I try hard not to worry
if i'm right or if i'm wrong
endeavor to be more bird than bard
and sing my merry song
and sing my merry song

I plan to be

one of
The

next

generation

where rhyme

is not
a crime

I'll accomplish it somehow

be reborn
into
a
family
wealthy but neglectful

weirdos

do my time as a child

woeful adolescent
suffer slings & arrows

come out on
top

my pen poised
to write this
simple
song

and then it occurred to me
mystics aren't mystical at all
Mystery lies in the mundane,
a dripping faucet of wonders!

Birds can fly!

Water falls from the sky!

Nourishment springs from the ground!

in the glass i see myself
the world spins, yet i stay on

your hand reaches out for mine
as we walk down the marvelous road

My angels have abandoned me this morning
their tarnished halos scattered 'round my bed
i wish they'd given me some sort of warning
before rushing off where they used to fear to tread

This will change the way I go about my day
instead of drinking  coffee, i'll have gin
i'll sit sipping, wondering if i may
invent some kind of new salubrious sin

With luck they will return to me tomorrow
their shabby robes in colors of contrite
i'd wash their feet to cleanse them of their sorrow
kiss each toe, resist the urge to bite

Dear angels, you have given me this song,
don't wander far from places you belong!

I was a member
of the "Hope They'll Like me" crowd
needy and aiming to please

foot tapping, shifting in my wooden chair
the noise in my head drowning out
the words on your lips

and what was the big deal anyway?
if no one liked me
status quo

I'd still have the few
the ones I could depend on
Except, let's digress together,
in dark moments of insecure delusion
when I could imagine even them
lacing my drink with an untraceable poison
pushing me off the cliff's edge

But I never linger long
in this Hitchcockian dream

I'm opting now
for "I Hope I'll Love You"

listening and observing
your words and beyond
trying to see and understand

Keeping my heart near the surface
available for bumps and bruises
but resilient
full of good humor

watching with a smile tinged with wist
while some dismiss me as frivolous
and others reach for my hand

feeling fortunate with a hint of fear
each new chance
to be part of the mystery

It's a morning for pages
pages and pages
droplets of coffee stained
jam thumbprints in the margin

It's a morning for pages
pen gliding across paper
ideas streaming from
no mind just a reflex

A morning for pages
fill them up with words
wondrous words of mischief and meaning
words of wonder and regret

It's a morning for pages
time to waste paper basket
the debris that clouds the brain
time to remedy what remains

A morning for pages
running the pen dry
reckoning of soul
making way for the rest of this day