You Ask After Beauty?

In forests and the foundry, 

Downtown and in 

The grotto 

Have I seen it and 

It glows, shines 

With a ruby light. 

I see the beauty and I

See it through the eyes

Of the last Mayan, watching

His hometown burn. It

Is the beauty of the

Carrier pigeon and of

The dodo. Of 

Weed in the park and 

Wild music chasing my 

Thoughts down the street

As the Band of Man makes

Its last appearance  

On the stage of Time.

A beauty the child

Cries for by the side 

Of her slain mother. 

Now there's no other to 

Take our hand as a 

Feeble night enfolds 

Our stone cold bones.

You ask of beauty, but 

What can your stone 

Eyes see? Except, mayhap,

The dim memory of a once 

Never to be seen again? 

An Occasional Poem

Well, so once again at mum's am I,

taking in the naked trees. 

The grass in turn goes brown and dry, 

underneath a wint'ry sky. 

I sit and try to not think a thing, 

like the fact I may not see 

the coming spring.

The Steps Can Be So Long….

I just came back from shopping;

I invested in more life. 

Bought beer and smoke for puffing, 

Now if I could just find a wife.

Then there'd be two to do the waiting 

And together we'd the water tread

As above the stars go whirling 

Through this night that never ends

Ever hoping as we're treading 

For Paradise our way to wend.

In Honour of Flogging Molly!!

When I first encountered this band, I was simply astounded. Though the evidence played, sang and in every way ENTERTAINED in front of me, I still found it incredible that so much LIFE could be packaged in human form!! I received so much that I must express my thanks in some, hopefully appropriate, manner. I therefore humbly (and I trust with no stench of the staid) present a castoff chorus, from no song that anyone has ever sung or heard:

We've a culture built on sorrow

We've a culture that survives

Ev'ry day lasts 'til tomorrow 

Let's hope we make it there alive 

(Nulla laus est nimis.)