Let the Cold Wind Blow
Let the cold wind blow,
let the weak spots show,
let the gray hair go
’til it’s there no more.
Let the days roll by,
let the hours fly,
let ’em say goodbye
’til it’s you and I.
There’s just no reason
that I can find
to leave a bit of
this life behind.
Let the loose lips slip,
let the hipsters hip,
let the sinking ship
take a long, cool dip.
Let the world roll on,
let the foolish fawn
let both king and pawn
fade until they’re gone.
There’s just no point
that I can see
to let it bother
you and me.
Let the raindrops fall,
let the time just crawl,
let the engine stall
somewhere in the hall.
Let the earth just spin,
let them all back in,
let both thick and thin
come around again.
There’s just no reason
that I can find
to ever have you
off my mind.
15 JAN 2015
06.26.06
The Bluebird of Happiness
You can lay down all the money you like
on redwood gazebos, those big platform feeders;
put out the best blend of customized seed,
and he won’t show a figment of interest.
Cut up fresh fruit and array it on saucers,
crumble up corn bread and leave it for hours;
sit there stock-still, either morning or evening.
He’ll twitter from above on the wire.
But if you leave the backyard, or a portion
of it, to grow long and fill up with black crickets
and hiding grasshoppers, then spend a half hour
of afternoon mowing, he’ll come.
The moral of this tale is that happiness follows
your action, not waiting. It prefers live bait.
26 JUN 2006
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This Morning’s Song
The song I sing this morning is not new.
In fact, its birth predates even my own;
yet in between the phrases, now and then,
it’s me, and not the tune, that you’ll hear groan.
Why is this melody upon my lips
instead of some fresh fragment from the charts,
designed from sentimental, worn cliches
to motivate me and my shopping cart?
Because it has survived, the same as I,
despite the efforts of a younger set
who think of history as just passe,
and find their greatest talent, to forget.
The song I sing this morning, I once sang
as a young boy who’d just begun to dream
that this old world was more than it appeared,
and started peeking in between the seams.
What song will you be singing when we meet?
I hope it’s one where I can sing along;
I’ll share mine with you, if you’d care to try:
in harmony, it’s twice as loud and strong.
11 APR 2006
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Random Thought
There is only one thought
that is scarier to the industrialist
than “Workers of the World Unite”.
It is “Want What You Have”.
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A Sangha of Two
The things that you love are a part of me,
each butterfly that brings a laughing smile;
Our community grows large because we
share every moment and each traveled mile.
I can touch you here and now, feel your lips
against mine, your scent on the morning breeze;
and if for brief times the world fades and slips
away in mist – I say, do as you please,
dear Maya, for there are two of us here,
beyond the veil of time. It matters not
whether our past lives brought us so near,
only the bliss this small moment has brought.
While we are on this precious, living path
Let us pause, and drink deep, and love to laugh.
08 JUL 2003
For Starlight Dances: life is suffering disappointment good bullshit not a noun.
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