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Tag: reality

Published March 15, 2017

Fit to Print: englyn unodle crwca

What’s fit to print is not news.
Our bitter, contrary views
are merely stuff we seek to use as new fuel;
like fools, we think we choose

to fight false with what is true,
wielding light that will burn through
the lies and mad bugaboo everywhere.
Now there’s a hopeful coup.

Hopeful, but not meant to be.
The real world seeks symmetry
and balance, but will not be rushed ahead
or led like a pony.

No, to make news in these days,
one must seek out different ways.
To prove a thing, you must amaze the wild mob;
a big job with no praise.

15 MAR 2017

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Published March 13, 2017

What Happens Next

What makes reality
ever so puzzling
that vain attempting to
just pin it down
becomes a deception
ensnared in illusion,
naught but a fleeting smile
behind a frown?

What then of fantasy?

Will we think ecstasy
merely a distraction
from duty and will?

How can mere utility
evolve a society
whose fleeting passions live
only in dream?

What is reality?

Now and not yesterday,
wrapped in the presence of
what happens next.

13 MAR 2017

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Published January 31, 2017

The World is Full of Magic: carole

Though some now say it comes to nil
The world is full of magic still

The end is nigh, soothsayers scry,
and from their parapets do cry
“Beware the evil that draws nigh!” –
though some now say it comes to nil.

The world is cracked and folding in
upon itself, and in the din
one barely hears the voice within:
the world is full of magic still!

But those who stand, in spite of fear
of loss of life and that held dear
sing out their songs, so loud and clear,
though some now say it comes to nil.

Excelsior! and “Forward, Ho!”
Against the grain, and tides, we go,
what weapons work, we cannot know;
the world is full of magic still

At some near point along the path
the bards may scribe our epitaph;
so fill the world up with our laugh,
though some may say it comes to nil

Reality is what we make;
there is no permanent mistake.
It matters not which path we take,
the world is full of magic still

Though some now say it comes to nil
The world is full of magic still

31 JAN 2017

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Published May 30, 2012

Palimpsest

Could be, perhaps, that nothing bad
has come to me in life;
or that which seems to others sad
and cause for care and strife

to me has been mere shadow’s play.
My days’ and night’s events
could look to some a grand array,
an endless stream of merriment

filled more with smiles than tears.
I’ve never struggled, you might chide,
in all my living years;
nor had look in from outside

while others shared the pot.
My ailments, those of wealthy men,
expensive tastes and rot;
a disappointing might-have-been

reduced by sloth and slack
to meaningless and endless work
that feeds neither the mind nor back,
creating a mere bitter jerk

who knows no more of love and loss
than what defines the words.
That poems like this I can toss
away in moments, seems absurd.

Could be, perhaps, no tragic tale
lies hidden in my smile;
Emotions? Fabricated veils
to mislead and beguile.

Could be, but you will never learn.
For all you’ll ever see
is what I throw away and burn:
my emptiness, not me.

30 MAY 2012

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Published May 3, 2011

The ears have it: a curtal sonnet

From eyesight, there are half a dozen words
that represent a myriad of lies.
The surface, then, is never proof enough;

relying on appearance is absurd.
It puts us in a world of slick disguise,
transmitting second-hand its show and bluff.

There are no such illusions from the ear:
with sound, we gather in, and become wise.
Discerning what is real is never tough;
the undertone is always sharp and clear
enough.

03 MAY 2011

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Published November 27, 2007

Like Syd Barrett

I feel like Syd Barrett in a fun-house mirror,
as if the rest of the world has gone crazy;
and what’s left of the light has crawled off in a hole
where it’s becoming bloated and lazy.

Like the tale of dervish whose well was untainted
when the water supply became changed,
and he looked on with horror as everything pure
became somehow sick and deranged;

and then in desperation, he took just one sip
of the nectar his neighbors preferred;
in less than an instant, he too was convinced
that his previous life was absurd.

I feel like Syd Barrett, left grasping the edge
of a dream cut from bright colored glass,
a puzzle of unfinished mirrors and fragments
for watching the circus march past.

27 NOV 2007

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Published September 19, 2006

Elizabethtown

Some kinds of closure only come
in story books and movies;
real life rarely turns out quite
so neat and clean:
with one door neatly sliding open
as another firmly shuts;
such coincidence is rare
and far between.

To compress the waiting lifetime
in a moment on the screen,
or a couple hurried pages
seems obscene;
or at least, over optimistic
that the lessons to be learnt
are so obvious
as to be what they seem.

That a random chance encounter
on the escalator down
could result in an epiphany,
is rich;
just more pablum for the masses
who believe in self-help classes
and still fail to understand
that life’s a bitch.

Or that centuries of training
can be quickly overcome,
unspoken prejudice and hatred
swept aside;
just as likely as a fear
of heights or sense of isolation
can be vanquished
by a kiss, or airplane ride.

Some kinds of closure never come
at all, except in bits
and pieces you pick up
each new day:
once you learn your profound losses
are the only thing you own,
and you wouldn’t have it
any other way.

19 SEP 2006

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