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 Mar 2016 Tom McCone
Nat Lipstadt
for vicki who loves this poem for the best reason ever: just does...
<•>
read a thousand love stories,
pause, rest awhile,
read ten thousand more,
and then deny equality.

If you ask for no more than you can give,
you ask for not enough

love is imbalance not an equation,
with a single solution

love has both constants and variable factors

so you write of tribulations and tributes
so you write of lamentations and liftings

you think you are on the same page
perhaps
but do we not all read at different paces?

one of you is solid, one is dotted and dashed
one of you is straight, one is bent, forever curving

when you think you are
in balance
in the same place
in syncopation

perhaps you are for a moment
a calculus of one point on a trajectory

and you say I can only ask for what I give
and am given
and no more,
you have miscalculated

this flux
flummoxed
when the old terrain is flayed flat
but thru the windshield you see the
plateau ends, the geography unknown,

when you see unknown
when you seek the unknown
when you give from places you did not know
you had to give from
when you kiss a hand
for  twenty minutes more than than the one minute you intended
when you give more than is asked
when you ask for more than you can you think you can give
the imbalance that  is the only concert
the imbalance that is the the only constant

how do I know this?

what are my credentials?

you are not a teenage girl,
what matters of what you know, recall of these matters?

I am who I am
a diversity of man and manner;
I am past prime and in decline
but this I know
for having failed ten thousand poem times
you must ask for more than one can give

but that's not fair!

silly one, still wretched confused,
even after one hundred thousand poem times

you must ask of
yourself
more than you can give
and ask no less
demand no less

a body in emotion is not a body in rest
when the imbalance is too great or insufficient

then you write a poem
look in the mirror that cannot lie
and move
on
or
move off

  begin to ask
yourself
to whom may I give myself
more than is asked.
then you have finally asked
the correct solution to the
unsolvable equation
---
Ask for more than you can give
was added to HP on
Feb 8, 2014
 Mar 2016 Tom McCone
September
you were made of
good intentions, thin hips,
and soft shoulders.

i was weak,
with bruised knees,
and thought with my lips.


if we were to ever agree on a god:
he would be physical—and he
would know our secrets.



he would be made out of them.
"i feel so lost without her"
Byrd Joel, Red House Painters.
 Mar 2016 Tom McCone
Rapunzoll
She was nature, beautiful
But deadly, her cheeks as
Scornful as a rose, the smile hid
The thorns underneath.

Her presence though unseen,
Could be felt, like the sun's warm
Breath on bare winter skin.

She led him somewhere secret
As the night lures the stars,
As clouds gorge on the
Fragile light of the moon.

Over the crumbled bodies
Of leaves, into the alien
Land of tranquility.

When he woke, hands burning,
There was nothing left to see.
Only a faint feeling glistening
In the air, a failing heart and
A tongue full of dreams.
© copyright
Do you like paranoia or
does it annoya and canya
avoid it
do yu know how it feels
how the deck of cards deals
and
whenya fall for never in the ever
wherever that be
will you see the doppleganganger, do you hear it
echo there
I can bear it, wear it on my flamin' heart, but
do you see me
doubling down
am I
the one
am I the clown
do you like
Paranoia?
Just the whispers from dark doorways along the street where the night stays, cold.

When the morning treads lightly down the litter strewn pavement and the dousing of gas lamps sizzles the air
they are there,
with blank eyes, they're watching for the chapel to open, for their saviour to appear in the guise of a beer, they are there.

And I stand along with them, the men on the edge of a reason.

If it helps and it may get them through the long day away from the whispers, away from the doorways, drink on.

But nothing here lasts as long as nothing seems to do and the day scuttles off through the emptying shadows, here everyone knows and nobody cares.

In the chapel the beer's a panacea, a quick fix kit it for a slow death, it doesn't take brains to unfigure out the sums.
A scuba diver, head first like a dolphin,
goes in to the ocean, 100 feet down
in semi-darkness finds this apparition
something beautiful to behold in motion,
really really big and mysterious it appears
gliding gracefully spewing wonderment,
inviting reverence from all kinds of marine life

Clearly apologetic, for being out of place,
though he has encroached, in to a world
though not far from the sea surface,
yet in a depth where human has no place
all his scientific temper got  evaporated
a simple villager now, gripped by wonder.

All he could think of anyone
fitting in to such magnificence
was God Almighty,himself.
"How do you do God?" he stutters,
aware that in plankton filled darkness
the mighty man is at the mercy of
the behemoth, looming large above.

The phenomenon in question,
"***** whale"as we know him,
smiles and burps happily "Fantastic"
then he dives 6000 feet down, looking
for a colossal squid, succulent to be sure
the whole reason for him to play God
at this depth for sea creatures that lose
bearing in the haze of challenging depths.
***** whales grow up to the length of 50 feet and weigh 45 tons
A colossal squid, it's food measures up to, 45 feet and weigh around 1000 pounds.
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