Mind-Almonds, Soul-Seas

Whether mind-almonds, or soul-seas, or in between,
Eyes are the windows to desire.
The attractive ones always burn with brain-fire.
Approach bright eyes with caution, is always the rule.
You can see passion burn, but you can't see the fuel.

Why I Write, Part x+97: Backwards

It sounds backwards to most, but one reason I write

Is it's my last best resort as a reading exercise.

Once I wrestle with things I want to say

I can pin down each author's unusual ways

Of saying the same thing differently,

and the differences lead to similarities

Between one text and another, all texts and mine.

There's nothing to lose, everything to find.

I wring pleasure from gaining the grasp that I need,

and perhaps I give others new somethings to read.

Fall Tumble

The tall colors of fall tumble from high

and down distant, dusty roads,

and I, the maudlin poet, wonder where they go.

Sometime, somewhere the wind stops.

The leaves and my hopes drop.

Wherever it is, as far as leaves got

Before the wind's end, they rot.

I wonder where love goes to rot

When the winds of fall blow, and love stops.

Those Who Pursue

Those who pursue people pursue other things,

Chasing their flights by adopting their wings.

The experienced may tire of their older pursuit,

Presenting the pursuer with a moment of truth:

Do they rise to defend their new habit with passion

Despite having taken it up for that someone?

Perhaps this is the ideal outcome.

Convince Me

You cannot convince me of “always.”

There's no such thing as “forever”

I'm metaphysically unsure of “no way,"

"Just this once," and "never.”

Reasons

Teens are ingenious  when coming up with reasons
To hate other families.
Maybe their dog's loose, barks at night, is aggressive.
It tore up my mama's good dress.
Maybe their kids are strange, sullen, then throw tantrums.
I don't try to understand, so I can't.
Maybe they're shut-ins, house decaying, expensive,
and balls don't come back over their fence.
Maybe they just have the misfortune of living
Where a best friend used to live.
Maybe they're rank nerds, or maybe they're too cool.
Hating what's different's the rule.

Though whole in the moment, my hatred's pure power
Is indefensible now.

Disposable Shoulder

Consider the life of the disposable shoulder,
The other-people's-problems holder.
She's a generous heart, and her prides and her glories
Are a giving ear, discretion, and a stomach for stories.
She puts everyone's needings ahead of her own,
Patiently supporting a healing soul's groans.
You come with your secrets when you're going through hell.
You leave her forever, but she'll never tell.

Why I Write, Part x+96: Times

There are times when work-hours
Don't rain on my like showers.
God's will be done.
'Til then, get writing done.

Chemical Breakdown

You need all the right bonds to make sugar sweet,

But can soon be destroyed when exposed to the heat.

Salt is savory, and takes the heat okay,

But at the first fall of rain, its bonds melt away.

Distinction and Digression

Every mind is a writer's pen

Every mind draws thin lines in the sand

To separate thin from strong, write from wrong

Until the sands of time flow down

And out from glass, their purifying lines

Purifying the knowledge-drink, sustaining minds.

Without the lines, all is confusion,

With them, overlaid with illusion.

This

I see life around me, good and bad,

and I'll gladly

Read signs, point things out, observe

“this will end badly.”

I'm no psychic, but I'm pretty good.

Yet I've always misunderstood

The signs in my own life.

I tried to read but never could.

?

“What do you do?”

“I use light to learn about molecules.”

“What does molecules mean?”

“They're tiny little things that make big things, like you and me.”

“How did the sky get blue?”

“Sun gets that color when there's air to move through.”

“Why do mommies have to run in shirts?”

“Mommies and daddies are different. If they run without, it hurts.”

“Where do babies come from?”

“Oh, well, uhh, ummm,”

Among Many

The sun may be our treasure, but it's common.

Among many like it, it's but the closest one.

Nor is earth a diamond in a galaxy of stone.

There are planets everywhere; in that, we're not alone,

But in a great family of planets, we know only one with life

And several possible reasons why.

Though many planets form, forming life may be hard,

Or the universe crawls with cells, but not gathered like we are.

Perhaps it is intelligence that is rare, an accident, by chance barred,

But it might just be too expensive to travel the stars.

Parents

Parents sacrifice without a frown.

They lay a bunt down

and Life cycles around.

Why I Write, Part x+95: The World Complains

I've been known to complain about topics romantic.
What value to read or write me acting frantic?
So I write about writing, my art instead.
Some say "stick to life, not the gears of your head,"
So I write from nature, the second-oldest muse.
The next round of complaints left me rather confused:
That nature-writing's an apolitical act.
Well, I'm an apolitical person, in fact.
I can hardly write on such topics, my aesthetic intact,
But I'll try, for the sake of expanding my craft.
When I hear the one complaint that resolves me not to move:
"Why can't you just write mushy stuff like other poets do?"

I poke all these topics at arm's length and with touch,
and some people complained that I'm writing too much,
So I said to hell with that all and dove in.
One man writes, and the world complains.
I could listen, but I wouldn't gain.

A Dream Deserved, Pt. 2

What happens to a dream deserved?

It lies, liquid, like a pool,

and we dive into depression, unnerved

By the twisted way dreams come true.

The life I live now doesn't match

The one I laid out in my head.

This one sighs, breathes easier now

That the other one is dead.

The Little Leaf

The little leaf lives large,

Leaping out from under cars

To dance in the wind,

The tornadic roadside eddies

Or jog, unpaced, in breezes steady.

It leaps up into gusts.

It falls, but doesn't bust

Open.  It is a hippie stickman,

Twirling, tripping, living unplanned

Until it comes to a stop

In a pool-collecting ditch.

Weighted, soaked, dissolved by raindrops,

It dies the death of a witch.

The Dunce's Dilemma

You describe me like a plaque.

You put a face to charity,

and a lovely one at that.

No doubt my suit falls flat.

You're not to have or hold,

But I want you like Spaniards want gold.

You live too fast, too long;

You were busy; I got old.

The sinner's ached for months;

The saint makes two at once.

The both, they make me crazy;

Letting them makes me a dunce.

Why chase what others have?

The reasoning is mad.

The thing I seek will fade in weeks;

That future's ironclad

I don't need this, and what's more,

I know.  I've done this before.

It's a five-alarm hassle

When it isn't a bore.

Why can't I just say

I know you're bad for me,

A cholesterol in the hay?

Guess I want you anyway.

He Likes You

He likes you for your features, some two or three.
He's no mind and all body, so thus he sees.
He only wants to have you.  What a guy.
He likes you without thought, and so do I.

Maiden

Kilauea, maiden of fire,

You're object of many a daring desire

Against whom no man may fully sin.

We crawl upon you but don't go in.

To the Tralfamadorians, Pt. 2

I'm not six feet wide, and I'm not six feet tall,

But is time my shortest dimension of all?

Sometimes a week can feel like forever,

But looking back at high school, it seems I never

Graduated (or learned anything) or left.

Time's a spider-web's line down into a great cleft,

A canyon of memories. We explore or get swallowed,

Can't always remember what preceded or followed,

and I'm a pill so small some memories needn't drink.

I slide down so easily it takes hours to think

The arduous climb

Back up the line.

Some other time?

Lies

Lies are politically savvy, go over the truth's head.

The truth consults our morals; lies our desires instead.