The sun will also rise

The sun will also rise
If we're not here to see it;
What's precious in our eyes
Is not what makes it be it.

Solipsist introversion
Is sophistry most cruel,
Unnatural perversion
Of nature's Golden Rule:

We must cooperate, and compete,
Take what we need, and share;
And if we take more than we need,
When we need it, it won't be there.

Thanksgiving

A day for giving thanks,
And eating too much food;
America the bountiful,
from origins so rude,
Has grown to be so powerful,
Our children's toys are banks.

But we here will remember this,
As long as time remains,
Our families around us,
And all our rightful gains:
Feel sorry for the other folk,
Who think prosperity is just a joke.

Not for earth-shaking wars
Or satellites the globe around,
Our power's formed for only this:
My daughter's cheerful, loving kiss.

Taps

Limping slowly into winter,
Stumbling in the cold and dark,
As the evening breezes freeze me,
Walking through the park at night;

I wonder how to reach the end
Of the road I walk in pain,
While the world whirls round beside me,
Like a fickle, flighty friend.

Leaning on my sole support,
Clicking slowly as we wander
Far from warmth and cheerful faces,
Cane-tip tapping, tapping on the ground.

Snow Showers

Silver dust swirling in a crystal breeze,
Myriad motes descending from the sky,
Framing streetlights, an ever-changing frieze;
They chill the air, cover the ground, and I
Stand silent in the crisp cold haze, transfixed:
Adult, or child I was, emotions mixed.

Midtown Recital

The synchronized traffic light, as we turn to the right,
Keeps us from running down folks all over town.

As the bus stops to pick up some more,
A shabby old bum stands in the door.
He smells and he yells, and he keeps us from moving.
He's got an idea that he thinks he is proving.

We sit and we listen and soon he steps down;
He mumbles and stumbles, and leaves with a frown.
It's hard to imagine he meant what he said;
He probably wanted some change, to get fed.

He put on quite a show as he stood and recited;
Though his poetry thundered, his performance was slighted.

Pax

Say it isn't so,
That we will never know
About the way to end the strife and rage.

Let's give it one more try
Or else, before we die,
My guess is that our counsel wasn't sage.

Please stop the violins,
Let's hope whirled pease begins;
Easier said than done, I know.

A better way would be
To see charity and mercy
Evinced, instead of blood soaked into snow.

'Alls I know is that its summer and my feet are chilly', he said.

chilly in the summer in the city of new york?
you should know by now you have no right to squawk.
would you rather fry an egg on the sidewalk in the morning?
bow down to the algore! this is just a warning!

keep on making fun of climate change and glowball warming.
see if mother gaia goes on lovingly ignoring
the devastation humans have imposed on planet earth.
destruction of the biosphere is no cause for mirth!

the day will come you'll wish you'd lived a greener life.
the end is near! our doom is clear! observe the growing strife!

another time another place

as the sun climbs
the sun also falls
it rolls down in the west
that great blazing ball
and it's gone

the darkness surrounds us without a sound
all that once dazzled now under the ground

but the sun also rises as we will some day
in the fields of the lord where together we'll play

a change of focus

the studio's closed, the paint is dry
but art can never say goodbye

the work will find another place
and inspiration once again
will reach out to us when
our minds expand to fill its space

so bring home every tube and brush
in art we trust; there is no rush

there was a cat

flick flick flickering tip of a tail
and every tale has an end
as every life flickers out
years together gone
replaced by memories and emptiness

sara announces with regret and relief
the ascension of one more gentle soul
to eternal life

go in peace, gara

i call your name

peter was a fisherman
on the sea of galilee
he sprinkled salt on what he caught
then sold them all to me

i took them to the shore and grilled them for the tourists there
we only had one loaf of bread but the tourists didn't care

oh margarita oh margarita
oh margarita i call your name

***

followed by "And having written ..."

Friday the Thirteenth

Friday the Thirteenth is over,
And I'm back in the woods once again.
The moon is still shining too bright overhead
So they see me approaching
But then

as i slip into the mist
and fade like memories of places they've never been
they watch the morning fog erase the path
to times that never were again

and sleep sleep sleep deepens in the quiet of a summer night
and even evening's darkness passes through us like a pain so slight
eternal rest grant us in tiny sparkling pieces
like heaven's midnight light