Tradition

Mike


I remember Mike,
20 year old tyke,
Who pointed out my fallacies
(The things he didn't like)
With a very rare
Authoritative stare
Like a psychotherapist.
In Berkeley on the square
He stood and turned in circles, but
Nobody seemed to care.


3-10-14

A Wish


If I had the power,
I'd clean my mind for aye
Of the Schiffs and Mary Kelly.
I'd sweep them all away,
Forgetting every word
I ever heard them say.
It would be delightful
To wake up every day
As though they never were.
And not a trace would stay.


3-10-14
Berne's Paranoia


I am not a paranoid.
I never thought I was.
Then I met the Schiffs.
That's what thinking does.


What's a schizophrenic?
I never knew.  I guessed.
Unless the whole contraption
I unconsciously repressed.


I never thought that people
Were any less than I,
Nor wished to change the world,
Or looked above the sky.


God help me if the world
Played another joker
And I'm really paranoid,
Which means I'm mediocre.


It doesn't matter what
The other symptoms are.
My aim to be a poet
Would be a falling star.


3-10-14
My Poems


I washed the window glass.
I see the world aright.
I am deep in poverty.
No succor is in sight.


I do not write like Keats,
Shakespeare or Millay.
I simply put in rhythm
What I want to say.


Such verse is very Yankee
Whose poems are a bore.
What's the good or writing?
Poesy is more.


Ornaments and rhythms,
Rhyme and metaphor,
Images and senses -
My frigate left the shore.


But little Larry Hart
With nothing more to say
Made a verse of pleasure,
Happiness and play.


Still I continue writing
So constantly it's dumb,
As though there's something rubbing
In my cerebrum.


A couple metaphors,
A passing glance at sense,
Rhythms mostly hopeful,
And some ornaments.


It releases pressure
Though only partially,
But I continue calling
This endeavor poesy.

Release


The Schiffs and Mary Kelly
Released me from their tether,
And now it seems that they
Were holding me together.


I did it from within.
I must carry on.
I pulled a couple levers
And all of them are gone.


I'm anxious and I feel
My queasy stomach tremble.
Should I tell truth
Or continue to dissemble?


Am I really lying?
Lying is a sin.
This must be the truth
Because I'm saying it again.


Something is affecting
This remnant of my mind.
Do I crave security
America designed?


To hell with the security
They beckon to above!
I need the gentle voice
Of someone that I love.


3-10-14

Tradition


Tradition the master
And I am the slave,
Carpeting cobblestones
Down to the grave,
Coercion and history
Make you behave -
A legion of robots
So everyone's brave -


3-10-14


Therapy


Do your best with what you are.
Therapy will kill you.
Wish upon a  friendly star.
Perhaps it will fulfill you.


But get their words and faces
Lodged inside your brain,
And you will live in misery,
And there they will remain.


3-10-14