Thinking

Thinking

Did Junkets' verse come automatically?
Or did he think and put the beauty there?
What is this thinker thinking up the words

One says or writes? Is it self-creation?

They think the universe is self-creating

Like thinking, talk or writing poesy.

Speak or write. Forgo the origins.

Ask too many questions, you'll go mad.

So believers wish you would believe.

The Muses are a symbol for a truth

That cannot be expressed or understood.

Did Keats do homage to this paradox?

 

Old Men

Some old men sit sadly

With nothing else to say.

Others think they're funny,

And hope that you will stay.

My grandpa was the first,

And I the other way.

 

Conceit in Denny's

I could go on writing

Poems til I die

And ascend immortal

Into an empty sky.

Finally I see

I'm gifted with a pen.

Like Heifetz I am better

Than my fellow men.

They struggle and they flounder

And cannot write a thing.

I cannot please a friend,

But alone I sing.

Often I can see

The poems that I write

Don't make a lot of sense

As a crazy person's might.

Supposing they had sense

When I wrote them then,

Sometimes I do not care

What it may have been.

Although I lack the genius

Of Keats and Larry Hart,

I have twice the talent

Of people twice as smart.

I cry and I opine

No one will ever know.

I am getting old,

And have nowhere to go.

 

Hate Songs

There are some hateful poems

In this little sheaf.

I write as it appears to me.

To read them, a relief.

Was Junkets never angry?
His feelings just a shoal?
Or never hated someone

Walking on his soul?

Nor Larry Hart a patient

Of an iron shrink

Who tells you you're not thinking

What you think you think?

Destiny

Can I write a poem?
Is there talent there?

Grab the dice and throw 'em.

Nature isn't fair.

Nature is unkind,

Unfair – a horrid sh-t!

And no where will I find

A life escaping it.