Sunday, January 25, 2015

Battle of the Senses

Are flowers better than a song? Is sound
More useful than aroma, does a boom
Replace the scent of roses in the room?
Is every petal just above the ground
A thrilling source of beauty, sweetly crowned
By babies' breaths, or, rather, has the gloom
Surrounding us, like moss grown on a tomb,
Made fragrance horrible and songs redound?

I see the singer take a regal pose,
The red carnation set in his lapel,
Standing beside a clean artesian well
On which a wafting bank of flowers grows.
He sings for us, until we see his nose
Has wrinkled up, and registered the smell.

Sunday, January 11, 2015

My Memories of You

I have suppressed my memories of you
As well as all my childhood, so what's left
Is bits and pieces of a life, bereft
Of meaning, continuity, or glue.
When people speak, I don't know what is true
And what is simply wild thoughts without heft,
Detritus, injury, and outright theft.
Let's pray for answers now. Pull up a pew.

I know that when we met I wasn't clear
About love, passion, and catastrophe:
They all appeared identical to me,
So telling friendliness apart from fear
Became impossible. You have my ear,
But not my trust again. Just let that be.

Thursday, January 01, 2015

An Effort

It's time to make an effort, push a bit
Against your destiny, towards the past.
The alteration hasn't been so vast
That you can't just go back. Calm down, and sit
Beside your old friends, where the lamps are lit,
And prise yourself from darkness. Now, at last,
The daylight's gone. You thought the die was cast,
But yesterday is coming. Wait for it.

Now you'll attach yourself to yesterday,
Which has some clear advantages for you:
You'll seem much smarter, though you have no clue
About tomorrow; when you want to play,
No one will blame you; watch for some delay,
But overall, you'll like the tried and true.