Extraordinary Lines

extraordinary lines

scar the desert floor

sending signals to the future

extraordinary lines

that send signals to the heart

that beats inside the heart

extraordinary lines

that are invisible

to the hurried eye

Silence as Art

Poetry cannot touch silence

as expression

of what matters

But as I cannot quite accomplish silence

I write poems

Come Sweet Death

Come sweet death

when you will

you'll find no opposition from me

it's not from weariness of life

that I say this

but the reverse

I so love life

that I will not hog it for myself

Life is good

therefore death

which is part of life

is equally good

So come sweet death when you will

I look forward to getting acquainted with you

Fun Fun Fun

My idea

of having fun

is not to have fun

My idea of not having fun

is fun

fun is not fun

not fun is fun

So it goes

The impulse pulses

thoughts begin to produce thoughts

thoughts of thoughts

feelings about feelings

it's time to stop

and yet...

My Father at his Worst and Best

Dad didn't suffer fools gladly

and unfortunately

he thought most people fools

Dad suffered more

than any person I've known

but didn't visit his suffering

upon others

Grief

I grieve for no one

How can I grieve

when they were given life?

How can I grieve

when there is still life in me?

How can I grieve

when all about me is alive?