Not For Mom

Just 'cause it's Mother's Day,
This isn't about her,
She's not alive no more, so what's the point?
She is not of this world.

Though she's in my thoughts in ev'ry moment,
Isn't everyone?
We're all a product of interaction,
Informed by observing our reactions.

Like mom would say, you must follow your heart.
Well, there I go again!
Placing her words as the measure of all,
Like they were true wisdom.

I think they were,
Honesty person'fied,
Oh please may I face life with the same grace,
As mom did right up to the day she died.

The Dark Forest

I tried to face outside,
Naked as a newborn,
The elements attacked my skin and eyes,
Leaving flesh and mind torn,

I woke up with the sun upon my face,
Blood, now, my body's clothes,
Dark in spots by leaves and mountains shadows,
'Round me sounds of animals no one knows,

They walk with me in the forest's dark depths,
Poised to pounce then vanish,
Struck with the same wounds, addled as I am,
Searching for a safe niche,

But there is none,
Not if you're still living,
The more protected, the less in the world,
No understanding without misgiving.

The Gap

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock,
Good bye forever more,
Unreplaceable as a child's first words,
Or the evening's last pour,

Hold back all you want, it's still taking time,
You fall until impact,
Terminal velocity's never reached,
Your imagination is never hacked,

Your disabilities are obvious,
In the right company,
But come play with me and my little friend,
Where the sky's e'er sunny,

Time will still pass,
Naught will ever stop that,
Tick tock goes the clock, steady as your heart,
That yearns for the moment you're born to have.

These Sounds

Wish I knew that bird call,
Like I know that humming,
Or the periodic flush caused by leaks,
And my fingers drumming,

My own call, though the message is in words,
Spit out upon the screen,
Like the pweers float messages on the wind,
Then I cut my nails as, too, the beak preens.

Its mortal danger's that it won't be heard,
Some things we've in common,
Too, breath, love, sorrow, creation, thoughts, fear.
Oh, and procreation,

Th'eternal call,
Bird calls to the unknown,
Each offspring an echo of the desire,
To prove to ourselves that we're not alone.

The Ultimate Goal

Karl Ove stopped writing,
His brain did not want to,
But the body can have another mind,
Simply opposing you,

Whether everything's simply in your thoughts,
The distinction remains,
The two components must work together,
As if their ultimate goal is the same,

So what does that mean when you're facing life?
Sadly, it don't mean much,
For both of them have to face the outside,
Which has its mind, as such,

Good luck with that,
Melding the three as one,
The trinity that yields utopia,
The dream of every revolution.

Dreams are Dreams

Careful what you wish for,
Dreams rarely do come true,
For they are formed in the world of your mind,
That's created by you,

Like a mirror you can only reflect,
But just outside the frame,
Are complicated weaves of real'ty,
Inside which those images are contained.

Which is proof the world's not in your head,
It's in other heads, too,
All with their own way of reflecting yours,
With dreams that ne'er came true,

But it's alright,
One day you will just die,
Like billions of people died before you,
Unbounded by their mind's reflected light.

The Pain

What is it like to hurt,
Beyond your abil'ty,
To control the fact that it's happening,
Despite that you are free,

Outside of the protection of the norm,
Condoned by all around,
Like the politician behind one cause,
At the expense of all others around,

Where there's no def'nition for what you do,
On the side of the good,
For it disrupts the natural order,
That's so far understood?

It is not fun,
The hurt's the borderline,
Community's meant to yield the good life,
Within the bound'ries it condones as fine.

For My Children

Where's revolution start?
It begins in your heart,
With the realization that you are free,
The same feeling as art,

Then you look around for similar eyes,
Glowing, that understand,
Each individual has just one chance,
To express their unique type of human,

In such an honest way to speak to all,
Who're open to the truth,
That true freedom needs soul and socie'ty,
Living under one roof,

Example f'all,
Not selfish or selfless,
But a marriage ensuring love for all,
For my children, this is for which I wish.

Time For Revolution

Want a revolution?
Well, it is hard to plan,
Mostly you have to be prepared to act,
As does ev'ry human,

Moved by the injustice of the system,
Real, but still hard to see,
How do you fight against all that you've known,
When there's no examples from history?

You have to believe you're not free to be,
With others screaming, 'yes'!
There's no system where everyone's happy,
But for sure, more than less.

Is that the case?
Is it time for a change?
'Til satisfaction hits an all-time low,
We'll never know the limit of that range.

Alone

Sitting in underwear,
Slight tremor on the side,
Planes, boats, cars all equidistant from me,
Still, far enough to hide,

This is a moment outside of real life,
Where others still exist,
You can't escape into yourself out there,
The way my mother did at the hospice,

When I asked her how she was feeling, then,
She said she's letting go,
Of the world, her husband and children, too,
TMI? I don't know.

I read to her,
A book called The Dinner,
'Til she silently waved for me to stop,
I laughed the last laugh of the remainer.

