Tag Archives: Go… And Find Yourself Some Happiness

It’s Scripture, Really

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The Lobbyist

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I write to regain my bearings and reboot. It’s just not that serious our crazy life issues, right? I was a smoker when I wrote this poem. I guess The Lobbyist will be happy to know I gave up that bad habit! Poetry keeps me sane…

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The Lobbyist

This woman at an elevator
Was lobbying against my smoke
The ash cans didn’t count for starting up
But putting out the choking fumes
I forced upon her

Not goodwill, money or sex
Could be extorted from that soul
No secret smiles of afterglow
Or posture of secured future
Friendship brings no floor
To hear the lobbyist

Her ride up was too slow
Then, she stopped short of the number
Pushed too hard and caused a shaft
To break her lift
That swayed her against me
Against us all

Go… And Find Yourself Some Happiness

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I am so thrilled that my book, “Go… And Find Yourself Some Happiness” is now in reprint. It’s available at amazon and lovelier than ever! #goandfindyourselfsomehappiness

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Do Think of Me

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A Must Share…

boy with a hat

Girl in the wind painting

After I am dead,

Do think of me,

When the wind plays with your hair

and tugs at your skirt,

When raindrops glide down your nose tip

and trickle under your dress,

When snowflakes melt on your lips,

And sunrays redden your cheeks,

For it’s not only the wind,

Or mere rain,

Or just some mindless snowflakes and sunrays,

But my longing for you lingering in nature,

outlasting death.

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Rise & Shine!

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Happy Monday! Go do your thing!!

Life is a beautiful struggle

“For Joan”

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A piece of poetry I just read. Enjoy!

Cosmic Heroism

My grandma returned

to tell me one last story

about how she met

the man she loved,

how it depended on

the weather, her dress,

how she looked at him

and he at her.

 

It was a story of

love and contingency,

the thousand factors

which added up

to this unlikely life:

but for her dress and

the clouds overhead,

I would not exist.

 

She sat right there,

just beside me,

like she used to

when I was a child.

I remember every detail,

but have no idea

what it all meant –

it was just a good story.

 

Maybe we do not need

to moralise or seek

the meaning of it all,

maybe life is best lived

listening to good stories;

stories about the weather

and what she wore

and how they fell in love.

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Bird Watching

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Bird Watching

I stood
in a good place
to watch this small bird struggle

She had fallen
To the ground
From a nest on a limb
I could not see

I wanted to help
But figured one like her
Might come along
And so I waited
And waited
And none came

She was broken
But brave in her pain
This little bird
Didn’t flinch when I picked her up
And brought her inside
Where she stayed with me
Long after she flew away