Aiming to Please

He knew it best to
follow his gut when it
came to his scribblings,
to let his stomach tell him
the truth, when his need
for approval tried to
lead him astray.
Pretty eclectic in his
reading, he still liked them
sweet and short, to the point,
but slanted a bit, too.
I mean, who needs to actually
employ that word
in a poem about love?
That’s not to say that
that Browning woman didn’t
have a lot to say, having
led an interesting life.
And those beat poets
followed a well-walked path,
letting their need for read,
and sometimes weed, get them
to a place where they used
more words than they
themselves needed.
The more recent laureates
and near-laureates
seemed to get it, Ryan and Collins
leading the young century with
brevity and wit.
He knew it best to
follow his gut, but
those damn buttons,
send and post and share,
so easy to push, so easy to
let them lead him into temptation,
when he knew to follow his heart.

Unbroken

As inevitably as spring
leads to summer,
fall follows.
As assuredly as heart
leads to joy,
love follows.
As completely as
love leads to sharing,
peace follows.
As securely as
peace leads to calm,
life follows.
As predictably as
life leads to death,
new life follows.
As inevitably as fall
leads to winter,
spring follows.

Falling Up

Falling up requires towering imagination,
like a book read backwards,
with reverse pagination.
What if rain fell upwards?
I see it clearly, can’t you?
Then how would a rainbow assemble,
perhaps as the brightest horseshoe?
I know some folks must think it quite stupid,
then some folks think love comes from Cupid.
Niagara Falls would have to flow up, not down
but your own falls wouldn’t lead to a frown,
falling up, it’s the new falling down.
What about physical laws, you say?
Ignore them, they’ll just float away.
Gravity? Schmavity .
And those dreams, hopes and wishes
which today float away?
They’ll naturally fall back to your heart,
where they’ll stay.

Done

It’s old men who send our young to war.
I don’t listen to them anymore.
It’s time to stand up, say nevermore,
it’s old men who send our young to war.
I’ve seen the play and ask once more,
what the hell are we fighting for?
It’s old men who send our young to war.
I don’t listen to them anymore.

Prayer is not Enough

If we would savor the drink of peace,
if we would drink from the cup of
change in the world,
we must put something on the bar
besides our elbows.

If we would make a difference,
if we would overcome conflict and toast
reconciliation and enlightenment,
we must be doing
as much as being and having.

Pray for peace, always,
a blessing which must be earned.

and sometimes edits are even more than enough...

Just Right

Away from the easel, I see that it’s complete,
yet my life is still a work in progress.
Maybe too much green, perhaps a dab of cerise, and yet,
away from the easel, I see that it’s complete.
Some lush strokes, others thinner, the whole of the canvas
what matters, not every mistake should be fixed.
Away from the easel, I see that it’s complete,
yet my life is still a work in progress.

Too Much is Still Not Enough

Standing back from the easel, I see that it’s complete,
my life still a work in progress.
Maybe too much green, perhaps a dab of cerise, and yet,
standing back from the easel, I see that it’s complete.
Some lush strokes, others thinner, the whole of the canvas
is what matters, and not every mistake should be fixed.
Standing back from the easel, I see that it’s complete,
my life still a work in progress.