Dreams

This plane is very full,
But not as I had dreamt,
When I was near the back contemplating,
There's no overhead vent,

Instead there was no roof where I had sat,
Just clouds in a blue sky,
We were plummeting down towards the earth,
Random thoughts in my head just floating by,

But none of them were about what I'd done,
Life isn't about that,
It's about contemplation on the fact,
That you can ne'er look back.

Only ahead,
To where you're heading to,
E'en if it's to watch the fast moving ground,
Waiting to receive and decompose you.

Good Morning

There's so much suffering,
Is that the point of life?
Some have proposed that it is in fact that,
So learn to enjoy strife,

It is not that difficult to achieve,
The material's there,
Just ignore the things that tempt happiness,
For that illusion is meant to impair,

To insulate you from your true feelings,
That smile's only a mask,
Anyone'll tell you the way that it is,
You only have to ask,

It's all a sham,
Whether happy or sad,
Those are just words deficient to the task,
Of expressing the exper'ence you've had.

Surroundings

The red's faded to black,
The pain is still the same,
Somewhere there's honey that's sweeter than this,
I can't recall the name,

Bitterness stains my mouth like acrid waste,
P'haps a forever thing,
Until this body decays to the ground,
And its actions only a memory,

A door has been shut tight against entry,
Legs sleeping anyway,
If the sun stays in the sky long enough,
I may get out today,

Into the world,
At least what's left of it,
After the destruction of so much love,
Outside's rough when there's nothing to covet.

The Gash

Blood's pouring from my hand,
Well, 'pouring's not quite right,
The cut is so, that what will come will come,
Like rainfall in a blight,

It quickly seeps into the dry, bare earth,
Like it was never there,
Except for those few minutes when it's dark,
Here red, around the jagged, whitish tear.

I could clean it now, and bandage it up,
Pretend it never was,
But what of the act that led to this wound?
That should never be lost,

That will e'er be,
A lesson from the past,
So that I can weigh the consequences,
Should the act's rewards supersede the gash.

Working Up

What is this world's power?
It can stop you from things,
That should just be a matter of one's course,
A natural extension of living.

Why should one moment be wasted wond'ring,
What the fallout will be,
Of attempting to achieve what you want,
It all still seems a bit childish to me,

Which you may think is childish in itself,
Dreams of a naive youth,
P'haps one needs to relive these thoughts each time,
So impulses are soothed,

Decisions made,
Thoughtfully, truth inside,
Growing up's not about what's expected,
But making sure what you do's bonafide.

Is The Rain Falling?

He ended up on top,
By publishing his flaws,
Details from moments buried in the past,
Stretching liter'ture's laws,

Still, there was a confidence in his shame,
Sure of what he wanted,
Naturally retreating to the pen,
When his deficiencies were most flaunted.

Two chairs in the wind? Does that say it all?
It's something to unpack,
But, it is the simplest that most attracts,
Born of an innate knack,

Depth where there's none,
That's the most open text,
The one who gets drunk until he blacks out,
He who cums, miles from arriving at sex.

Not Free

How dare you look at me,
Stuffing your lazy maw,
You see me everyday and still forget.
A small taste of your flaws,

Ne'er before have my shoulders felt so tense,
With you behind so close,
Pretending to look at everything but,
What it is I do each day. You are gross.

Is that a mug to your lips or a cam'ra?
You have someone to call?
Don't look at my fingers counting syll'bles,
I'm not writing The Fall,

I'm killing you,
Or trying with my mind,
Still, I stopped perusing my profile page,
So you wouldn't think I'm wasting my time.

Onto The Next

It's finally finished,
It is true what they say,
That things seem like shit when you're done with them,
You want to slay and flay,

Chop into pieces and grind up like meat,
Encase in intestines,
Put on the queue, veg'tarian or not,
Just mask the carnage with glasses of wine,

Soon it will come out from the other end,
Decay into the ground,
Then p'haps you can be proud of it again,
Until the flushing sound,

Then onto new,
'Finish' wasn't your goal,
It's the process that should motivate you,
That's the whole point and nature of the soul.

In A Hole In The Wall

This bar counter is smooth,

Clear coat over long grains,

Chipped and dirty wainscoting beside me,

They may's well be the same,

If the lights weren't down you'd see it all,

The dust bunnies on wires,

Into junction boxes that lead nowhere,

Liquor lined up lighted colors like fires,

Eve'ry drink muting remaining contrasts,

Blurs of bats, copper pans,

Old, torn ads for long forgotten products,

Wait, that's next Friday's band,

Then I see me,

In the tap's manifold,

Stretched out, squished, barely recognizable,

Appears I'm in the right place, when all's told. 

Good-bye Whisker

I have no sympathy,
For that lone shorn whisker,
Hewn down with its thousands of brothers,
Can't say that I'll miss her,

Could I have told her apart 'mong the throngs,
As they fell down so far,
Enveloped in drops destined for the drain,
Or embedded stubbornly in the bar?

Would she still be the same apart from me,
In some box on a shelf,
Alone when she should be part of a beard?
Could she have any self?

If alive, yes,
Alive, we all have hope,
If she changed her def'nition of alive,
She could thrive in that box than simply cope.