This Old Chap

 
This Old Chap 

This Old Chap

The weariness from lack of sleep,
The weariness from age,
And all the buffets borne before
Combine to blur the page.

And though he writes his verses still
And so avoids despair,
It seems his vision falters, fogs
And fades beyond repair.

And so the time has come, perhaps,
To take a quiet nap.
And then he might have strength for more—
This old, persistent chap.

And see—he dozes in his chair
And jerks from time to time.
And when he wakes, he’ll fix again
The meter, sound and rhyme.

2018 May 30th, Wed.
Brooklyn, New York
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Beloved, Where Are You?

Beloved, Where Are You?

The sun is warm upon the skin,
The sky is blazing blue,
And I am walking in the sun
And thinking still of you.

The little birds are chirping as
They fly from tree to tree,
And feelings, long held captive, now
Are rising, wild and free.

The winter has departed and
The spring is here to stay.
It seems that we were walking in
The spring, but yesterday.

The trees are dancing in the breeze,
As they had danced before.
But you, who’d stood and smiled at these,
Are now with us no more.

The greens of newborn leaves are flames
That rise towards the blue.
The sky and earth are singing—yet,
Beloved, where are you?

2018 May 24th, Thu.
Brooklyn, New York
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Note: Any connections that such hinted romances may have with the scribe's own life (which has been mostly ordinary and unromantic) are tenuous at best. 
  

Zombies-version 2

Zombies (version 2)

There comes a time when dreams have turned to dust,
And humans lose their passion and their lust.
Then what they do, they do as zombies might—
Or robots—not from choice, but since they must.

Bereft of purpose, shorn of meaning’s might,
And so of all the vigor these had lent,
And lacking vision, robbed of thought and sight,
As husks, they know not where their kernels went.

******

What acts or words or thoughts can break that spell—
Release them then from that robotic hell?
They ask this question, with the ardor left
That wills can muster, from within that well.

They ask the question as a prayer, plea—
To find the clarity and wisdom then
That gives them sanity and sight to see
The path that takes them back to being men.

******

But then, they might at times remember this—
The precious thing that zombies surely miss—
Those moments, scant, retrieved from memory—
Those instants past of pure, essential bliss.

What presence then, except that essence fine—
As walls dissolved and pain had ceased to be—
That taste and scent, as if of fragrant wine,
That even zombies know, who once were free.

2018 May 22nd, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York
  

Zombies-version 1

Zombies (version 1)

There comes a time when treasures turn to dust,
And we have lost our passion and our lust.
Then what we do, we do as zombies might—
Or robots—not from choice, but since we must.

What acts or words or thoughts can break that spell—
Release us then from that robotic hell?
We ask that question, with the ardor left
That will can muster, in our souls bereft—

Bereft of purpose, shorn of meaning’s might,
And so of all the vigor these had lent,
And lacking vision, robbed of thought and sight,
As husks that know not where their kernels went.

We ask the question, as a prayer, plea—
A pleading for permission, yes, to see—
To find the insight, and the foresight then—
The wisdom, as a presence, still to be.

But then, we might at times remember this—
Those moments scant, retrieved from memory—
Those instants past of pure, essential bliss,
When walls dissolved, and pain had ceased to be.

What presence then, except that sense divine—
That scent of joy, as if of fragrant wine—
That essence that is still within us, though
It’s hidden, where we zombies do not know.

2018 May 22nd, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York
   

The Darkness of Noon

The Darkness of Noon

Bow to the ones who are rich, my friends!
Kneel for the ones who have goons on call.
These are the gods of our times, my friends.
Toil at the feet of our Pharaohs tall.

The human race is a servile one,
For those who had pride are dead and gone,
Except for the ones who have clearly won.
They straddle the land that we are on.

******

Gone are the ones who had striven and died.
Lost are the causes for which they fought.
Rich are the ones who had stolen and lied.
Poor are the sons of the men who rot.

The mothers had wailed and the daughters had wept,
But who can remember the reason they did?
The truths are forgotten, the falsehoods are left.
The darkness has gathered, the moon has been hid.

******

When will the clouds and the dark be dispersed?
Where is the courage and where is the truth?
Where is the learning with which we were versed?
When will the trodden be rid of the boot?

The ones who are workers can gather and rise,
And bring down the ones who have risen on high,
But first they should strive to be wary and wise,
To sift what is left of the truth from the lie.

******

Strive then, oh worker, to question and learn!
Learn to distinguish the fine from the dross.
Then you will see that your sense will return.
Then there’s a chance you’ll recover your loss.

You never will bow then to those who are rich.
Your knee will not bend for the lord or his goon.
The humble will smile, as you know which is which.
The Pharaohs will see then the darkness of noon.

2018 May 19th, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York
 

Silly Sally in the Spring

Silly Sally in the Spring

As I was walking in the sun,
I heard a woman sing.
It was my neighbor Sally, who
Was singing of the spring.

And here’s the silly song I heard
My neighbor Sally sing.

“What a glorious, glorious day!
What a glorious day in May!

“The flowers, see, are blooming in
the yards along the street.
The cold and snow are gone and oh—
The warmth and sun are sweet!

“Like children, silly adults too
Are simply having fun—
So some like me are singing and
are dancing in the sun!

“The sky is blue and clouds of white
Are slowly sailing past.
The winter has departed and
The spring is here at last!

“In Brooklyn, here in Bensonhurst,
The ocean breezes blow.
In slanting sun, the newborn leaves,
Like jades and sapphires, glow.

“What a glorious, glorious day!
  What a glorious day in May!”

I heard this song that Sally sang,
And then decided—what the hell!
So like my neighbor, Sally, I
Danced a jig and sang as well.

And others, sillied by the spring,
Joined with us as evening fell.

“What a glorious, glorious day!
What a glorious day in May!
  …”

2018 May 7th, Mon.
Brooklyn, New York  

   

I Met my Darling at the Start of Spring

So Is It Spring?

https://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2018/04/so-is-it-spring.html
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I Met my Darling at the Start of Spring
 
I met my darling at the start of spring
And dallied with her till I tired of it.
And then I killed her, so I could again
Have other darlings, till I waned in wit.

But then I met another lissome lass,
Who reeled me in as if I were a catch,
Then struck me hard and set my heart aflame,
And tossed me off, as if I were a match.

And so I perished and was born again,
Forgetting all my sins and suffering.
And growing then to youth and middle age,
I looked to fall, while looking back at spring.

And summer, winter and the seasons all
Of all my lives appeared to coalesce.
And those I’d wounded, those who’d wounded me—
Were none, I saw, but I—no more, no less.

2018 May 4th, Fri.
Brooklyn, New York  
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So Is It Spring?

https://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2018/04/so-is-it-spring.html