Mirror Mirror

How I railed madly at you
How I stood before you in anger
How said such harsh words
How wicked I must have seemed

But you were brave
You were steadfast
You did not bow
You did not waver

The raging tumult inside me
Came cascading out in great bursts
Misdirected at you
But surely hitting its mark

What a tragedy to have done this
How you must have suffered
What an injustice done
But you carry on still

It was me
And you are me
O foul mirror
Look at what you’ve done

Yakking

I am hearing the mindless masses
The words they speak like endless gasses
So many utterances with no direction
My mind forever attempting deflection
On and on their voices do prattle
Shuffling through life like so much cattle
Observations are so obvious and trite
I try to ignore them with all my might
But their voices everywhere do fill the room
Which thus descends ever deeper into gloom
I do my best to shed some light
But am afraid it is a hopeless fight
The conversations continue they never cease
But through this poem I've said my piece

Insomnia

Sleepless tossing nights of angry insomnia
Long hours of staring at self
Bewildered by passionless thoughts
Tomorrow waiting patiently while I struggle
No place to put yesterday
Today never was
I fumble through my mind searching for minutes
The hours thus evaporate
And a tincture of quietude bursts loudly
Unforeseen questions dwell with angels
Released at inopportune times
Placing awkward contemplation
Square into the forefront of a woozy mind
Mind mind mind
And I don’t won’t couldn’t wouldn’t
Resolute wonder battles ennui
And I can find no home for the hurt
All is swirling and I am lost again
Dreaming awake of a 1950’s Berkeley coffeehouse
Where I scribble notes on crumpled paper
Where cigarette smoke hangs resilient
Where conversation is interrupted by laughter
And coughs and clanging dishes
The coffee is getting cold
There are nickels on my table
I buy a refill
Amid whorish comments from a silly schizoid
I scratch my head and wonder at the woman
Standing by the door idly stroking her long black hair
Knowing somehow that we will someday be lovers
And that my novel will be published
By a small local press
And she will give me babies
That I will drive a Volkswagen and be
A very Sixties kind of guy
But first I must continue my scribbles
And hope for inspiration
Or am I still here in the 21st century
Trying to get some fucking sleep

If

There was the morning commute
With lots and lots of people
So many in a hurry
Somewhere to go
Something to do
money to be earned
Lots of excuse mes and pardon mes and oh his
and staring at cell phones and sighing
and yawning and suppressing flatulence
and pondering and planning and wondering and wishing
Oh yeah the wishing
Lot of wishing
We all do that
Don’t we
Wish this wish that wish I was wish I wasn’t
Wish she would wish she wouldn’t
Wish it would wish it wouldn’t
If if if if
But first
Have an important meeting

String Beans

There are string beans on the plate
They are next to the mashed potatoes
They wait expectantly to be eaten
But oh they are subtle just biding their time
They are a sharp green and skinny
It's difficult to tell if they are limp or hard
Only a bite will tell
Will they be eaten or left to be scraped into the compost?
We must wait to see

Imagined it

Rainy afternoon
In a museum
Few others
Violin music soft and lovely
Lost in colors
Of paintings
Sit at museum cafe
Drink tea
Look at postcards
Still raining
Resume tour of paintings
Now cello music fast and deep
Tall beautiful angular woman
Walks quickly
Long dark wavy hair
Frowning but smiles at me
Umbrella
Outside
On bus
Reading poems
Home
Nap

A Magnificent and Sad Perfection

She was above all else beautiful
There was an aching sorrow to this
As if it must hurt to be so exquisite a creature
Tall and elegant and perpetually self aware
Never unconscious of her effect on other people
When she first looked at me
It was as if to dare me to hold my stare
A second longer than is polite
But even so I stole another glance
One dies and dies again when treated to a kiss
From such a person
(As I was once)
Knowing that is an experience
That it will never be equaled
Let alone repeated
And eternity has been thus met
But moments are fleeting
And her love was a wisp of one moment
Sadly withering
As her beauty never would