Perennial or annual?
Like a chunk of melting ice, we lose a part of ourselves with time (which doesn’t exist, remember)…
The watchman with a microscope sees his underfooting melt and float away, leaving the captain of the fleet more vulnerable.
I lost a part of me today, and will tomorrow also. The longer I live now, the less there is of me. Finally the early memories remain, and I am stripped in my naked animal vulnerability.
Grin and bear it or don’t grin? Ha ha…
Horseshoe crab hanging on my wall
tunes up louder our past’s recall.
Someone found you on the beach
and brought you within my reach.
I gutted you but you were dead,
ahead of me, let it be said.
Now you hang in one oh seven
pausing on your way to heaven?
You’re bereft of life as I will be
when my old heart gives out on me.
But now I hang you in my hall,
a dreg from life’s own carryall,
and strong reminder of our past–
cousins, joining hands at last.
What We Are
We’re only what we are ,
no way getting round it,
your shoes don’t fit a bit
and you cannot wear mine.
Stuck within these confines
at isolation’s door,
roll out the rug and dance a song,
be the you the pack spat out.
Uno, Uno, Uno?
I enjoy the cat’s pajamas
they verbalize at times, but not
the moans of underlying pain.
Don’t let us know what lies ahead
a life of somersaults, dance
and glee only to be sidetracked
by a dislocated knee. That I’m
one of those complaining does not
change my mind a whit.
If you think that I am lying just you wait a bit.
IF GOD HAD A TATTOO WHAT WOULD IT SAY?
“Pedomorphosis” is what I would think;
love’s breeding ground is our survival link.
We love cute babies and then they love theirs,
so ever afterwards we love our heirs.
“Pardon me, Sir, but I have a suggestion:
our enemies cute be out
of the question?”