The Left Column

Politics for Poets

Wake up!

Things not done, places not gone to. It's better to conserve sometimes and wait for a real reason to move. Move when the time is right.

I think I've blogged enough today.

Life goes on.

Thank You Veterans!

June 21, 2012

~ OK Now.

 

  Outside of Heaven,
 where he'd parked his car
     he thought he'd left his shoes
 back at the venue so he
  walked all the way back there
     through all of those parking lots
 and all of the beat kids damaged in the rain.

  Without a reason to respect his hurt
 he just rolled the dice one more time, 
   shake it shake it sugerba ba.

  He sat there 
   beneath the oak tree
 that would, all night long
  heave with the shifting wind.
 His dreams of where he would go
  will lead him to the faraway
   to which they may not follow.

   They needed to ask,
 the critics had to
    querry:
 "Who are they?"

  who are they who ask or who are they
   who may not follow?

  Somewhere outside of time
 the broken things have no flaws.
  They lay unused and almost unknown.
 If the fix is in then
    maybe those things can be brandished
       again.

 There was a bird
    calling some wild mating song
 in the early A.M. screaming,
    hoot hoot hallering,
  some wayfairing sea bird
  on a randy late night
        mating romp,
 out there some where on the lake,
  on one of the points, just across the cove.

    Deep within some dream of the long ago
 he had lost himself, sleeping below
     a heaving and shifting maple
 in the far away
     out on that infinite hillside
  with the infinity moon
    and the fullest of fullest full
 So full that it goes away, 
    ecclipsed by the overwhelming
        yearning and urge
  to put a face
     behind the moon, the 
face
   behind the stars,
       on the other side of
      the opposite
   mistakes that were
     left there broken,
  the fix was not in.
 
    That face that can not
       be seen
 that thrives behind the
    curtain of life and death
 does not seek to be seen but
     most definitely wants to know
   how you feel.

  I feel pretty good.
   It's a long way from here
        to Lancaster
    and I'm not going to go.

        
a snippit from an old song of mine:
  Some times
    when the nights too long
   and I'm lonely 
    and I've lost my way
   I think of you.
 If we met again
  I wouldn't know what to say.