My amorphous amour
Resting far from my shore
Like a big lophophore
Planted on the seafloor
Though you're oh so far away
In the breeze, I feel you sway
Flowers blooming every day
My thoughts are where you'll stay
How I miss my lover's touch
Slept in blankets in a bunch
Grains of sand slip from my clutch
Guess I’ll eat my tears for lunch
"I should have lost a gesture and a pose.
Sometimes these cogitations still amaze
The troubled midnight and the moon's repose."
---"La Figlia Che Pionge"; T.S. Eliot
Que tan dificil es
decir todo lo que siento.
O! This emptiness,
this vacuity,
this unfilled mental space
not admitting place
to what does not pass
our tests of time,
or logic --
no crutches
in opposition to
unembellished fact --
no sweetened fairy tales,
no selfish constructs
to justify
seizing goods or power;
no promises of forever
nor of endless pleasures:
only bare existence --
"being" --
in this unguided,
ultimately purposeless
angst-filled universe.
And, always,
mere inertia, eternal resistance
or accelerating change toward
foreseeable, entirely predictable
end.
Act!
Construct reality!
Live your life.
He has found himself much happier
In a life which no longer dictates
That he must be “himself”. She would rather
Go by a more feminine name, and I know
How much more comfortable she is in her
Newfound skin, the one that happened to have
Always been there. And in every movement,
As she swirls around her girlfriend, like a storm;
The woman who has accepted without question
Every stage of the transformation of her boyfriend
Into her current girlfriend. The idea of gender
Suddenly does not matter to her. To either
Of them. Because, I know what happiness
Looks like, and this love looks exactly like
My very own, the only kind I’ve known.
Because, I also know how often the children of
My generation have found themselves in
Defiance of their parents’ preoccupation
With providing their kin with a better life
A life on their terms of decency and familiarity.
I find we are all much happier
Providing our own definitions
Studying nature as it develops, naturally,
And finding happiness on our own terms
And based upon our own definitions.
A spark conceived
by way of the wind's undertones
Assertive they rest their eyes
a scope of passion
was comatose but a century ago
The face of anonymity,
yet a dream to turn up gold
Only love's curiosity
overtook navigation
By Glenn McCrary
© 2012 Glenn McCrary (All rights reserved)