Advice For Aspiring Poets

Just because some poet wrote
That he picked up a bar of soap
And drew a castle in the mirror
Doesn't mean you have to, too.
And just because some poet wrote
That he spent all day driving
Around his parent's graves
Doesn't mean that you can't go
Shopping for shoes instead.
In fact, that poet who wrote that he saw
His cat licking out the waxy ears of his dog
Probably never did in the first place,
So it's OK if what you see
And do isn't extraordinary.
In fact, the less extraordinary the better.
That gives your brain more room
To make stuff up.

The Lamp

On the side of the road that leads past my dwelling,
There is a lamp that turns on each time you pass it.
How many arguments has it solved, I wonder.
How many internal conflicts have been quelched
At the passing of such a lamp?
Tonight, I was asking myself about the existence of God
Just as I passed the lamp.
"What are you? Do you exist?" I said aloud.
The light flicked on, and though it
Could really only prove to me my own existence,
The moment itself was singularly divine.

Appreciating the Little Things

Standing in the middle of a highway onramp
At two in the afternoon,
A man is tearing at his clothing
And shouting at the passing cars: "Wake up!"
He himself is on the verge of an awakening.
He'll find that no one is asleep,
At least not completely.
They're just distracted by so many things.
This poor man will soon learn
To appreciate good, comfortable clothes,
The pleasant sound of a newsman talking on a radio
And the way his toes feel cozy
After removing his sweaty socks.
He will learn, or he will be taken to a place
Where he can be taught.

Written on the Second Day at Gould Farm

I write this song to bring me home
Where the days pass
Like so many robins in the sky,
And the moon hangs low
Over the road,
And the trees sway in the musical breeze,
And my bed waits, longingly,
To caress my back.
Strange to think that this place too is my home,
And that the clouds, they will bless the sky
Above me here,
And the grounds with rain.

Running Through the Rain

We ran down the road through the falling rain.
Your blouse was translucent--
You didn't mind the fame.
The thunder burst,
Someone honked.
We just laughed aloud.
Our feet protested but our hearts were merry
As we splashed through the puddles
On the way.
Hand in hand,
Soaked through and through,
Our hearts were full and gay.
We knew that soon we'd be warm and dry
Inside our favorite shoppe,
Drinking coffee from warm mugs
And talking across a table top.

God's Dream

Penning away Man’s idle hours,
The omnipotent God fell asleep and dreamt
Of years beyond His knowledge
In a world He had not created yet.
A flame was rising from a snow-capped peak.
Adam stood with a flaming sword.
To God he began to speak:
“Yield the Earth for another world.
Create justice there anew.
Let the Heavens rain its glory
On the chosen few—
Those whose love remains unspoken,
Unknown to all alive.
Break the barrier between you and I.
Give the new world over in faith
Completely, without pride.”
With that, Adam swung his sword
Across the darkened sky.
It began to burn
And God awoke, frightened,
But happy to be alive.

Discussing the Soul

For Eddie

We found ourselves discussing the soul
And each felt very wise.
But the soul, outside, was laughing at us,
For there it was
In front of our eyes
Defining itself
And we would not listen.
We were too enraptured by the idea
Of a soul,
To know that being alive
In joy
Is the only way to know it.