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
05.12.17
It Is Their Flag: roundelay
Almost in spite, some fools seem to keep trying.
They seek a balance where mad chaos reigns;
they fight for life, despite death’s constant sighing,
giving their all for sake of what remains.
It is their flag that in the dark stays flying,
and puts self-serving cowardice to shame.
They fight for life despite death’s constant sighing,
giving their all for sake of what remains.
With courage and resolve near mystifying,
in ignorance of weariness or pain,
it is their flag that in the dark stays flying,
and puts self-serving cowardice to shame.
With courage and resolve near mystifying,
in ignorance of weariness and pain,
they sacrifice themselves; and in their dying,
release the world from its enslaving chains.
It is their flag that in the dark stays flying,
and puts self-serving cowardice to shame.
They sacrifice themselves, and in their dying,
release the world from its enslaving chains,
for future generations, signifying
the truth it is important to retain.
It is their flag that in the dark stays flying,
and puts self-serving cowardice to shame.
12 MAY 2017
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The shadow knows
It ought to be a simple thing:
you spend years looking for just what
inspires you, makes you realize
exactly how to become you,
to finally be satisfied
with who the mirror shows you back,
and make the bold choice to refuse
your past to close you in.
It ought to be a simple thing;
and yet, once that thing is achieved,
and all the hours and pointless days
up to that point are washed away,
the wounds from battles long forgot
all healed, their scars in slow retreat,
a shadow still remains behind
and finds you unaware.
It ought to be a simple thing:
a shoulder’s shrug should send it off,
that careless smile you’ve learned to wear
to keep your thoughts close to the vest,
and yet, despite a new-found strength
spurred by convictions now secured,
the darkness creeps in with the night
to hide you from yourself.
28 APR 2013
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Let go, let go, let go
Cast away your doubts and fears;
let go, let go, let go.
Leave behind all that you know;
let go, let go, let go.
Nothing left to tie you down,
nothing blocking out your sound,
nothing keeping you around;
let go, let go, let go.
Toss aside those clouds and gray;
let go, let go, let go.
Ask the universe to play;
let go, let go, let go.
There is something left to find,
something of another kind,
could be something on your mind:
let go, let go, let go.
Leave behind your cares and woe;
let go, let go, let go.
All you’ve learned and all you know;
let go, let go, let go.
Anything can be achieved,
anything you can believe
can be used to make you grieve:
let go, let go, let go.
Let your worries slip away;
let go, let go, let go.
Start again, just start today;
let go, let go, let go.
No one blocking out your view,
no one left except for you
to complete the passage through:
let go, let go, let go.
19 APR 2013
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Winding Down: diminishing verse
Oh, that brave actions would outstrip
my idle thoughts on this strange trip
and rend this silence, letting rip
against those fears none understand;
and on that battleground, I’d stand
secure in my convictions and
well-knowing that I could suspend
reality and time to spend
a moment in peace at the end.
Oh, to feel that glad release,
when this worn flesh negates its lease
and finds at long last, a true ease.
14 DEC 2012
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Red(neck) White and Blue
OK, so I’ll admit there’s something dangerous about listening to Jerry Reed, Johnny Paycheck and Hank Williams Jr. while at work on a Thursday afternoon. Follow that up with dinner at a restaurant at the edge of a college town where you’re likely to see obnoxious young punks dining across the room from farmers and truckdrivers, and it’s a recipe for some kind of social commentary. Here goes.
My name is on my shirt, but that don’t mean that I forgot
just who I am and where I learned the lessons I’ve been taught
about this world we’re living in and how it got that way:
some people create garbage, and other folks scrub it away
I pump the gas you waste in your designer SUVs;
It’s my sweat that delivers your brand new widescreen TVs;
I watch as you buy priviledge with handfuls of crisp new cash;
You may buy friends and influence, but that don’t mean you’ve got class.
You say I’m redneck, poor white and blue,
not worth the future you’re entitled to;
but it doesn’t matter much what you might say.
The trash that you talk, folks like me wash away.
If it’s broke, I can fix it and charge you an honest rate
while you laugh underneath your breath and think me an ingrate,
not thankful for the culture you ignore and would let die
without my servant class to keep your asses warm and dry.
I grow your food, construct your homes, and keep your golf course green
My friends and family fight your wars, and build your limousines
My face seems so familiar, but you can’t recall my name
Down that great height you’re looking from, we all look just the same
You say I’m a redneck, poor white and blue
not worth the effort it costs to improve
but it doesn’t matter what you choose to say
The mess that you make, folks like me sweep away
Maybe I’m just redneck, poor white trash and blue
just one more hillbilly with nothing to lose.
one thing’s for certain, and I know it’s true:
except for the grace of God, I’d be like you.
15 DEC 2005
 White and Blue){kind=link}
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Sisyphus
At each new dawning of the day,
our shackles turned to dust,
we rise from bed and check the door
in case it’s turned to rust;
and finding perhaps a loose hinge
or screws worn down and stripped,
we throw our weight against the seam
where new daylight has slipped.
The door cracks open, and we sprawl
out in the joining hall
that through our window seemed so vast
but really is quite small —
for it is just another cage,
a slightly different cell;
and after a few moments’ rest
it becomes hard to tell
if where we are and where we’ve been
are very much the same,
or if the move we just accomplished
will affect the game.
The light begins to fade, at length,
and we begin to sense
that each room we have passed through
is illusion and pretense,
that the rough walls are paper thin —
in fact, they’re barely there.
We could walk through and out
with just a single breath of air.
But reaching that epiphany
we do not grasp for more,
just sleep, and dream of getting past
tomorrow’s brand new door.
07 JAN 2004
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