THE GREAT MYSTERIES OF LIFE

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

As we stand on the cusp of the new year, I'm in a reflective mood...so here's an encore presentation that I know many of you have not seen before that addresses what I'm feeling...and am always feeling to some extent. HAVE A HAPPY!

I'm cruising down to the convenience store to pick up some beers

with the words of my spiritual master ringing in my ears:

You must give up your worldly attachments if you want to advance.

Pulling into the lot I spot a raven-haired goddess

riding in with some biker who looks like

one of the lout-infested Vikings in that credit card commercial.

While he is distracted inside,

I whisper in her ear: "What's HE got that I ain't got?"

And she says..."He's got...a big...HARLEY!"

So I hop back into my car,

resigned to worshipping her from afar--

but my master is adamant on this point:

You musn't worship something that could give you an STD.

And I'm supposed to give up sex--

or at least not enjoy it, if I want to be enlightened.

And I must atone for a life of living fast and loose,

in order to extract my neck from this karmic noose.

And I must be engaged with the great mysteries of life,

as I ponder why the weather girls on the Spanish channel

are always hotter than all the others...

and I am picking up a Christian radio station

on my television: POSITIVE, ENCOURAGING, K-LOVE!

It drowns out the regular programming on my PBS channel.

And I'm certain that it's some kind of sign from the cosmos--

but why pick on a nice Buddhist boy like me?

Heading home, I see Kerouac on the corner,

trying to wangle a ride--

he's been standing there since 1955.

But hard times have fallen on vagabond scribes,

as "Do You Know the Way to San Jose?"

gave way to One Night In Paris.

But he's picking up some extra jack

writing the direction labels on shampoo bottles

in his stream-of-consciousness style...

Once upon a time in a Ford Galaxy

far, far away--I whispered empty words

of love to Suzie, and Lucy, and Betty Jean--

until...VOILA! Fourteen years of coming

home every night and saying: WHAT'S FOR DINNER?

Thinking this is it--the happiness that had eluded me--

as the prime of my life slowly...slipped...away.

As did she.

And I can see my mother and me

standing on the platform

as the train roars down upon us--

she is running away...again.

And it is said that boys grow up

and seek out their mothers--

and so it was

that I chose one

who would RUN.

And I tell my master it's easier

to give up your worldly attachments

when there's little left to lose.

And there's something about being done

with the greater part of it that turns you young.

And you find yourself saying WHATEVER

and you come to understand that it means

accepting things the way they are--

and you think maybe these kids are on to something

as they shrug and turn back to their internet porn.

And yet, here I stand, crying

WHAT'S IT ALL ABOUT, ALFIE?

But Alfie's too busy scoring

to offer any kind of reply,

though he seems to be saying heaven can wait.

So I just want to know...

can there be any compromise

for one who is other worldly, yet worldly wise?

TIME GOES BY FOR NO GOOD REASON

d'Verse Poets Pub   Poetry Potluck

You, my fantasy island
by the seashore,
by the madness.
You're not from around here--
the planet, I mean. 


You, the mystery of mythic proportions--
like trying to decipher the lyrics to "Chasing Pavements."


You call to me on a super high frequency
that only dogs and angels can hear,
and I hasten to your side
just to let you take me for a ride.
And yes, cowboys do still exist,
but you've decided to give in to me
only on certain patriotic holidays and February 29th.


And you think of compromise
the way a field of daisies is compromised
by a free-standing outhouse--
our conversations a verbal game of paddle ball. 
If I hold your comments to the light
will I see a validating watermark?


And what kind of woman sees that I am falling for her, 
and all she can do is stand back and yell TIMBERRRR???
Yes, I am easy to manipulate--blindly optimistic,
as when Noah said: Yes, but we could sure use the rain.
The hapless grin that indicates an alarming loss of brain cells.


But there are penalties for scofflaws like you
who break the rules of love while smiling so sweetly.
Ooh...don't kiss me now...
who knows where those lips have been?


Sooner or later we must choose
to embrace life, or hold it at arms length,
now and then giving into wild abandon. 
But you say if we dance naked in the rain
who will do our choreography?


Romance is poetry
not ambiguity...
one day the heavens will part
and love will prevail...


May I have this samba?