18
I know there are no answers in Saint Germain des Prés
Or in Copacabana, nor on the top of Everest,
That’s why we’re listening to Albert Camus,
That we eat frog legs,
There is no response from teachers or mechanics
Or The stewards,
That’s why we walk to calm down,
There are no answers in love,
That’s why we wear masks everywhere,
We know that there are no answers at Jean Jacques Goldmann,
That’s why we kiss in the night,
We are crossing California on foot,
I know, darling, that our love is the only answer we have to breathe,
To avoid the bites of the rattlesnakes,
We know there are no answers in supermarkets,
Neither in Nietzsche, nor in the doctors,
That’s why we read Rimbaud and Baudelaire,
Whether we play the piano Debussy, or Fauré,
To make the world still bearable tomorrow.
PS a write without pretension, I hold no truth, I do not have any answer either
"In the midst of winter I found there was within me an invincible summer.
That makes me happy because it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me there’s something stronger something better, pushing right back." Words by: Albert Camus
in the midst of winter
a rush of wind comes my way
moving me forward
it doesn't matter
the push and pull of the world
I seek my own life
each day I cradle
the hours of my existence,
giving them my best.
Grand Citations of The Still Sober
In Neared Radios of Fresh October
And one had in mind a Graham Greene
But - Lo! - Some Newly Discovered Being:
“Greene had a bit got sensational,
His rejection not intentional.
Next, Some Writer with Proverbial Gun
But-Sorry-Rubber Bullets of Fun
A Gordimer Admirer piteous
But to Nobel “Pharisee-Righteous”
And therefore, should not cross The Gate
At its Precincts continue to wait…
A Rock Musician surprised by it:
He hadn’t realized The Candle lit:
Said to have delayed Letter of Thanks,
Afraid of Enemies’ Armored Tanks!
But his had been Years of Passion
What he did poetically fashion.
Churchill for “Speeches that fought Hitler”
How dare you hold such effort littler?
Pleasantest Surprise: Albert Camus?
With Dagger-Point Sentences he slew;
Calculate it: at just Forty Four
Clarity had him pushed to The Fore…
Nobel Prizes don’t aim to surprise
But might keep coming as A Surprise!
With apologies to Albert Camus
I once was a circus strongman,
Sovereign of midway spectacles.
I wore a leopard-skin loincloth
And a lion-claw necklace.
My club was seasoned hardwood.
I proudly dragged my knuckles
Through the sawdust and straw.
I wrestled the orangutan
And boxed the kangaroo.
I tore phone books in half
With my teeth.
I became a star promotion
With elevation from sideshow freak
To a main ring attraction.
My charisma was marketed
By carnival barkers and snake oil shills.
My future in show biz seemed bright.
My manner was summertime light,
And then came the fall.
“Autumn is a second Spring
when every leaf is a flower”
Albert Camus
French philosopher, author and journalist
WINDFALL
the wind-bell, the windflower
the sturdy gong
brisk breeze of anemones
the screen whips open
frangible leaves whisk about
autumnal bout on the deck
hollow limbs crack
oaken surrender
to pruning effect
the scent of cinnamon
mixed with aphrodisiacal pulp
in the amber-lit kitchen
lilliputians of school age
excitement of tiny twisters
scuff up mom’s playground
fatherwind tossles her hair
purple mood ring
spurs smiles to each child
8/8/2019
There was a poet from France,
Who thought he really could dance!
Up onto the Eifel tower he went,
Not walking straight but really quite bent.
Whoops and ooh-la-la!
Onto the French earth he fell..
Oh, poet dear, your very last tear.
Pooling and gleaming, ever so tragically
in your ear.
May you f'ind yourself, tout suite, in a warm,
welcoming, French poetry heaven!
With Victor Hugo, Honore de Balzac......
Charles Baudelaire and Albert Camus to name,
but a few.
Oui, mon ami!
Even as the soft cathedral bells so very
mournfully strike seven!
July 10th, 2019
5:30pm PST
Should I kill myself,
or have a cup of coffee?
-Albert Camus-
Being dead is blunt,
numbing and offensive.
Yet it is life and not death
that grips you
so hard that pain
is a plea for urgent departure
The impromptu of suicide
is interrupted
by an intelligent question
If a tree falls in a forest
and no one is around to hear it,
does it make a sound?"
The Stoic moment
of self destruction
is momentarily lost
The question deserves
an answer.
To me, you are purely ephemeral;
We are irrelevantly real.
And I am left with no one but myself,
With this hollowness I feel.
And still, I am hardly here,
Just a mass of scattered free radicals.
A steady-state cascade;
A time-killing fanatical.
I laugh because it is absurd,
And carry on without a word.
She was blanched,
Scuffed like an epiphyses.
Gritted between molars,
Eyed blind,
Her body curved in magnificent sacrilege;
Flagrant,
Inexplicitly mine.
My secondhand thing,
That some dub love.
I just gawped
Whenever she took it off;
And seeped
Into the ground at her feet.
I woke up and remembered that there was nothing else;
I woke up and wondered why I hadn't killed myself.
I was dead set
On something but nothing and everything yet;
All meaning unmet.
All the null that added up to self;
All the lives that lie to blindly dwell.
I laugh because it is absurd;
The others dare not speak the word.
--
"There is but one truly serious philosophical problem, and that is suicide."
-Albert Camus, absurdist
The dew indiscriminately
wept for all things living and dead
on this early autumn morning.
Its cold droplets caressed the leaves
while lingering sap-starved leaf stems
clung precariously above
and each dying leaf shed teardrops
for and onto their fallen kind.
One by one they released their hold
falling silently, gracefully
in their final unique fashion:
Some swayed. Others pirouetted;
and many more, somersaulting
into their final resting place.
Sunbeams from an October star
spilt rippling puddles of warm light
on their multicolored remains
amid the vibrant wildflowers.
Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
Albert Camus
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