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Tag: control

How Many Times?

Published on March 5, 2006

for Johnny Cash

How many times must I repeat
the same old tired line?
How many times can this old heart
be broken and be fine?
It doesn’t take a genius to opine
the odds are bound to take a sharp decline.

How many times must substance
take a backseat behind style?
How many times can a good man
walk down that extra mile?
The calculations need not take a while;
no need to note an entry in some file.

It doesn’t mean that I don’t love you,
but I’m getting tired
of waking up each morning
feeling old and uninspired;
There’s just an empty feeling
in my heart that’s like a hole,
and a longing for something that’s
out of my control.

How many words should be too many
spoken out of turn?
How many matches must we strike
before we start to burn?
It doesn’t take a brilliant man to learn
the law about diminishing returns.

How many lies will we both tell
before we face the truth?
How much of careless, foolish love
is wasted in our youth?
It doesn’t take too much to find the proof
that some foundation must hold up the roof.

It doesn’t mean that I don’t love you,
but I’m getting tired
of waking up each morning
feeling old and uninspired;
There’s just an empty feeling
in my heart that’s like a hole,
and a longing for something that’s
out of my control.

05 MAR 2006

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Yesterday’s Angels

Published on October 19, 2005

Baby’s got a hole in her shoe
Tells me she’s not sure what to do
All her watercolors have turned to blue
Said she wanted a choice, but now there’s nothing left to choose
Tells me that her well’s about to run dry
Got no more tears left her to cry

Baby’s got a lot on her mind
Tells me she’s not sure just what she’ll find
All her fortune tellers have been found blind
Says I know wanted change, but wasn’t sure what kind
Tells me she just wants to be free
Then picks up the chains that bind her, and throws me the key
saying

I don’t need no angels to show me the light
Yesterday’s angel is still burning bright
Don’t try to save me, and I think I’ll be all right
Just leave your wings outside my door tonight

Baby’s got a lock on her soul
Tells me she don’t want to lose control
All her convicted lovers have been paroled
Said she gave herself to the night, didn’t know it’d be so cold
Tells me her bridges are burned to the ground
Got no more heartache to pass around

Baby’s got a hole in her heart
Tells me she just wants to make a new start
All her horses left her with a broken cart
Said she wanted to know it all, now it hurts to be so smart
Tells me she just wants to let go
Then picks up the chains that bind her, throws the key to the floor
saying

I don’t need no angels to show me the light
Yesterday’s angel is still burning bright
Don’t try to save me, and I think I’ll be all right
Just leave your wings outside my door tonight…

And so I did.

1991

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What price a pawn

Published on July 28, 2005

What price paid by a pawn who makes,
if merely by sheer luck or chance,
its way through fields strewn by mistakes
in focused, single step advance
to the far end of what it knows,
where all the trappings of a pawn
must be forgotten, and the clothes
befit a king must be put on?

28 JUL 2005

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Death of a Circus Lion

Published on July 25, 2005

His speech was almost poetry;
I say almost, because to claim
such subtle acts of sophistry
as conscious art is to enflame
the ire of critics, who exist
with their sole purpose to decry
encroachment on their world as lies,
and play the constant pessimist.

The world’s not ready, they proclaim,
for such a mix of show and tell;
for movements that defy a name.
The vanity of hope won’t sell
a single copy on the coasts.
Besides, a voice we cannot tell
“be silent” is quite mad; to boast
its worthiness despite our well
intentioned praise, or degradation,
seems to smack of heresy.
I ask you, in this situation,
would you dare let such things be?

In these and other ways, more sly,
the world prefers its genius mute;
no small surprise that you and I
give up such goals as our pursuit,
and gambol, as if without care,
through life without a moment’s thought
to who built our cage bars just there,
or for what purpose we were caught.

25 JUL 2005

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Careful What You Ask For

Published on July 17, 2005

Do you really want theocracy,
to thin or blur the line
between what makes us get along,
and what God had in mind?

That means you’ll have to tell the truth,
and never get divorced;
make no income from interest
(that’s usury, of course);
respect your elders, even when
they say you’re full of shit;
give not your coat, but your shirt, too
when the homeless ask for it;
never bear false witness,
which means you’ll have to work hard
to learn what really are the facts
beyond your own back yard;
and stealing? Each and every kind
you’ll have to forthwith cease;
that means the end of espionage,
sly dealings, and palm grease.

You’ll need to give up judging sheep
who come from other folds,
and leave off all interpreting;
just do what you are told,
not by some politician, preacher,
or pope, full of zeal,
but by a judge beyond your ken
who does not hear appeals.

17 JUL 2005

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Such Times Are These

Published on May 8, 2005

Such times are these that rich men gloat
to turn great woods to creosote
and laugh to see the world take note
as style takes substance by the throat.

Such times are these that poor men work
their fingers fleshless for these jerks
who waiting in the shadows lurk
to claim as theirs both purse and perk.

Such times are these that men and boys
forgo their fortunes and love’s joys
to strut about and make loud noise,
their goal to other men destroy.

Such times are these that pious words
are used to pardon the absurd:
that war brings peace, that freedom’s bird
would choose to nest in such a turd.

Such times are these that there should be
cult worship of celebrity
where children want as destiny
a fleeting moment on TV.

Such times are these when young and old
accept as truth what they’ve been told
and do not mind that they’ve been sold
a fire that brings not heat, but cold.

Such times are these that perpetrate
the myth that might is right and great,
that the one path to truth is straight,
and those who rule control the gate.

Such times are these when poets must
regard their words a sacred trust
to speak against their culture’s lust
to turn what’s left of gold, to dust.

08 MAY 2005

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The Butterfly Effect

Published on March 1, 2005

Among the movies recommended by my daughter for weekend and early week viewing: Napoleon Dynamite and The Butterfly Effect.

About ND, I will say this: my daughter thought it was highly amusing. But then again, the beautiful and popular people in high school always think the lives of nerds, geeks, dorks and other assorted social outcasts are funny. In other words, crappy stuff is only funny if it isn’t happening to you. Other than that, the movie was a piss-poor imitation of other movies in which characters with no redeeming virtues complete absolutely no business, learn nothing about themselves and neither arrive at, nor help the audience to arrive at, any kind of epiphany or insight into anyone’s life.

About the Butterfly Effect: I appreciate the premise. But I could not watch the entire movie. It was too graphically violent. And perhaps events in recent weeks in my own life have overly sensitized me to the issues of institutionalization, psychology, severe depression and other various and sundry mental illnesses, but it was a troubling film in that it drew you in, so much so that you cared about the characters and were affected by the circumstances of what seemed a very horrible childhood. And once I was in that frame of mind, I felt blugeoned by the violence. Kids burning dogs. Parents molesting children. Kids beating the crap out of other kids. My brother, who served in Desert Storm, has indicated that since being in combat he has a difficult time watching war movies. Well, I have a difficult time watching mindless violence. Gratuitous violence. Even legitimized violence, such as the premise for the movie Troy (which was also on our rental list) recently makes me nauseous.

Perhaps its just TV. I can’t watch it anymore. It either takes itself too seriously, or not seriously enough. There is no balance. It is a tool for the delivery of advertisements. And frankly, that tool is becoming of less and less use on my personal mechanism. I’m becoming self-winding, so to speak.

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