You

Some things last for so long,
Can't think of the start date,
Like chronic pain after an accident,
Or low interest rates,

They're part of who you are and e'er will be,
The structures in your life,
That you take for granted and you build on,
In which you take shelter when day turns night,

But nothing in the world lasts forever,
That's right, not even you,
The grass, the morning sun, your brand new car,
All these things will end, too.

But there's still you,
The destroyer of all,
You may see things come and go around you,
But once you're gone, there's no trace of the walls. 

The Stop's End

I had to stop my car,
Not in a hurried way,
But how one usually stops, you hope,
Logically and gay,

Slowing down first, in anticipation,
To minimize the jerk,
That always comes after every pause,
As subtle as a child's rebellious shirk,

As missed as oxygen aft' a long run,
For whatever reason,
The body needs to feel itself thrown back,
Or there's no completion.

It's in limbo,
Practic'lly panicking,
A reminder that mind lives in matter,
And provides the context for all thinking.

Airport Fish and Chips

There're some things you can eat,
Like deep fried fish and chips,
Served to you as if it's an actu'l meal,
For which you then must tip,

And say 'yes' when asked if you liked the food,
Not to be impolite,
Since they did take the time to tear the bag,
Plop out the frozen slab and deep fry it,

Place it on the plate over the cold fries,
Tartar and coleslaw sides,
Scooped out that morning into plastic cups,
From tubs both tall and wide,

You got it all,
'Cept taste and nutrients,
Given you basically ate their garbage,
It's ironic you had to pay for it.

Stand Up

Trying a stand-up desk,
You know, to save my life,
Keirkegaard did it, so why shouldn't I?
He was a stand-up guy,

He wrote about the leap of faith, you know,
The third phase we can catch,
First you behave like you only live once,
Second, see there's diff'rent ways to skin cats,

Look at Abrah'm ready to kill his son,
Just on god's word, alone,
Only faith could have led him to that step,
Standing, if you don't know,

So, so will I!
I may ne'er sit again,
Like now, by my gate, eating my oatmeal,
I may even try standing on the plane.

And Now The Rain

S'now it has been raining,
It is Spring, after all,
Plants need the melting snow and fresh sky tears,
To survive until Fall,

Not to make some random analogy,
But, what if we are plants?
Part of a cycle during which we die,
Living during the seasons that we can,

And there's a whole world that we'll never see,
That might explain it all,
Where we come from and the place where we go,
When we're not at the mall,

Hibernating,
Until the winter's thaw,
Or simply dead, rotting into the ground,
I guess our current thinking's not that far.

For The Sun

Well now it's just the sun,
Out like it's ne'er been gone,
Shining on ev'rything with abandon,
As if no one's done wrong,

Making ev'ryone feel fresh and reborn,
Whether they're rich or poor,
No matter if they deserve what they got,
Or e'en care that the sun shines anymore,

Laying bare all that hid in winter's grey,
So there's no denying,
All eyes are out to witness how you chose,
To live before dying,

And yours on them,
To judge and to compare,
Thank you, oh sun, for without your bright light,
We'd all just live without worries or care. 

An Ode To Wind

Why do I love a breeze?
The invisible sough?
The silent push sliding across my skin?
Freshest breaths in, like now?

Nothing is free from its bulbous, soft nudge,
It weaves into all nooks,
Awakening ev'ry nerve that you have,
In places that you've never thought to look,

Face it, the world comes running to your feet,
You see how you greet it?
On your back, do you move with it or stall,
Because you don't need it?

For all these things,
And more d'I love the breeze,
Then, when the air is still and I'm alone,
I 'magine the wind's just been asked to freeze.

Morning

Thank god for this coffee,
Doesn't matter what kind,
I'd rather it is rancid with caffeine,
To stimulate my mind,

Than the most balanced beans from deepest parts,
French kissed by Madonna,
E'en if 'twas guaranteed to cure cancer,
Less that brain-hugging buzz, I don't wanna,

For what kind of life's one not fully 'wake?
It's not even half speed,
The energy you use up's better spent,
On someone that's in need,

Who can mold it,
To aid humans, with luck,
By making a cup of joe you can snort,
And buy with your app at any Starbucks.

The One Moment Meditation

There's something you must do,
Delicate, some may say,
An exchange 'tween who you are and the world,
Often times in the day,

Slowed down, the moment's hard to comprehend,
Like it haps out of time,
The burst of a bubble with no surface,
As elusive as a well-thought-out rhyme,

It provides relief from pent-up pressures,
Something we all savvy,
Raised as we are to suppress our nature,
We don't have much, have we?

Except for this,
Nature's spontan'ous art,
Whether cel'brated or enjoyed alone,
We all apprec'ate the joy of the fart.

