Take a picture of me
And put me in the right frame of mind
Preferably in color
I'm fading in black and white
8x10 would be alright
A wooden border would suit me just fine
Take a picture of me
And put me in the right frame of mind

Snip a little from here
take a little from there
pluck out one of my eyes
and
cut a lock from my hair
but
if you haven't got the key
you
will never have me.

i once wrote a poem
that touched both our hearts
way back when
we were in love

so much so
with the feeling then
that i'd love to have
it all back again

where i pledged my life
to you in rhyme
from the here and now
through eons of time

that's where you said
you loved me back
in your very best
poetic finesse

two lovers caught up
inside of the rhyme
when i wrote a poem that time
of your love and mine

I wanted the bright lights,
but the day started grey
because as we all know
Winter's that way
inclined.

I don't mind
really
I don't,
I won't get upset
I will get myself dressed
then
I'll go out of the door and
and
Summer has gone, hasn't it?
no more soft lit suppers
on the patio
just
the watching of leaves
as they blow
in the breeze,

a cough or two and
perhaps a sneeze

I wanted the bright lights
I get
four months of dark nights


I'm throwing the lamp
in the trash.

This is where I'm happy
And this is how I smile
This is right before the moment
I turn it all into a frown

This is me excited
I don't remember why
A picture snapped so long ago
That it's in black and white

This is me in memory
As distant as it seems
This is me dreaming
Kodachrome the color scheme

This is me swimming
Deep within my thoughts
This is where I'm counting
Soon enough to learn the cost

This is where I'm younger
This is the day that I turned old
Though  they're both in color
The older me has faded more

This is where I wing it
And here I plan it all
Picture this if nothing else
Right before a fall

The change you find when you change your mind
and not meaning the change in a cup,
the sun that's there and has always been there
only seen when you want to look up,

even creatures of habit
see a chance and
then grab it

that's change too.

for some it's a gunshot to
the head
the difference it's said
between the living and
the dead,

hands up for change.

"Poetry Makes Nothing Happen..."*

The New is Confusion.
Embrace it and be baffled.
Give a nod to the absurdists
among us who demand illusion.
That engenders a reality.
Satire cannot compete
with rampant trumpery.
Poets who marry politics
produce stillborn tracts
whose topics will be
forgotten in a week.
In the theme park of words,
they are the talking dead.
This pig wallow of blame
leaves no hands clean.
History's a house that burns
too quickly for choosing sides
or taking detailed notes.
Accept the tangle of Truths.
Nothing outlasts everything.
Never sell out to the moment.