The Photograph (A poem) I had forgotten that sight: - The glow of autumn in my eyes, a Light warmth, a dreamy light, Within the picture that lay.
It was a simple photograph, I saw, The fair face of a young lad: Then I felt a sense of awe: Sadness blending with my joy! Here I was, at twenty-three The graceful image, a young man With soft and wavy auburn hair Fresh young muscles, chin and brow! Clear and simple were things, That my inward spirit grew; The white veil of simplicity: It was as if another time.
Now, an old man at sixty-four With groping eyes, cloudy mind- That narrow room of youth foreclosed: Luminous- beauty now vanished! As if enfolding in one night: Wild and dark and bright visions, Fermenting within that old photograph: We reap as we have sown! Thus, the soul now waits and waits For the day he'll vanish Yet the picture still remains: Back in the day, he was twenty-three.
#3339 (4-2-2012) Haiku for Iceland In 1999, the 9th of September, at 9:00 a.
m.
! I was flying to Iceland, that is: 9-9-1999 at 9:00 a.
m.
! #3340 (4-2-2012) The Drinking Room (The Poem) This is the room where men are mended It resides in a simple kitchen, Flat green walls, with a white sky And a beam of light, for the sun (placed in the center of the ceiling)! Here you can become a pickled pebble.
The stones of the mind, peaceful...
The heart stone quiet, pushed by nothing.
Only to feed the mouth-hole with piped-in alcohol.
Here people of the neighborhood drink Such in vim's of darkness Sponge-kissing the phallic glass bottles of beer.
One stone eye closes, leaving the Other to witness sameness: Day after day after day...
A current agitates the wires in your head Volts upon volts electrifying the torso! This is the drinking room, That hooks the hands and minds of the dead, or dying? Love is in the thirst and curse, the itch! And we all get thinking: "I'll stop drinking! I'll be good as new...
Tomorrow!" But few ever do, They just change rooms.
Note: it took me twenty-two years until I stopped drinking; I just kept changing rooms, now I have thirty years of sobriety.
#3337 (4-1-2012) Ashes There are ashes on the moon, I bet: left over from the ancients! There are ashes on Earth, dancing in the wind, I've seen this.
There are ashes on Mars, red like -dormant fire...
here and there Everywhere: I've seen photographs! There are ashes on Mercury, hot and burnt...
there has to be (?) Someday, if you look into my coffin, you'll find ashes too! Ashes-have a long history with mankind, people, the universe.
The sun, one day will explode, be sucked into nothingness; Or perhaps a black hole- Leaving only ashes and dead gases! Then what? We'll all start over again, from Ashes? #3335/4-29-2012
It was a simple photograph, I saw, The fair face of a young lad: Then I felt a sense of awe: Sadness blending with my joy! Here I was, at twenty-three The graceful image, a young man With soft and wavy auburn hair Fresh young muscles, chin and brow! Clear and simple were things, That my inward spirit grew; The white veil of simplicity: It was as if another time.
Now, an old man at sixty-four With groping eyes, cloudy mind- That narrow room of youth foreclosed: Luminous- beauty now vanished! As if enfolding in one night: Wild and dark and bright visions, Fermenting within that old photograph: We reap as we have sown! Thus, the soul now waits and waits For the day he'll vanish Yet the picture still remains: Back in the day, he was twenty-three.
#3339 (4-2-2012) Haiku for Iceland In 1999, the 9th of September, at 9:00 a.
m.
! I was flying to Iceland, that is: 9-9-1999 at 9:00 a.
m.
! #3340 (4-2-2012) The Drinking Room (The Poem) This is the room where men are mended It resides in a simple kitchen, Flat green walls, with a white sky And a beam of light, for the sun (placed in the center of the ceiling)! Here you can become a pickled pebble.
The stones of the mind, peaceful...
The heart stone quiet, pushed by nothing.
Only to feed the mouth-hole with piped-in alcohol.
Here people of the neighborhood drink Such in vim's of darkness Sponge-kissing the phallic glass bottles of beer.
One stone eye closes, leaving the Other to witness sameness: Day after day after day...
A current agitates the wires in your head Volts upon volts electrifying the torso! This is the drinking room, That hooks the hands and minds of the dead, or dying? Love is in the thirst and curse, the itch! And we all get thinking: "I'll stop drinking! I'll be good as new...
Tomorrow!" But few ever do, They just change rooms.
Note: it took me twenty-two years until I stopped drinking; I just kept changing rooms, now I have thirty years of sobriety.
#3337 (4-1-2012) Ashes There are ashes on the moon, I bet: left over from the ancients! There are ashes on Earth, dancing in the wind, I've seen this.
There are ashes on Mars, red like -dormant fire...
here and there Everywhere: I've seen photographs! There are ashes on Mercury, hot and burnt...
there has to be (?) Someday, if you look into my coffin, you'll find ashes too! Ashes-have a long history with mankind, people, the universe.
The sun, one day will explode, be sucked into nothingness; Or perhaps a black hole- Leaving only ashes and dead gases! Then what? We'll all start over again, from Ashes? #3335/4-29-2012
SHARE
![The Last Trumpet [A Prophetic Poem: now in Spanish and English]](https://cdnus.oss-us-west-1.aliyuncs.com/libs/images/NewsJpg/cate_3/045_215x160.jpg)
