Tag Archives: confusion

Smoke and Mirror: poulter’s measure

The world of late is full of crashing sound and blurry vision,
a thunder crash inside a cloud – lost in indecision.

Some claim that sunshine lurks around the corner, only waiting
for those who dare beyond the haze, past the senseless hating

of those who in the darkness loudly curse the coming daylight
that strips away the fog’s disguise; the night conceals their blight.

To be afraid just draws the darkness inward, more and nearer;
thus hate intensifies and grows – in that distorted mirror

your sense of what should be and how things are is set askew.
You must resist the ease of it. It seems, but isn’t, you.

Some say the world is what you wish to make it: good or bad,
a nightmare or fantastic dream; if so, then why so sad?

Step out into the light and choose a path beyond the din.
Who knows what you will find out there? A new way to begin?

12 APR 2017

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Journey’s End

Every journey starts out simply,
with a single thought:
where am I, where have I been,
and is it where I ought
to imagine is my place,
my center in this life,
or is there more to me than this,
a home, a job, a wife,
a few possessions, give or take,
some good deeds, half undone,
almost a mid-length sermon’s worth;
does this make up my run?

Every journey starts out simply,
one step at a time:
which is the direction onward,
which hill should I climb,
beyond the horizon, will I
find that which I seek,
will there be fresh water
or a decent place to eat,
and more importantly, perhaps,
why should I choose just one,
when other routes seem just as fine
why leave them all undone?

Every journey starts out simply,
at least in the mind:
here I am at x,
and I will leave this y behind,
forward in direction,
stabbing outward with a will,
never for a moment
giving thought to standing still,
seeking something other,
something else, some thing undone,
something that won’t be remembered
when my journey’s done.

21 APR 2013

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The Possible

The possible surrounds us all:
an unseen swirling smoke
that clouds our good intentions.
Proceed carefully, the joke
is that too many options
can confuse the way ahead,
and leave you in committees
wanting progress, but instead
debating some great nothing
or deciding on a fate
that puts you where you started
but a half an hour late.

The possible, the possible:
to organize it all
requires the patience of a saint
and a good wrecking ball
to knock aside the posturing,
the maybe-in-a-bits
(those indecisive dilettantes
too quick to call it quits),
and clear from the great many paths
the one that suits you best.
That is the option you must choose;
you do not need the rest.

14 APR 2013

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The Holy Fool’s Lament

My blood is thinned from summer’s passion;
where I once could stand
the chill of winter’s disposition,
now I am unmanned
by this untimely season;
and the harvest I once sought
I find now sells for such a price
it won’t be quickly bought.

So I who once was drowning
in the glow of love, find drought;
and you, who I thought my soul’s twin,
decide to do without
what I believed was mother’s milk,
and manna from above:
my life as sow’s ear, turned to silk
with the touch of your love.

For years I sought you out, I thought
to win love, like a prize;
but found a bitter-sweet reward:
just laughter, in your eyes,
where I found nothing but regret
for all those wasted years
I spent in search of some ideal
to best both lust, and fear.

Such fantasies may feed and grow
but offer nothing real;
they hide what you already know
in shadows, and conceal
the simple truth as your time wanes
in frivolous pursuit,
and as you near the harvest
leave just rotted, bitter fruit.

So what is love?  What do I know?
I thought myself immune,
but strangely find September
feels alive and much like June;
and you, who I imagined just
one half of my extreme,
have turned into the one I must
both have and hold, and dream.

for Pietro Speroni

27 SEP 2009

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Why Things Burn

A moment of brilliance,
shot through the heart and left for dead
on the side of the road;
An instant of insight,
unclouded by the circumstance of reason
as the teardrop explodes;
A spark from a fire
too long extinguished, with no memory
or meaning of flame.
A blink of an eyelid;
unconscious movement without conscience
or the concept of pain.

What is the reason why things burn?

A moment of madness,
illumination that burns through the curtain of dawn;
A second of shadow,
fogging the mirror before it is faded and gone;
An inkling of brilliance,
one shining hour that dies as the minutes decay;
A spark of electric
current that waxes and wanes as it travels away.

What is the reason why things burn?

30 JUL 2007

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See You There

If you listen to the chatter
they’ll convince you it don’t matter, more or less;
as long as your wallet’s fatter,
never mind those ‘neath the ladder of success.
There’s no need to feel an instant of distress,
or a sense of guilt for stepping past the mess.

In the growing of confusion,
they’ll lead to you to same conclusion, wait and see;
as we suffer from delusion
that we’re guiltless of collusion, you and me.
There’s no need to speak up if you disagree,
or be wary of the threat to liberty.

Bow your head and learn your lesson:
better start to count your blessings, while you can.
There’s another world tomorrow
filled with all the pain and sorrow you can stand.
If you think it won’t come calling,
that your high flying ain’t falling, best beware:
there’s another side to living,
balance between taking and giving…
see you there.

If you mind the paranoia
you’ll believe they can destroy you, if they try;
so you trust in any ploy,
become the wicked world’s new play toy, by and by.
There’s no point in any struggle, so don’t cry;
besides, we must keep the mechanism dry.

Bow your head and learn your lesson:
better start to count your blessings, while you can.
There’s another world tomorrow
filled with all the pain and sorrow you can stand.
If you think it won’t come calling,
that your high flying’s not falling, best beware:
there’s another side to living,
balance between taking and giving…
see you there.

13 DEC 2006

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All Those Who’re Lost

All those who’re lost aren’t there from wandering;
some are asleep, and dream of squandering
times and places they’ve not been,
describing wonders they’ve not seen.

All those who’re lost aren’t there by accident;
some choose confusion, it’s self-evident.
They take for granted the status quo
and make decisions to make it so.

All those who’re lost don’t want to be found;
it’s too familiar, their common ground,
the box they dare not step an inch outside:
public opinion and their own sad pride.

All those who’re lost aren’t there from wandering;
just left behind from the army’s plundering
that made a wasteland left in its wake,
its former glories, its grand mistakes.

All those who’re lost aren’t seeking out
an answer to remove all doubt;
they’re building walls to try and close it in:
the truth of where they are and where they’ve been.

All those who’re lost don’t want a map,
unless it puts the world right in their lap;
it’s too much effort to reach the end
and find out you’ve got to begin again.

All those who’re lost aren’t there from wand’ring;
some are asleep, and dream of squandering
times and places they’ve not been,
describing wonders they’ve not seen.

03 AUG 2006

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