Lord, may your peace
make me your instrument:
That I may sow love
wherever it is needed...
That I may grant forgiveness,
to those who have wronged me...
That I may promote faith,
where there is disbelief...
That I may bring hope,
where despair lives...
That I may light a bright light,
upon poignant darkness...
Contagious peace
upon devastation...
The purest joy
where there is pain and agony... !
There are loves that happen one day,
And they are good ...
others who live a year
And they are better ...
There are others who survive many years
And they are very good ...
But there are others who perpetuate themselves
For all lives ...
These are the eternal,
The indispensable ...
This is truly mine!
O my passenger, companion
From infinity ...!
you !
setting latitude
you with your knowing of the rigging
laughing into the sail
Crying out the humour
Playing with breezes you don't understand
Time will erase your voyage
Surely don't strike at
at the Sailing Man
Above the earth, the world of bitter wars and discord,
littered with broken promises and great oppressions,
glows a serene peace park, undisturbed by time;
people love to sing songs about it and imagine it
a divine sphere, reach it one day and roam around
free from earth's treasons, home to poets, philosophers,
statesmen, who brought only division and disorder.
Up there, above the earth, in the space between here and there,
lies the essence of existence, safely removed from the earth's
cataclysms, and the space explorers who want to conquer more
territory, just as their forefathers did in the new world, thinking nature
is for our picking, parodying peace.
Maintain serenity, don't look down, sign reads.
“I need you
and dream of you
while I try to
drink you away”
I almost wrote a poem
that began like this
(many years ago)
to express my
unrequited infatuation
for a certain
beguiling & baffling
woman.
I almost wrote a poem
that rambled on
unpoetically about
all the tormented
feelings & dark ideas
that poisoned
my already warped mind.
But instead—
I drowned my sorrows
and dragged my
sorrowful sardonic self
through lowly jobs & lofty ideas
like a Kafkaesque Sisyphus
--and eructed corrosive prose
parodying frenemies
as friends became enemies
and I found myself
submerged in a private
cold war with the world
(during the Cold War)
in the torrid, torpid
River City where
the alienated artisans
ate their own.
Maybe someday
in the distant future (2020s?)
if I’m still around
if the world is still around…
I’ll actually write
this forgettable poem
and wish I hadn’t.
I'll write of things lamentable like poor shipwrecked loves,
Tempest-tossed by bestial winds behind unfeeling storms;
Ripped apart by the furious middles of swift-gusting winds,
Voyaging to dream-born shores away from boring homes.
I'll tell of the Fate-shattered dreams of earth's surest bet.
Painting how those naive shoots untimely waterloos met,
Leaving tender footprints new on antiquity's fierce sands;
Blossoming stars offed by hard luck's experienced hands.
My verse will endeavor to weave history's accurate tales.
Parodying villainy within quiet complacency's stronghold,
Shaming eccentricities in black nooks by raw truth untold;
Inking sagest anecdotes that any finessed raconteur hails.
Of first-hand swills or soured affectations I will not write.
For the self-loving bard’s quill falters from black to white,
As he relives a narcissist's replica of alleged first-felt lots,
And his best tropes mimic mere ego-embellished reports.
I leave it to unaffected pens immune to self-patting twists,
To write of this modest scribe's little turns and weird gists.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Stop parodying this poem
Now seriously freaking stop
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