One life,
one tiny light to shine in our allotted hour
a single strutting chance upon the stage
a single line writ large upon the page,
a chance to love, to live, to give
and what is more,
one entrance and one exit, no encore
They nagged him till he'd had enough.
His one remaining joy was snuff.
Beyond the post that ends his race
he has found a better place.
This is no time to joke or laugh
but to write his epitaph.
Art is long but life is short.
I lack the time to more report.
Short and snappy were his days,
short therefore to him my praise.
Poets see verse in every moment
beauty with every look
Pain for every step misplaced
scars that words prebook
Poets see light within the darkness
music in the dread
Hope when wishes cross the line
—life to those once dead
(Dreamsleep: April, 2023)
Goodbye does not only mean to part
It may also mean a brand new start
Leaving behind the bitter memories of yesterday
For a new world had come to stay
The wave of goodbye may be bitter
For not all things stay forever
But the cuddle of welcome is sweet
And the best of things awaits
February 12, 2023
Life of the holy man, sequestered, unnatural
A fancy hat atop his red gown for his alleluia…
Down on the lowly branches lands a red bird
On natural wild wings he sings a mating woo
Loved for his striking feathers, he’ll fare well
Colors of precious blood, make him a mystic
Earning him spiritual powers so pagan-native…
Vying hardest is that cultivated flower of luv
In petal form perfected long before the magi
The original scented pinks lost to red pursuit
A root’s kumbaya unheard as her thorny plea…
(12/30/22 For ‘the cardinal and the rose’ contest)
Life always danger,
always adrift,
by a thread...
but never
shipwrecked... !
i know i will live beyond these weird moments
but I was cleaning the attic after the furious wind
when I found and caressed your crumpled photo
thought I was gradually forgetting you
the drunken cars and the rising sun
on that beach that won't come back
funny that this is the same wind
that took the love that would save us...
looks like he took the opportunity
and brought the hate that now seems to dominate...
the wind is taking everything
I looked where we left our smiles
but there was just a sign that said dead end
She was, existed, amongst other women, for love’s sake
When my eye caught her sight, my spirits left
This corpse of mine: soul theft
My remains, were shaking, trembling: earthquake
My soul looked down upon my flesh quite rotten
My hand begged for support from a wall
Beatrice the loveliest of all
Somewhat cruel. She laughed, at my meat forgotten
Then life within that floating soul
Found its way back into me, a man
I was awake, not dead, and whole
Many tears I had to weep, when towards home I ran
At my desk, me being apparently a fool
I wrote a sonnet, of consolation, its feeble tool
Sweet life, dolce vita
it's filled with dreams, cause
bitter is the reality ...
La Dolce Vita Part One
How sweet life is, indeed!
The air we breathe, our nightly rest.
Think back about your very first
steps.
You played games outdoors with
your nose not stuck to a screen.
You romped in the woods ever so
merrily.
Days of conviviality with no fear.
Just endless days and nights
with parents and friends, we held
so very dear.
Life was just beginning for us.
Most of us went to Church and
learned who created the Universe.
We learned the Ten Commandments
that applied to men and women...
one and all.
Our countries stood tall and
proud. We loved our countries
proud of its flag and song.
Leaders were respected not
humiliated or the butt of jokes.
Times horribly transformed..
When God was shown the door
and our country and leaders
we abhor.
The New Bible is the deceitful and
devilish fourth estate,
That has made us hate each other
without reason or debate.
The time has come my friends
To get a grip, return to reality.
Love all and create a new world,
That is ours and for those yet to be.
June 10, 2019
4:30pm PST
Living musicians compose
Dead musicians decompose
The title is Latin for:
'Art is long; life is short'
If all there is…
—is all there is
(then)
All you can do…
—is all you can do
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2019)
Listening to James Ladyman
You know wine, comes from the vine.
No, Gosh! What a travesty, are you quite sure? What's she like?
Good question, can be very young, often complicated, dominating, best when mature,
Doesn't ring any bells you say, what a pity, a real shame,
Me? No, always, I have her round twice a day, whether we're eating cheese or game,
What does she do? Golly where do I start?
She accompanies, fulfils, accentuates, garnishes and decorates,
But to do her justice would be to explain her art,
Which is hard, jolly difficult, as she was there "from the start",
She was there right after Alpha, yes Beta,
And in fact that fits her real name, which is Vita.
On the grounds of Kongo dya Ntotila
Monte Kibango saw you born
O fearless daughter that quiet talks
Nganga Marinda of Mwana Kongo´s clan
In “Antonianism“ your belief was let known
To the dogmas of the Catholic faith, you were contrary
“Heretic!” - To death the clergy condemned thee
On life, at the fire that burned much
Still, your goodbye was sincere
Now, in deep sleep
Crowned laurels, in eternal glory
Rest forgotten of the filthy settler
Vita Contemplativa
We do not live our lives in the now but remember
it as a passed and what we did not do when the past
was now and disappeared as an ant`s breath
as there is only one beginning- birth- we are shackled
to the past we didn`t choose but was pushed on us as
we had no ability to anything in the now
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