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Ladies and Gentlemen, 2018

it is easier to believe the worst
than it is to believe the best

the roaring branch
bouncing off the walls with Johnny Mac
the how factor behind art

nodding to ‘stairway to heaven’
criticisms confined
to margins mis-defined

I have a sneaking suspicion
that in the matter of truths
any and all will do, and always has

fear eats hope for lunch
spectacle continues its rule
book covers sell, ask anyone

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the_wedding_of_psyche-large

How do I know you’re not acting ?

all we see is superficial
it is what it is, then it ends
invisible themes are just that

culture reeks with meaning
wisps oh so lost in the void
art and literature solve nothing

blame it on the Druids
they blight the neighborhood
they grew un-naturally

behavior comes and goes
if the spirit is in control
it is doing a lousy job

How do I know you’re not acting ?

all we see is superficial
it is what it is, then ends
the invisible themes are just that

culture reeks with meaning
wisps among the void
art and literature solve nothing

blame it on the druids
they ruined the neighborhood
they grew un-naturally

Body Dementia

surrounded by ambitious sorts
I sip my coffee in my shorts
and fight the urge to grab a rake
or trim some grass or pound a stake
summer morning is the place
to set a chair in a shady space
to dive into the inactive chore
of icing tea and not much more
I’m busy in an abstract way
only so many heartbeats in a day
I must balance the universe
putting the passive in front first
and claim my place inside the Tao
it may get done but not for now

To Get To This Day Was Easy

Summer shade and five point flowers
all began with April showers
The hummer flight paths of July
two thousand miles he had to fly

The trees grow tall and shake with leaf
that in March was beyond belief
August tomatoes fat in the sun
were seeds before Lent had begun

Far beyond the cicada whine
the snow whistled through the same pine
And by mere chance the floating seed
picks nature’s locks, of which its keyed

While trapped inside of winters dark
remember somewhere is the spark
Of mystery bound to accept
and keep the only promise kept

Free Will by Alice Meynell

Alice Meynell
NPG 2221,Alice Meynell (nÈe Thompson),by John Singer Sargent

Free Will
by Alice Meynell

Dear are some hidden things
   My soul has sealed in silence; past delights;
Hope unconfessed; desires with hampered wings,
   Remembered in the nights.

But my best treasures are
   Ignoble, undelightful, abject, cold;
Yet O! profounder hoards oracular
   No reliquaries hold.

There lie my trespasses,
   Abjured but not disowned. I’ll not accuse
Determinism, nor, as the Master* says,
   Charge even “the poor Deuce.”

Under my hand they lie,
   My very own, my proved iniquities;
And though the glory of my life go by
   I hold and garner these.

How else, how otherwhere,
   How otherwise, shall I discern and grope
For lowliness? How hate, how love, how dare
   How weep, how hope?