Best Final Cut Poems
Cut up
from lack of sleep
and crying over you
My heart is broken; forever
scarred
('Ugly' revised)
11
If Death be now the final cut
With no path to Heaven's door...
Thou I've never had the courage
To believe there's nothing more.
So forgive my celestial musings
And lay waste not my bugaboo
But allow me one small favor...
To love and pray for you.
12
Forgiveness be a wondrous thing
With no stone to weigh it down.
It knows no age nor time of day...
It knows no proper noun.
It floats upon a summer breeze
And makes light the coming storm.
It dances in each fireplace
To keep the masses warm.
But forgiveness holds no treasure
If not effected and applied.
So slather in gluttonous quantities
With a conscience as your guide.
13
There seemed a hellish wintry bent
As the storm pounded through the day.
The winds were whipping fiendishly
As our snowman walked away.
With a feral dose of helter skelter...
Nature seemed transfixed from normal rest
Leaving one to mull and ruminate
On the perturbations so expressed.
The End
Bugaboo: Area of concern.
Perturbations: A disposition that is confused and quite upset.
*Follow my cartoon at Webtoon Bob's Your Uncle.
She cries alone,
In her room at night;
Her sparkling eyes
Had lost their light.
She turns up the music,
As loud as it goes,
So no one can hear her screaming
Into her pillows.
Her pain is unbearable,
As she walks to the kitchen.
The only sound in the house,
Is the clock ticking.
She opens the drawer
And takes a knife in her hand.
She takes her last walk
Down the hallway that never seems to end.
She cries,
As she pulls up her sleeve
And puts the blade to her skin,
Thinking this as the only way out.
She closes her eyes
As she pushes the blade in,
Hitting a main vein
And all the pain her life's held in.
It's all over now,
As she lies on the floor
Waiting for the light to come,
As she drifts away.
Working on compiling this book of grandpa wisdom,
Harder than choosing which old poems to include
Is cutting off the ongoing output of new ones!
But I do want to get it done,
And I really don’t want to ever do another,
So final thoughts keep building
Eager to rise and shine and make the cut,
A final cut which may never come
As long as grasping mind keeps grasping
For whatever it is an immaterial thing can hold.
But the reason for all these words
Is today I realized something important
Perhaps important enough to stem the tide of poems
If not the grasping mind.
Humans more than anything want security and comfort
And by extension to be happy
The happiness then becomes a goal
Symbolizing all the other basic needs
(while truth/self-actualization may be at the top of the pyramid, this in effect then puts it on few people’s list)
And yet this is what my poems aim for incessantly.
But the truth is enlightenment
Isn’t about worldly goals and values.
People talk about it like it will be a lasting peace
With endless, effortless happiness,
But this strikes me as more an ad campaign
Than the actual truth.
But I don’t know what enlightenment is,
My hunch being that it is like mercury
Pulled together by the cohesive force of its unity
Into small discreet spheres or moments of ineffability,
Rather than dispersing like a fog or fragrance
Across time and space
Which would thus be knowable
Or at least noticed.
Instead it goes unnoticed by everyone,
Even those supposedly searching for it,
The tiny spheres of momentary peace
Blending into every other,
Since all moments are by nature enlightened,
Until the seamless analog story we tell ourselves
Obscures its digital content.
And as I mentioned before,
Our stories are all about security and comfort
Not truth and its fundamental components.
So, where does this leave the poet,
A poet who really doesn't know,
Trying to reach others, who really don't care?
Alone, contentedly so, and perhaps at last
Able to make the final cut
See what comes next
In a life without need or time for story.
What is left in such a life you ask?
What comes next.
(12/6/24)
The cut endured
By mortal blade
The blood of life
Will ever fade
No sign of light
Eternal shade
A crimson corpse
Forever laid