Tag Archives: pointlessness

Does Somebody Win?

Doesn’t seem to make much sense at all;
win or lose don’t matter in the end.
It’s a race that seems too close to call;
finish line’s just up around the bend.

Doesn’t seem to change much day to day;
up or down, they’re pretty much the same.
It’s an endless cycle, anyway;
good or bad, the blues still run the game.

Doesn’t seem to be much of a choice;
nothing but illusions and disguise.
If you take a stand, or find your voice,
all you know or say ends up in lies.

Doesn’t seem to make much sense to me;
just another day to make it through.
Wasn’t what they promised it would be:
finding something meaningful to do.

Doesn’t seem there’s anything that’s true;
everyone pretends in something more.
What’s the point in simply playing through?
Who is left to count the final score?

Doesn’t seem to be a worthy cause;
after all, what matters, when it’s done?
Instinct versus artificial law;
both are losers, if somebody’s won.

09 JUN 2017

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Plain Speaking: toddaid

“You must speak more plainly, sir,” he said,
“Most men ignore the complicated.
Their jaded minds and souls seek simple things:
weak drinks, brutal sports, the understated.”

“How much more sad that seems,” I made reply,
“to have no dreams than see them all fade.
A life made of no attribute but length.
I’d not have strength for such charade.”

“Aye,” he answered back, “’tis quite a showing:
all the time knowing there’s nothing more,
no real sense of self, nor point in being,
for years, seeing naught but shuttered doors.”

I spoke then, “What a statement on mankind:
that so few find a purpose beyond toil,
but slowly fade to nothing, spoiled and torn;
just born to return back to the soil.”

06 JUN 2017

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A Thing: barzeletta

A thing before the eyes, so crystal clear,
a vision any fool could plainly see:
the fate of any government of men
who choose, not to subdue nor comprehend

the reasons why a thing should come to pass,
or be, thing-in-itself, more than a dream,
perhaps just fancy, winged with gossamer
that looks good in parade, but cannot fly.

The thing our focused energies engage,
what matter that it live on undefined?
A drooling child could scarcely fail to see
that wasting time is all it guarantees.

But something, or just nothing? ‘Tis the rub
that rattles conversations on and on;
and wears great minds from sharpness, down to nub,
until such things are worth the thinking on.

The thing, the magic thing! Oh happy day,
when we may glorify it with a name!
‘Tis such a shame it takes so very long
for any thing worth naming to arrive.

16 JAN 2017

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If it doesn’t ever happen
was it ever gonna change?
Do the puzzle pieces ever move
or just not look the same?
Are the ones that make it happen
just the ones we find to blame?
Do we pick and choose the enemies
who help us feel less strange?
Are we really hoping those like us
are all that will remain?

If it hasn’t ever happened
who’s to say it ever could?
What percentage of the greater
helps define the greater good?
Are the enemies we’re fighting
just dressed up in different hoods?
Is the only thing preventing change
that no one thinks we should?
Do we really think the universe will
end, misunderstood?

If it’s never gonna happen
what is evolution for?
What’s the point of boats, or bridges,
standing land-locked, on the shore?
Are the only ones who ever learn
the dying, dead or poor?
What’s the reason to keep going,
or for trying any more?
When there’s no one left still standing,
does it matter who just scored?

10 AUG 2015

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We conversate, but what’s the point of it
when what we say results in nothing new?
Instead of acts to reinforce our views
we throw up walls of words, then simply quit,

imagining ideas are enough
to put the wheels in motion, so to speak.
Oh, never mind our arguments are weak,
and for the most part, made of silly stuff

we quote and quote, ad nauseum, and feel
ourselves so clever and so in the know;
and so our endless conversations go –
like spears we thrust them onward with such zeal!

And if our words should damage, what real harm?
Why worry over consequence and such?
Our so-called, self-named victims cry so much
that caring has lost both its worth and charm.

Besides, it’s not our fault the world is mad
and will not listen to the sense we preach;
put those who disagree far out of reach,
and write them off, as evil, cruel or bad –

they waste the precious manna of our words,
so surely they do not deserve the air
we need to rule the world from our armchairs.
Let them feed on our crumbs, like starving birds!

But now, enough of that, back as you were:
what was that witty comment I just wrote?
Let’s keeping on talking; we can sugar coat
the world, and keep reality a blur.

11 DEC 2014

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There is no need to stop the clocks,
nor try to dim the constant noise;
let those who listen, soldier on,
despite the sonic din’s abuse.

There are no hidden codes to find,
nor secret doors along the wall;
let those who look, persist in vain
while their illusions peel and rust.

There is no gathering of tribes,
nor universal dream to come;
let those who would awake, sleep on.
The morning will come soon enough.

There is no right, there is no wrong,
nor side that always ends face up;
let those who would place bets dream on,
beyond the realm of win or lose.

There is no stirring battle cry,
nor mourning wail to soothe the dead;
let those who sing learn different tunes
in some more pleasing universe.

04 AUG 2014

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A Prayer for Kurtis Cummings

Say a prayer for old Kurtis Cummings:
went out in his rowboat and got lost out at sea.
Left his wife and two young children
waiting standing at communion with the Reverend Jerry Lee.

Picked up his old shotgun and his pea coat from the Navy,
walked out by the back door and left his extra key;
left a note for Molly, said “I’ll meet you at the service.
Give my best to Deacon Jones and the Reverend Jerry Lee.”

Kurtis stood out back,
and when he heard that they were leaving,
reached into his pocket for a shell.
No one heard the echo of the shot until that evening,
when the papers found they had a tale to tell:
“Reverend Lee says Kurtis C. is bound for hell.
Widow’s lawyer says it’s probably just as well.”

Say a prayer for old Kurtis Cummings:
went out in his garden and got turned out to seed.
Left his young wife and a thriving business
filling the collection plate for the Reverend Jerry Lee.

Picked up his old hat and the old shotgun from the corner,
slipped out through the back hall and gently closed the screen.
Left a note for Molly, said “I’ll see you when it’s over;
give my love to ma and pa and Reverend Jerry Lee.”

Kurtis slipped out back
and when he heard them at the table,
tossed into the breech another round.
No one felt the echo of the shock until much later,
when the papers printed up what they had found:
“Widow cries as Kurtis C. goes in the ground;
and the Reverend Lee has disappeared from town.”

Say a prayer for old Kurtis Cummings:
went out for a drive and got turned underneath the wheel.
Left his wife and two young children
waiting on their first communion with the Reverend Jerry Lee.

Standing waiting on communion with the Reverend Jerry Lee.

for Kurt Cobain

14 MAY 1994

A Prayer for Kurtis Cummings (demo)

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