Goodbye, land and farewell, woman Never was the pleasure mine Of drunken slumber on your lap Nor the warmth of hand on hand Never the sizzle of lip on lip Or the balm of quietly being Never did I explore your extremity Or the depth of your intensity But on this walk down lonely path You raise the level of my being And possession seems such a descent
Hopeless romantic, grounded realist, eternal optimist, brooding pessimist. All these are me. I am all of them. When I referenced my diaries for poems written decades (1985-99) ago, I was surprised to find that most related to either Love or Death. I was even more surprised to discover that, with a quick change here and there, many of them could be interchanged to reflect either. It was in this way that I discovered in myself the obsession that Sigmund Freud labelled as Eros and Thanatos, a theme that has fascinated thinkers, poets and writers for centuries. Here you will find Eros and Thanatos and a bit of Philos in between.
Absent deliberate intervention vis a vis suicide, supposed “natural” longevity of generic human primate ride ding bareback across avast broke back mountain minus pride defies accurate prediction, though hypothetical projections can override unknown factors, whereby excluding misfortune nationwide (and/or globally
I ain’t a poet, I ain’t a writer, I am just someone who’s gonna lose something soon. Who knew, eventually, colors would change over years, who knew, bidding bye would bring tears. Who knew, a thousand days, a million smiles,
the winds are becoming numbing needles to my skin again. the whistling of the night is entering the day covering up the sun to my happiness. the bullying was a distant memory from my mind now fresh to my soul.
You said you would be back in a minute But the minute became eternity. Swirling waters erased your physical presence And I was left with just a distant memory. Our journey was cut short You travelled to the other world