Of existing. Until then, your wills are confined.”

Beyond Ego

Jan3

It is known that the ego does things the hard way.
It has not much concern for the way that it acts.
It is good at one-upmanship. That is its goal.
It can’t know what it’s doing. It has not a soul.
It may be quite adept, though, at verbal attacks.
And when it can put others down, that makes its day.

It’s a very sad way to live. I know for sure.
Satisfaction is bittersweet in effort strong.
It is like an addiction to struggle… For what?
…Some grand sliver of spotlight? But what of my gut?
It will get me believing that I can’t do wrong.
It’s a symptom, perhaps, that I am insecure.

I should maintain some distance between it and me.
After all, it is not me nor can life revolve
Around it. Clearly, it is a survival tool.
If I learn how to use it, I’ll not be the fool.
So the ego can be my own puzzle to solve.
Maybe life can be blissful most naturally.

Papa Bird Has Plenty Butt

Jan2

Papa Bird has enough ass to keep the chicks warm.
It ain’t like he’s a featherweight at nurturing
His young children while his mate is out getting food.
They will trade off their duties in brief interlude.
Papa Bird believes equal rights is the right thing.
He is not truly conscious of breaking a norm.

Papa Bird works his butt off. The lady does too.
…So much must be completed in so little time.
But to labor is pleasure. Fulfillment is keen
When in each given moment, pure splendor is seen
As the best movement forward in spirit sublime.
We can know that the Papa Bird knows what to do.

He’s no half-hearted father who clings to manhood
As if it were a big bird that could fly away.
That which takes to the air does come back to the nest.
As all bids of a feather, we do but our best
To provide for our families, while every day,
Acting out in the ways that we feel that we should.

Do I Need Confidence?

Jan1

When presented with some kind of chasm to cross
Where on one side is me and the other is life,
There is something that I need. It’s not confidence
Nor an imagination in lieu of suspense.
Simple fear of the unknown and possible strife
Can direct my believing in personal loss.

What I need is some clarity – not some belief
That if I should act foolishly, my intellect
Has the right to chastise me for my stupid act.
It will do so relentlessly and without tact.
Even though I’m not perfect, should I get respect?
Yes, I should, because time that we have here is brief.

Every year is a new one until it is passed.
My most favored illusions I clearly can see.
Every cycle completes itself with a new start.
All the knowledge I’ve gained is to reset the heart.
The mind wants to remember how good life can be.
It is good to let go of the year become last.

I would love to see clearly what life has in store
For the one who perceives it and says that, “I am.”
That I clearly can do so by matter of choice,
I can feel light and bubbly. Should I then rejoice?
Any confidence I have is not worth a damn.
All I am is delighted that I can be more.

The Magic Realist

A Poet's Path