Poetry

October 18, 2017

Hey Tambourine Man
 
One day a man
Spit in the Buddha’s face.
The next day he came back to apologize.
Buddha replied, “What for?
I am nor are you
The same person as yesterday.”

I am always evolving,
Attempting to make myself
A better person.
Not so of the people
Of my home.  
They are essentially
The same peopel
They were
10, 20, 30 years ago.
The same fool with his ass glued to a bar stool
The same disease-afflicted pill addict
The same indolent asshole who refuses to grow.
To anybody who leaves,
Attempting to better themselves,
They spit in your face or boo you offstage,
Resenting their own weakness,
Resenting being left in the grips
Of their own solitary misery,
Resenting always.
It is the very same thing
They did to Dylan.
No wonder he changed
His name and when asked
He says he’s from Duluth
And not one of the
Iron De-ranged

 

 

Dr. Hide and Mr. Seek

I assure you
My leaving is no rout
Rather a strategic maneuver
To gain footing for my next venture
You laugh at my tactics
Scoff at my mistakes
As if you knew better
Yet you wonder if the grass
Really is greener
Yes, you have someone
To look down on
All I have is a
Whole world to look up to

 

 

The poetry of failure
 
The poetry of failure
A topic that earned tenure
A wounded story of self-inflicted adventure
For the many dark corners
From whence I peer
Though towards blooming stars I steer
Another epic crash on solid ground
Countless burning pieces surround
Engulfing flame shedding shameful light
Piercing my perspective sight
Demon whispers blind
Seizing control of my mind
No peace can I find
From the critical voice of cruelty
Destroyer of the true view of beauty
Like the seasons you never seem to die
No matter what cure I try
You burrow deep, deep inside
Until you find a fertile place to hide
While I’m left to gather the pieces scattered
Of yet another daydream shattered
Until climbing on steep slope I slip
While so furtively you grip
Without so much as a shed of sound
I am once again manacle-bound
Deteriorating within the walls of this mental state
With no field or flower to pollinate
Withering once again like autumn leaves
Under the pressure of my failures, grieve
My reflection I turn  to stare
A lifeless glare I can no longer bare
Too many years we have been acquainted
Oh, merciless misery, my spirit you’ve painted

 

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