I used to walk but now I runI used to walk, but now I run. I runTo prove I'm not a china cup. My footComes down so hard on pavement. Others shunThe stress and walk on rubber tracks. I tootMy horn about the sun, the rain, the dark,And sometimes snow I overcome each dayWhen I go out to run. The dogs that bark,The cars that push me onto grass, the wayThe deer hold stilland once there was a bearRemind me of the danger that presentsItself a dozen times a day, and fearRemains the thing not conquered that I sense.I shattered once. I kept some shards to show.My brain, intact, compels me now to go.
You always were the stronger oneYou always were the stronger one, so tall,Developed, flourishing when sun and rainGave opportunity for growth. But allI did was agonize, compare, complain.The day they came and sawed off half my limbsI closed my eyes (but not in pain), to hideMy shame. For now there won't be paeans, hymnsOr any verse to salve my wounded pride.Of course they said, well just move on and tryA different line of work. Perhaps you're goodAt something else. Big boys and girls don't cry.Be glad to be alive; improve your mood.Such good advice for everyone but me.Oh can't you see, I'm stuck? I'm just a tree.
Eleven does not lastEleven doesn't last. Why just todayI said, how can it be two-thousand twelveIs just a month plus several days away.Perhaps time speeds because we never delveBelow the surface of these days. To paceMy life, I used to live in future modeJust like a dancer staring into spaceBeyond the stage to find a place, a node,A hook, and rest the eye on every spinAt that same place. The clever dancer sparesHer head the dizziness, and though her winIs much applause and bows and smiling staresShe never saw but half of what we did:The stage, the set, the princeto her, all hid.
Just what is better than a smileJust what is better than a smile, I'd likeTo know (as long as it's not cynicalOr mean; sardonic smiles excluded, strikeThe clever kind, the smirk, inimical.)I almost talked myself out of a smileAnd then remembered you, your mouth that turnsits corners up until your cheeks puff whileYour eyes do something like a dance. Joy spurnsThe cynical, sardonic, smirk-like smile,Deflates the apples of the joyless cheek,Reforms diminished hope and all the while,To gain your royal glance, we're mute and meek.Just what is better than your smile, I know:To have you smile again, and joy is now.
Three trees and baby treeThree trees and baby tree, in meadow morn,Were speaking of the brand new day, and howIt seemed much like the one before. The cornWas gone, alfalfa too, and soon they'd bowTo winter storms when speaking would be hard.But baby tree still hoped that fall would stay,That cold and snow had been a fluke, a cardPlayed by unhappy sky one winter day.The big tree smiled and one more orange leafReleased itself to one and only oneDescent. It danced and twirled and fell. A sheafOf leaves already down cried, we're not done!Then middle tree consoled, avoid such grief.Be glad to be a tree and not a leaf!
The speed of changeThe speed of change: too slow for some, too fastFor those who did not keep the pace, too badFor those who liked the way it was, the pastWas pleasing them; too quick for those who hadBegun to understand but lost the senseOf meaning when atrocity marched in.The size of history was too big. The fenceYou built was trampled; fear gave way to sinSo large the blot remains as people washThe countryside. It rains, oh let it rain,Until the memories fade to pink, and gashThe soil with blades to sow a new refrain:The speed of change suffices for your hopes,Not slow, not fast, the future gently lopes.
The helplessness of goodnessThe helplessness of goodness baffles me.The only question I have left is this:Why goodness doesn't rise and strike. But see,She'd vacate goodness with each evil hiss.The paradox of goodness wears me out.The back-and-forth of strategies to fixAll evils while remaining true aboutHer principles takes mirrors, smoke and tricks.The oath that's sworn to goodnessno surpriseThat though she gives no answer when we ask,We faithfully re-pledge when we ariseAnd promise to try harder at each task.The weakness of this goodness frustrates me,But seeing nothing better, good I'll be.
How often I see housesHow often I see houses and I say,What perfect space, what angles! CircumscribedTo hold a feeling, balanced in a wayElusive in my daily life, describedExternally. Who knows what lies insideThe walls, perhaps the paint is peeling thereAnd slobs who never clean (you know I can't abideA mess) and piles of mailbut they don't care.Now outside fantasy maintains its grip.Some golden ratio satisfies my brain,Convinces me that happiness will dipIts brush and paint my mood from this gold stain.How strange then that a house when lived inside,Will hide from view the thing that gave it pride.