Don’t weep at my grave...
  Am not there, at the grave....
      But there, with the love and care,
         who made me brave.

Am not there, in the shining stars...
  But will shine there,
      in the caring hearts.

Am there, with the challenges
  and unconditional love...
    As I never, allowed
        to give up while alive.

Don’t let your tears roll down..
As I ever, will be
    in the thousand smiles.

Don’t weep at my grave...
Am always there,
    as an inspiring wave.

one would think these old owls might have learned
a hoot of wisdom, and shut off the bright lights,
concisely concession con-seceded to the simple *******
of the union of the night and moon, its sleep crowning ownership
of these particular hours

let me not false claim that I speak for all the grandfathers,
nor raise myself as a caesar among them,
for there are too many shrieking claimants of all knowing,
know-nothings these troubling days

no longer do we revere or agree upon
the certainty of any incontrovertible self-evident,
truths and beauty we from early ancestors inherited,
fore-seeing the risky possibilities of a freedom-less future,
a melting planet without enough air or water to be shared
for our fast contentedly, asleep babies

no, no, I speak only for myself, and those few million of grandfathers who message each other in the wee hours about silly trivial concerns that keep them awake and writing foolish poems

the phrase instantaneously registers,
dutifully stored for a new baby composition,
for all my future lovers and you dear reader,
“move at the speed of trust”

too young to justa rush into,
too old to justa rush from,
y’all inquire “what’s the right speed,
when the hunger pains of now-need,
instantaneously beg for get-no(w)-satisfaction?”

move at the speed of trust,
whoa, the resonating free ringtone
clangs like a fireball,
sounds sensible

but sensible and love

are words illegal to use in a poem, and,
about trust, as surely past burnt lovers
will happily remind you at every chance,

trust means bust fifty percent in romance

every instinct says go, fall, let it happen,
except for the bass squeaky one,
from the rear mezzanine cheap seats,
low and slow toned, hey remember me?
trust, my name is trust, here to remind you
that justa trusting yourself will never prove wrong,
that’s the lesson of now-need, fifty percent anyway
in matters romantic