Un-Rhyming Poems (Vol.2)

ARTISTS

I’m most authentic when fearless;

Most loving when I needn’t anyone;

Most vulnerable when strong.

The healthy don’t know fear, nor death.

They speak of it playfully, curiously over coffee.

Philosophy is play. Illness is work.

There is no poetry written about reality

- it’s always at a distance.

And we like to read it from a distance also, in a comfy chair,

with a cigarette

or glass of wine.

The artist is the bird on the branch

…as the poem goes…

Man on the ground beneath.

Suffering, surviving, celebrating,

before the invention of pens.

Eventually the story gets told

though rarely by its participants.

And it’s the artists, not the victors (or losers) who

write it…

MIRROR

If you understood me better then you could tell me about him.

It might help to know me a little more,

to have a mirror.

You could order food for me, decide my day,

my schedule, my career choices.

I may learn a thing or two about me.

But then (and this is what most worries me)

you might disappear,

(most likely, in fact, you will)

and so too would that mirror.

I’d have to look inside of my self again,

and it’d be empty.

WOMAN

The woman drinking beer, curled hair,

bad make-up, that I wish was me.

Lower expectations. Less struggle.

She’ll live a simple life, forgotten about

(like us all),

with few complaints.

Probably live to 93, happily.

I, cannot help but to kill my ‘self’,

over and over,

since I can remember.

Each life, I guess,

is just

different.

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