Love is a luxury,
You need to have a lot,
Prepare a lot,
To truly guard it.
A little triviality in life,
It will slowly wear it away.
Until the last point,
There's no light left.
You see whether in life or at work,
The pace of two people is out of step
There's no way together permanently.
Market is cruel.
People are knives.
And you are a fish.
How would you survive,
In a pool full of sharks?
I snuck into the party with an ID hastily made
and stumbled, out of step, into the poetry parade.
In this beautiful country club, I'm surrounded by my betters.
I wave my kindergarten rhymes to show the men of letters.
In the echo of the learned men who came this way before me
I hear the patterned minuets, that if followed, lead to glory.
I chafe in those traveled ruts and I long for something varied
and I hope to spark a unique verse, between school and the cemetery.
.
.
A song for this:
Time by Tom Waits
My Song, it could not sing itself
And neither, friend, could I –
The notes they were – preoccupied
The lyrics lies, lies, lies
It struggled with a forlorn tune
With rhythms cadence-less –
Its chords were carried on the wind
Remote and powerless
From steeple tops it sought my ear
It strove for major scales,
Yet failed to lift this Chorister
– It sang to no avail
My voice was mute in silence
It was no song, no song
That I could ever sing along
– The song was wrong, all wrong
And so, I sought a newer verse
A Tune to fit myself
Without a tonal dissonance
Or timing out of step –
For harmony – I scored a Breeze
For words I fitted Truth –
The Tune a composition
An Opus could reboot
The cantos trebled at the strings
The lyrics crooned of Spring
Instinctively my voice arose
To meet this newer thing –
It rose, a Canta Libre
Familiar in refrain,
I felt a certain resonance
At recess in my brain
Advance in bright arrangements
And deftly play the strains
Of Anthems that I once had known
In glorious refrain
From sleeves of albums days gone by
Away on dusty shelves
And stirring now, My Song restored
As if it never left –
I believe I continue to write
Because my life is an unfinished poem
A fumbling attempt to measure
Meter and cadence against time
Fit iambs into moments of rhyme
Fighting the barbed wire sting of form
Shivering in the shadow of the “bard”
Marching out of step to rhythms thud
As words cascade o’er broken lines
Defying all the yield and red stop signs
Thus, do I write of crumpled papers blown
Of seeds I never planted taking bloom
Of darker regions of a human soul
That runs alone refusing to pay toll
Weeping upon the pages as they fold
Concealed my words in sad lament
Rejoice, celebrate the time we’ve spent
In pondering the art of life and pen
Channeling forever’s point of self
Refusing to be left upon life’s shelf
What if daffodils
pushed up through winter's cold snows—
amber voices rose
Spring songs sprung out of season
breaking calendar's design.
What if the leaves fell
early in stolen colors—
rust-tinged innocence
summer mimicking autumn
seasons swapping disguises.
Warm nights dripping ice—
moonlit icicles glitter
on midsummer boughs
weather waltzing out of step
dancing the two-step reverse.
Time becomes unspooled—
hours stretch thin, others snap tight
order comes undone
as wedding bells of warnings
fall on bliss deafened ears.
Earth spins fevered-fast—
a disco globe turning wild
night's pulse racing hard
Gaia bids us change our tune
dance wiser or lose time's rhythm.
We stare awed afraid—
strangeness glowing in the sky
beauty laced with dread
wonder quivers into fear
at what our hands have unmade.
Earth cares not for change
for climate has changed before
many times ago
but this time we lit the fuse—
and we are trapped in the fire.
I fell out of step
you brought music to my life
together we dance
Even if there is no sound
Together we are in tune
I fell out of step
you brought music to my life
together we dance
A stitch in time saves nine, lest, out of step lose pep, 'ere gains back mislaid track; cruise control, lose neutral.
practice makes perfect
as perfect is relative
subject is practice
Misfit always out of step with the world,
Outsider longing to run forever;
Then into my reticent life you twirled;
Proximity my only endeavor;
Eyes lit on fire and my appetite swirled,
there was no confusion whatsoever;
The vampire in me kindled a sparkle,
Edward Cullen please make me immortal.
There was a little girl that never quite seemed to fit in
out of step with a world that seemed to her full of sin
No matter what she did or tried there always was a gap
that seemed to grow even when she sat on her dads lap
Time passed by with little change except that she was alone
every one else appeared to have a special some one
One day the sun shone so brightly and flowers scented the land
it seemed a day full of expectation while softly played the band
Through the door stepped a man who also didn't quite fit in
yet at the same time it was apparent he was without sin
I don't do perfect,
And refuse to accept it as an edict,
As perfect is impossible to perfect,
With billions of definitions of what makes anything or anybody perfect,
Even scientists have been unable to perfect,
A way to define what is perfect.
I only do my best,
And aim to improve on my previous best,
Which gives me time to rest,
When others are still searching for something that does not exist,
Which puts me out of step with those who never rest,
With more each day unable to resist,
The many selling the idea of families that are perfect,
Products that produce results that are perfect,
Bodies that are perfect,
Even the right time for things to be perfect.
The older I get, the more I think being out of step is best,
And I would be a fool to change, when it has taken me so long to perfect,
A way to resist the need for perfection, and that to me is perfect.
I wish for you on dandelions
catch my frustration like fireflies
in the sky all I see is desire
to climb onto a beam and escape
flying in saucers spinning elliptically
maybe this alien will finally belong
soaring among the shooting stars
I always try to be just who I am
never really fitting into this world
misfits still long for a place to call home
I’ve wished on comets spoken to Saturn
looked to the cosmos over and over
a heartbeat just like an S. O. S.
floral tendrils float into the air
a tapestry under the lavish Moon
waiting for my curtain to rise
with this rhythm I am out of step
limelight has danced just for me
I’ve tried blending into the shadows
I only wanted to find my space
3 a.m. a green modem light,
blinks regularly in a dark bedroom.
A hoot owl breaks the silence,
its call is never predictable,
always out of step
with your own heartbeat.
Something different,
your open eyes search,
the shadows,
the humped dimness of furniture.
Something is prodding a sleepy mind,
and it is not a bladder.
A dream will not leave you,
it has filled the room with its presence.
Eroticism dressed in layers of intimacy.
You know that dream,
and here it is now,
haunting you, out in the open,
while you watch your mind
melting once more.
Maverick waves turn the tide
crashing like an out of tune refrain;
Things so wrong I could have cried;
Momentum stronger than a train,
all the wind knocked out of you;
Balance becomes hard to maintain;
Warped has overridden what’s true,
I’m out of step with the new humanity;
Red cannot ever paint things blue;
A surge of logic washes over me,
surviving on a little bit of crazy.
Talking heads are synchronized,
words are replicated like cloned sheep.
Dodging in and out of an unchanging static
I skip the beat.
Hey, something just flashed my drive!
Time to suspend a string of minutes
watching a black and white cowboy show,
there are no straight lines yet
just a suitably jumbled plot.
Snorting horses gallop off
before the radar scanner can blip onto
my disarray.
Great! Now the birds are all pulling together
and swim as one across a cloudless sky.
Every damn silver SUV looks the same.
I'm weaving in and out of lock-stepping soccer moms,
misfiring my way through
yet another replicant day.
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