An 04 Lull-a-by

Turn down the times 

   as we put 04 to bed. 

It's on to another tomorrow

   as if off to our greatest sorrows.

Then again, maybe we'll leave those behind

find away to win hearts and minds

without death and destruction. 

What a year it's been

   no need for a formal review

We know what has come to pass

   what passes to be. 

The boy King still wears his crown

the dollar still marches down

the people still wallow in ignorance

the past still misinforms the present

the present still ignores the future 

   while life is lived in the time hereafter.

As we look out onto a vista of bold promises

and tell ourselves things will be alright

let us try to be weary of pitfalls

   revealed by our past, and

cognizant of footholds

   fastened for our future. 

These are times made for heroes and men of history

    let them come to the forefront and realize who they be. 

In this 05 let us roll back the tides of war

and once again bath in the waters of peace

while tanning in the temperance of tranquility. 

At Any Age

You @ 15

To be U at fifteen. 

Beautiful

as in full of beauty that is

absense of age

weightless worries, frivolous cares

no sense that wasn't forming

just being 15. 

It would be naive 

to call it naïveté 

yet, misguided more to call it anything but. 

Experience 

only the shallow end of so deep a ponder

all wet but not that fluid

Beyond what is heard, seen and felt. 

Before prejudice 

just innocence at fifteen. 

To be upon U at twenty seven

You seen @ 27

Reserved 

as in served with response that is

gathered by time

encumbersome failures, pocketed hopes

no occurrence that isn't formed

Just being twenty seven

It would be cynical 

to call it cynicism 

yet more skeptical to call it anything but

Realistic

only the surface of so layered a construct

all fact but not that knowledgeable 

beyond what was heard, seen and felt

before conviction

just trial @ 27

To help you @ 64

U dependant at sixty four

Stubborn 

as in burning the stub that is 

detachment from memory

fragmented thoughts, codified wisdoms

no belief that isn't instilled

just being 64

It would be senile 

to call it senility 

yet more decrepit still, to call it anything but

Bliss

only the ignorance of so studied an emotion

all oversight but not that inadvertent 

beyond what has been heard, seen and felt

Before understanding

just resolve @ 64 

Remembering U at eighty two

You eulogized @ 82

Praised

as in raised by prayer that is

commendation without glory

exulted achievements, bemoaned practices

no legacy that isn't fashioned

Just gone at eighty two

It would be serene 

to call it serenity 

yet more placid still, to call it anything but

Peace

Only the security of so general a state

all finality but not that conclusive

Beyond what is no longer heard, seen and felt

before essence

just spiritual @ 82

Notes to something going unwritten

The Circus

The circus has fallen down

to knees it never thought could

buckle. 

The big top is all but put up

In some other, distant town. 

And I

being of the last 

must lock up everything. 

Must store our memories away

of time when life

was learned at play. 

The bonds of our adolescents

now become the chains

securing our promises--

ones we skance remember 

and other we shall never forget. 

A toast:

"To us girls, as we set foot

from here. 

I have heard it whispered

By 17th century men of cloth,

As well as pen:

"Real friends are our greatest joy

and, our greatest sorrow."

Is that why I cry today,

or is it what follows next:

"all true and faithful friends

should expire on the same day"?

For we did not expire

But moved on, as if

inspired

by some mainstream current

to shed the child's life

in search of adult wishes. 

So spiteful and divided 

Belloc comes to me

in remindance of my pleasant friends

and the love we share

despite distance. 

As I age

I sympathize with Tomas:

"loving those most whom I loved first"

dwelling with sadness on thoughts

of who left first. 

Days are a bit longer now,

nights a tad slower,

as I'm left to mediate

a once crowded bar

with newly vacant stools. 

We were friends who flourished in our flock,

now to manage life's migrations. 

Some went west

stars pasted to eyes. 

Some to the city

a future to materialize. 

I am here, with sorrowful surprise. 

Yet,

I embrace the new day,

as I look forward to new years

for the circus shall pass this way again,

and dragging out a ringleader's costume

I will unlock those chains of promise

ushering in

The Greatest Friends on Earth. 

Love's copulation

Love is a caricature of our own design

   Carried to transcends on the tip of things sublime

Hate is a monster of our own imagine

    Carried as a tool to fix our fear. 

In the synthesis there of, lies a marriage

A sharing of vows to mange the winters. 

The love of process is sanities only rule

Let it lay between affectionate and cruel. 

Love,

   It's lost, no one sees after

but she always sees me. 

Temporality holds no key with her

there as she has fashioned,

Here, as she has persuaded. 

   Together never felt so alone,

yet the comfort of our strength 

quells all fears, dims all threats. 

It is the ends of being!

         Love?

         Hate!

That refract to reflect our unity.