While I Was Walking
I was heading East the other day
when I met myself on the road.
“How are you?” I asked.
Somewhere between fellating a gun barrel
and dousing myself with champagne.
“Yeah, same here.”
I stared for a few awkward moments
into my own eyes.
“Well...happy trails!” I said.
“Will I see you again?”
And I watched myself continue West.
Harvester (for Arizona)
The sandy wash affords no aid,
and Shadow Mountain grants no shade-
there's nothing any man may trade
for mercy from the August sun.
Amid the fallen leaves of jade,
our bodies scorched, our patience frayed,
with ample effort we persuade
ourselves the summer's nearly done.
This valley's endless cavalcade
of pioneers in masquerade
will find, despite advances made,
the West was never really won.
Fletcher Street, December 1976
potholes of old
waits behind tin
escapes through a
sauerkraut through a
a ’69 Rambler
glow from a
Something For Nothing
Perpetual motion is only a dream,
and dreams will not move you too far;
instead, you need gasoline, diesel, or steam,
reactors, or light from a star.
And something for nothing will never be real,
for everything comes with a cost;
we barter with nature, arrive at a deal-
a gain means that something is lost.
You have to decide what you're willing to lose
to get that which you wish to keep;
existence requires a payment of dues,
and that, sir, will never come cheap.
Thoroughfares (With a Nod to Lewis Carroll)
You can wander over yonder on a slope that’s slippery,
cause a schism over isms or engage in frippery,
change your viewpoint with the dew point or the movement of the air,
claim that truth is where the youth is (they’re too young to be perplexed),
tout the findings in the bindings of a long forgotten text,
be a seeker, and a peeker at your muse’s underwear,
send your dollars to the scholars who possess a bigger brain,
get a checkup from the neck up to confirm you’re not insane,
be polemic, academic, like the rantings of Voltaire,
follow Trojan theologians with the wisdom of a knave,
not to mention good intentions (how the road to Hell is paved),
while you’re feigning entertaining Heaven’s angels, unaware-
if you don’t know where you’re going, any road will get you there.
Hugh Lemma: Times of Sun and Clouds
Part of the PoetryCircle Showcase series.
I am jealous and delighted at the same time. The Vashti poem is a wonderful question of this woman who was overshadowed by Esther's obedience. The rhymes all work in all of these. How do I favorite things here so I can go back and read them again and again?
Trish..thanks. Three is actually one of my favorite things I've written. I wanted it to be very personal, but accessible to others as well.
Jay..thanks. It's a universal verity.
Cheryl..thanks. I'll try to find the piece you mentioned.
Tom..thanks. Good catch on the meter glitch. I am going to fix it.