TIME TO FLY

https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/

The matter about this matter

is that we created it

mind create matter

mind over matter

and boys and girls

we've lost our fukking minds 

don'cha feel it too?

go the lyrics to the song...

don'cha feel it too?

Well, what's to do?

Burying myself in the immediacy

of the moment

I ignore all else that lurks

outside my sandcastle walls

Ah...I get the feeling

the universe is telling me

it will soon be time to go

(emulating the birds in 

"Who Knows Where The Time Goes")

and it's saying; See, there ain't that much left

for you to miss out on anymore. 

The world is one by one 

closing up shop on the things you love.

Ah, ya know what I mean

just look around 

Pollyanna has left the building

And if you think it's going to get better

all on its own

and magically right itself again 

after this little cosmic glitch--

I'm here to splash some cold water

on that stupidly grinning mug

We're going to have to think our way

out of this one

a crisis of the spirit

We're going to have to call upon

science and religion

our best minds

on the job

(and beyond that...

we should ask ourselves is HE 

the sick comedian

we've always suspected?)

There's no other way

because 

it poured into my heart

there's love

and there's fear

that's it 

the two dynamics of the universe 

And so we're going to have to think

our way out of this one

We're going to have to scratch

and claw our way out of this one

We're going to have to

kick and spit and cuss

We're going to have to go down 

swinging on this one

 

We're going to have to love ourselves

out of this one

CAN OF CAT FOOD AND A TOMATO

It's late at night. 

A woman stops into 

the grocery--deserted 

save for her and the cashier--

and plops down a can

of cat food and a tomato.

The cashier says 

is that all there is--

and as the woman

bundles against the night

on the way back

to her car, that line

from the Peggy Lee song

starts playing in her head.

And in a way she's glad

that it's been reduced to this.

With The Sonofabitch long gone,

and all the kids grown and 

moved on as well,

it's just the pain

(but it's a good one)

of sharp claws digging

into your skin

at 5 o'clock in the morning--

a wakeup call more reliable

that Sonny and Cher

wailing "I Got You Babe."

And that's a hurt that,

unlike most of the others 

that came and went

over the long and the short of it, 

doesn't leave any hidden scars. 

 

BLUE SUEDE

https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/

The polished night
obsidian
shelters you in its cocoon
your perfect spot to stay put
and ruminate
until the dawn

You cannot remember
what is holding
America together--
some long lost ideal
of ultimate rightness
and robust potential 
perhaps
as seen (or constructed)
in Whitman's mind's eye

The young greeter wearing
the mask at the market
says you always wear 
the coolest shoes when
you come in...

You look down... 
Oh, those are my 
Blue Suede Shoes!

You are startled 
that a pleasant someone
barely on your radar before 
has taken note of you
when most who once bore
the heavy burden of 
significant other
surely haven't given you 
a thought in decades

 A reason to hold on
at least one more day
you say

Just to see what will happen
to America
caught up in an Agatha Christie
whodunit 
where you think you know
who's the bad guy
but do you really...
in a world where all the players
are complicit in the murder?