He said to me quite worriedlyHe said to me, quite worriedly, the endIs near! How do you know, I said, for ISee tracks that lead away beyond the bendAnd every end has new beginnings nigh.He said to me, quite somberly, the ridgeIs sharp and plummets down to water's edge!But do you know, I said, that there's a bridgeThat jumps across the river past the sedge?He said to me, quite hopelessly, that sideWill vanish to a pointinfinity!How do you know, I said, that some great tideWon't wash you back to spend the time with me?He smiled. The tracks, the bridge, the far seasideSeem narrow now, but further, they are wide.
Two ways to dieTwo ways to die, one fast, one slow. One takesThe healthy body sooner than it needsTo go; the other takes the body, mind and makesDecay the theme of aging's fears. These steedsOf push and steeds of pull are prancing nowOutside your view. You know you hear the beat,Perhaps a gentle walk or maybe plowAttached to work horse; foaming bit, with heatAnd sweat, with effort, he will climb that hill.You cannot run, and so you slow, with grace,And hang on thoughts of purpose, love, free will,Since you don't drive and you don't set the pace.Two ways to die but only one to liveBefore that steed comes up the hill: to give.
I hated winter renting spaceI hated winter, renting space and timeEach year with pale concession stands of snowand ice. So little noise and sound, its primedirective damping color, light. Its showcontains so little carnival, I thoughtanother merchant would come in and bringthe red and blue and yellow sights. I boughta snow cone, sat and waited, hoping springwould come a little early. Winter's leaseIs sealed by planetary movement, earthIs meant to tilt just so, the snow's capriceCreates the water for this year. The dearthOf sound and light gives frantic souls release.I make concession to the winter: peace.
You must be good at somethingYou must be good at something, so they said.Why yes, I can procrastinate quite well.Prevarication I can do instead.Avoidance is a specialty, to tellThe truth. Which as I said I try to doMuch less than formerly. Tangential speechI also do with much success if dueRespect is given to my skill. I preachTo choirs inside my head on topics grandAnd never have to show the logic too.They seem to like my rants and raves and standAnd clap and act like everything is new.You must be good at something, so they said.Perhaps these they are stupid, daft or dead.
If I had wings and theyIf I had wings and they had none, then flightWould mean a quick escape whenever lifeBecame too much. I'd never have to fightWith them. I'd take up ease and give up strife.If I had wings and they had wings, then flightWould be a game, a sport, a test, a war.Then bigger, better, faster wings would fightA better war and I'd start keeping score.If they were bugs, I'd be a butterfly.If they were butterflies, I'd be a bird.If they were birds, I'd be a hawk, I'd flySo high, I'd never be observed or heard.And now I see the problem with my wings.I still need justice, skill and might. Old things.
She will not bendShe will not bend, he will not spend, and soThe dance goes on, with sparks and fights and nightsMore sleepless than a night should be. The showGoes on in routine tasks, remembering slights.He will not lend a hand, she will not mendThe anger and the fear; and so in spiteOf better natures, yin and yang don't blendBut stay suspended, never mixing quite.A world of darkness looms but what they fendOff now is one another. So it provesThat what is closest finally turns. PretendIt isn't so and point to tender loves.But maybe one day if he will just spendA little time with softer voice, she'll bend.
I picture states where menI picture states where men are not allowedTo vote and never is our common senseSuspended for one day. The women, proud,Protect the children first and self-defenseIs practiced in a way that damps the fuseOf conflict best. You jest. Don't laugh. I say,You've had your chance and now we want to choose.And if you're nice, then you can stay and playBy rules of decency. Obtaining powerIs not the only way to live a lifeThat's full and rich. And in their final hour,How many men will downplay love, take strifeAnd all its risks instead, to champion self?Too scary. Take away the vote itself.
I thought you drowned that dayI thought you drowned that day in heavy rain.Just like those multitudes of cat and pup,It came down fast with thunder like a trainAnd lightning strokes. If you had given upI wouldn't place the blame on you alone.You had such help along the way to grindYou down. They left you flat, depressed and proneAnd seeing you that way, they didn't mind.The ground was soaked and you, a paper doll,Lost all integrity. You turned to pulp,All substance gone when drops began to fall.I couldn't help, I turned, I had to gulp.Next day the sun came up and dried you out,But you're still thin and when it rains, you pout.
Women will be womenHe said that women will be women andNo matter what the recognition thatCould be extended to them, just as planned,They always end up at the start, it's pat.If you thought you could never travel far,How would you find the energy to go?If every effort left you stuck in tar,Or worse, on ice, you're sliding back to No!Hold pretty things, like dreams and butterflies,The purple flowers, orange fields, the wings,The yellow petals, hope that never dies,The sunny days, fair skies, all girly thingsPronounce them good and do not recognizeMisogynistic spew and stupid lies.