not what we give…

not what we give

an old woman
embarrassed
but
desperate
whispered
from
a night
darkened doorway
for
alms
our guide
noted
how humiliating
this was
for her
but
assured us
as he stepped
away
from her
that
in his country
people
look out
for
one another
unlike
where
we
came from
it was then
i recalled
lowell’s
vision of sir launfal
and tho
i had little to offer
i had much to share
and shared
the gift
i had

 

 

disassembled…

fortuitous clockworks

lord
that child is
always taking things
apart
can’t accept
what is
has to know
how things work
and
wants to know
the why
of
everything
ain’t never gonna 
fit in
oh
my goodness
did you see
the wonderful thing
that child
just made

 

 

transparent human bodies…

transparent human bodies

what if all the souls
on earth
had cellophane skin
and
we could see
every organ
and
watch
the blood flow
to and fro
from
the heart
as
it beats
steadily
beneath
the ribs
what then
would we choose
to
hate
for surely
man
cannot live
without
hate
would we choose
how a voice
sounds
oh
i suspect not
we’d
probably rely
on
color again
except
now
the color
of
one’s eyes

 

 

within these arms…

for some semantics

hold onto these moments
when you are together
the future is uncertain
and unpromised
you needn’t waste time
on life’s trivia
even when the world
swears it’s important
nothing can replace love
so nothing should deter it

 

 

i can remember…

i can remember...

the old man’s smile
has not changed
over the years
tho it comes
less often now
he spends his days
repairing an old boat
that surely
will never sail again
nor will he ever be able
to handle her at sea
yet he continues to love
as only lovers could understand
for though what is remembered
can never be as it was before
the love
has not changed
and
he still remembers

 

 

there’s something wrong…

there's somthing wrong...

when we don’t fit in
we’re seen as having problems
convinced to believe
that there’s a cure for different
so we pursue an array
of promissory treatments 
all pavlovian
designed to make us conform
to society’s
cast of what our life should be
so sameness is rewarded
but being different’s punished
love will be withheld
confirming there’s something wrong
thus posing questions
of one’s sanity and worth
but there’s really no known cure
for being a unique soul
in difficult times
unique souls are our leaders
but when fear subsides
different becomes what’s feared
so the only thing that’s wrong
is what’s called conformity

 

 

saudades do rio…

saudades do rio...

slow shadow dancing
the streets
of
rio
where
promises have died
and
dreams are just graffiti
scrolled across
a church wall
a heart’s sadness
plays
from a mandolin
while
a guitar offers
chords
of hope
both
know the tune
all too well
how
love fades
and
lovers lose
what love
they had
all
that is left
is
slow
shadow dancing