Into The Air

Sitting behind a car,
Looking at its exhaust,
Smoke billowing out, rising to the right,
Lonely, lazy and lost,

As it waited for the forward movement,
That would pull it 'long,
Give it chase instead of lack of purpose,
Make it invisible to the road's throng,

Other cars drove by from the opp'site lane,
And for a second, split,
That smoke jumped to it and then back again,
A hula dancer's hip.

Physics at play!
Forces working unseen,
With loves and hates and passions just like mine,*
Makes you wonder how you got where you've been.

*morrissey

My Mom's Garden

The leaves were easiest,
They left without bother,
The rake slid lightly over the wet soil,
Not hurting bulbs under,

Next were reedy things with husks hard and grey,
Dead, by all appearance,
But those you must snip, leaving a few buds,
Green within, 'cept for some dead companions,

Then the wet, stubborn, thick, rubbery grass,
No doubt that it must go,
Hacking on hands and knees until it's shorn,
Their names I'll never know,

And when all's done?
Well, life was all around!
Struggled through death, yet warmed in its embrace,
Free to spring forth 'til its death, too, comes 'round.

The Proof is in the Pudding

This is not a journal,
A journal contains facts,
Rum'nations on their relations to truth,
Musings on how to act,

Well, those actually do exist here,
Ref. def'nition of Wath,
But unlike journals, this isn't pers'nal,
Nor expose me like a journal would doth,

Any connection you feel to these words>
Are their placement, forsooth,
Arranged in such a way as to unlock>
A universal truth.

Or, that's the goal,
Proved only by each read,
An event that occurs so seldomly,
That they all may as well be about me.

What You Do

No decision you make,
Not those that you regret,
Or that lead you down a path that seems wrong,
Should ever make you fret,

There is no special knowledge that you had,
If you chose 'correctly',
Remember, your judgment of the outcome,
Is based on your perspective entirely,

But there are others affected by you,
With their own opinion,
Equally ignorant of the merit,
Of any decision,

So what to do!
Just float around blindly?
Anyone who's known the answer to that,
Has started a religion, probably.

Damascus

One should not get side railed,
Comparing to others,
Ev'ry life is diff'rent by their nature,
Some exalt, some suffer,

Some victims of the most horrifying,
Think war, floods and famine,
But what good is it to say as comfort,
"At least I am not them"?

Well, there's the fact life makes no promises,
But, that fate's not rigid,
Though many have died, many have raised up,
Despite what the world did,

What if you'd woke,
Into a life of strife?
Would the things that seem so important now,
Even be a factor in your blessed life?

Laying Tracks

A train has no real choice,
Its next step is e'er set,
Yet, its ultimate destination's not,
Which is what most don't get,

They can't go anywhere they want to go,
Nor can they meander,
But they see more places than most people,
And 'sides, who of us can truly wander?

Options 'fore us are ne'er truly open,
There is always a path,
Spiked to the place from which we are coming,
Bound by what we ere hath.

Though, we lay th'tracks,
We choose the foundation,
Set the orientation of the ties,
With an eye for the ult'mate dest'nation.

Wild

Don't recall 'zactly how,
She expressed it in words,
But, a line from that film (and prob'ly book),
Made me perk up when heard,

'Bout her life being unique and mag'cal,
There being just the one,
A condition of everyone on earth,
Regardless of their own situation,

She realized that at the end of her hike,
With all that came before,
The drugs, the sex and abusive father,
The babe she did abort,

All needed parts,
Leading up to that line,
In retrospect, all necessary parts.
Good or bad hist'ry's not something to pine.

The Resolution of a Very Important Difference

There have been arguments,
About the difference,
'Tween two sim'lar types of coffee brewers,
Due to one's ignorance,

First there's the one that rains water on grounds,
That's the percolator,
Heat forces it to the top of a tube,
Cycled, 'til you've got varnish remover,

Then there's the Moka pot, made in It'ly,
It too, forces it up,
But it passes through the grounds on its way,
Once, for a perfect cup.

Is that clear now?
Not your mug of coffee,
It's the diff'rence 'tween someone's limp handshake,
And one who can grab life by the testes.

Walk A Mile

I want to go a league,
No one does anymore,
They go miles and kilometres often,
But neither help you soar,

Neither will take you where you need go,
So why not try a league?
The span a soldier can walk in a day,
Sounds like a promising journey to me,

A soldier is always going somewhere,
With purpose and conf'dence,
With a plan, even if she don't know what,
With an ultimate ends.

Isn't that nice?
Forget that pesky mile,
The league will now take you where you should go,
When the shadow's on X on the sundial.