A Letter to the Other Side
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Category Archives: Life
Did you Hear ?
Did you hear
Leonard Cohen died
His family, and his lovers
by his side.
Did you hear
Leonard Cohen died.
The music and the words won’t be quite
so gravelly
deep.
Did you hear
Leonard Cohen died.
Won’t be long before Irving and Abraham
Are by his side.
Did you hear
Leonard Cohen died,
Discarded mask
And costume that he wore,
To slip behind a curtain.
Did you hear
Leonard Cohen died.
A village and a nation sighed.
Did you hear
That last
First
soft breath open:
Go by brooks love
Where fish stare,
Go by brooks love
I will pass there.
The Boatman is Thankful
The boatman is ambivalent.
He is unsure whether this side
or that side is preferable
whether pauper or king it be,
but he is still thankful
even with his trepidation
for his boat and his oar.
And he knows travelling
back and forth that the journey
is the thing
That matters.
Decision
What to summon?
Which number?
The right number?
Is it 911?
Or some other
Choice number
Freud engineered
to impress mind
to thought
Or action.
Autumn Light
Autumn
Brings grey
clouds
Cool evenings
And a
golden light
Lessened and
Fading quickly
Truths
Truths
I hope to have
written some truths.
Lies are so easy.
To pen
To be able
To record some truths
in the future !
That is difficult;
Lies are so obvious,
Not always cheap.
Easy, convenient,
Unexamined conclusions
Of the times.
Truths are not always so obvious.
Some take years
To ascertain
In the dark.
That’s why the best poets
Age, get so old,
With deep lines
in their foreheads,
or die so very young.
Some truths are never
to be,
cannot be,
known;
And only are present
in vague outlines,
In muted colours
Of the partly blind;
Only lightly,
Randomly,
Occasionally,
touched on.
This Existence
This existence is enough
To make you insane
The Beauty of it
And the pain
Only the comfort
Of each other ….
Boatman’s Comtemplation
The boatman sits
In the bright sun
Wearing a tall black hat.
Crouched over
He plays
His stringed oar mandolin.
He stands,
stretching his thin
White clothed frame.
Smoothing a greying beard,
And taking off his hat,
Reverently
He contemplates both
Grace and the grave,
And all the islands,
And the shores across the way.
Then he deftly sits again
to play,
The new melodic moments
Eternal
In the day.
Young Hemingway
Young Hemingway,
His new grown beard still black,
And rough,
Walks between
The cars
with an empty paper cup,
Acting tough,
And just before
he would
Have gotten paid,
He turns away,
And waves his arms
In circles to the sky,
Saying
Enough is enough.
The Boatman Travels
The boatman
Has set his sights on travel,
With his ancient oar,
all on his own.
And he will journey far
To distant places
that he well knows,
And where he is
well known.
He is grateful
for good fortune
for all charitable hearts
Along his flowing road,
And for the safe directions
in which
The winds have blown.
PWChaltas 