Ignorance

I do not know the name of the hue,
But I have seen it and can describe it
In the rain-washed grass lit by the sun in the late afternoon.
Or the color, like a violet but not quite,
Surrounding the gray dead leaves in the subtle shade of the trees
Which I also do not know the names of.
I do not know the names of the flowers that line my walk
And there is no one around to tell me.
I could go inside and look it up,
But no, I'd like to stay ignorant for a little while longer
Just so I can feel the warmth of the sun on my skin
And think of the things that are important to know.

These Words

Had they heeded the words of the first poet of peace,
There'd be no war, and no need for poets of peace.
Had they heeded the first poet of love,
There'd be no hate, and no need for poets of love.
Therefore, I say,
Heed these words.
Whether I am a poet of peace or love
Or even a poet of complete banality,
Listen, take the words to heart.
For whatever they carry (and I do not know what they carry)
They are, essentially, the fruits of my soul
Ripened so that they may no longer remain on the bough.

On Leaving My Home "Never to Return"

"The further you go, the more wretched you're going to feel,"
I heard myself say as I walk along a road
Which, supposedly, had no end.
I had started out to liberate myself.
From what, I wasn't really sure.
With no destination in mind I thought the cares
Would just melt away as I went.
But now my feet ached
And I was beginning to wonder what I'd eat.
Death seemed to creep in around me.
Suddenly the cares of life seemed less cumbersome.
It was still far from morning.
No one would be missing me yet.
I turned around
And when I arrived,
I told everyone I had gone to watch the sun rise.

Obviously Insane

Everybody knows that the man who lives
In the rusty body of the old VW van
Is crazy.
He does not wash his hair or brush his teeth,
And when children pass by him in the street
He hands out pieces of his underwear,
Saying they are tokens
To get into Heaven.
And to the grownups he says nothing
And keeps his head bowed.
Sometimes he gets angry, though,
And yells at the clouds.
One day they came and took him away.
When he came out he was a different man.
In fact, he soon became our nation's president.
He was impeached, though,
For freeing all the animals from the zoo.
Now he's back, and he's looking for you.

A Flower's Good Taste

When I was a child my mother told me,
"Rain makes the flowers grow."
Not long after, she bought me a flower
And told me to water it often.
Being a child, I was confused,
For the rain didn't come "often," it seemed.
So I waited until the first rain came
And took my flower out for a drink.
An old man with an umbrella happened by and looked at me queerly.
"No need to get all wet!" he said,
"You can give your flower water from the sink!"
Because he was a stranger, I ran quickly to the back of the house.
Awhile later, I learned that he was right.
But still, even now, in the back of my mind,
I know that ever tasteful flower prefers
The nourishment of rain over plain tap water.