Ravings of A Sane Man

A Lesson In Literature	A Man In Blue	A Statement	A Talk With Daddy	Alone Together
But Still She Can Not Frown	Elizabethan	Free Verse	Happy New Year	Hooz Dum
I Hear With My Eyes	Is This Good-Bye?	It Sure Would Be Nice	Let Us Fight?	Ode To A Hungry Sailor
On the Occasion Of My Birthday	Perfection	Prologue	Seven Days Of Life	Sleep
The Clown	The Letter	The Shadow	The Wind	Under The Influence
What Have I?	Workers In Wood

Dear Sir,

I want to be a poet.
I want to talk in metaphor - and simile.
I want to write in rhymes with couplets, closed and open.
I want to write in iambic with pentameter
  or in trochaic with octameter
     or maybe changed about.
I want to discipline my thoughts into sonnets or haiku.
I want to let ideas run boundless in free verse.
I want to play with shapes and sounds and draw the pictures
  that each man draws for himself.

I want to be...
  the lover that each man is;
  the love that each man wants;
  the passion that each man craves;
  and the grief that each man knows.

I want to be a poet.  Do you think I can?

                                 Yours hopefully,

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The circus is over!
Come and watch the clown cry...he has nowhere to go.
He just sits there all by himself.
A one man sideshow.

You've never seen a clown cry you say?
You've never heard him weep?
You've never heard the saga of why his painted eyes can't sleep?

The circus is over!
The spotlight's gone dim and it's dark in the ring.
He sobs aloud alone in the darkness.
Strange you can't hear a thing.

You've never seen a clown sad you say?
You've never seen one blue?
That's because he has a face he'll never show to you.

The circus is over!
They've torn down the tents and put the animals away.
The clown sighs, then smiles with lights dancing in his eyes.
The makeup hides his age as he turns and leaves.

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We have set about to build a bed.
Myself,
And an artisan long skilled in wood.
We have both made plans.
Mine a cacophony of lines and numbers.
His a symphony of shapes and dimensions.
We both have picked our woods.
While I race through lumber stores.
He roams the forests to seek his ore.
We both cut our stock with precise detail.
I among the din of saw and sander.
He works to the song of steel on wood.
Constructed, we both seek to add a finish.
I with varied brushes stroke a veneer of color into place.
He with paste and cloth massages his wood to life.
He has created a masterpiece.
So have I.
For while our ways diverge pursuant to our skill,
Our work stems from one trunk to produce a work of love.

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-A hot night
-A lonely bed
-A book with pages bent
All of these have I.

-A pen in hand
-A paper lined
-A need to write someone
These as well have I.

-A single love
-A great desire
-A future carefully planned
None of these have I.

-A lasting hope
-A constant fear
-A need for someone's laughter
Pray all of these have I.

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Yesterday
in the morning
I had a talk with my daddy.
And daddy said
that when he was a little boy
the world had
wars
and hate
and discontent.

He said that there were
people
with too much
and people
with too little
both afraid to give.

Daddy said
that when he was very small
people joined clubs
with people just like themselves
to prove they were
different.

And that these clubs hurt people
because they were
different.

I'm sure glad that daddy grew up.

Why didn't the world?

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Mary lives upon the hill,
And I - I live below.
And if we'll ever meet again,
This I do not know.
 But once upon a time we met,
For one brief fleeting day.
Just one night was all we had,
One I wished would stay.

Our day was filled with joyful love,
And laughter filled the air.
Our night was filled with silent love,
And time was not our care.

But dawn did not come once more,
Like such a cursed fellow.
Now Mary lives upon the hill,
And I still live below.

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Last night I cried myself to sleep again.

Not very macho is it?
I didn't think so either.

How does the song go?
"My blues kept getting bluer all the time"?
But the tears were warm
   and only turned the pillowcase slightly yellow.
If anyone asks I'll tell them I spilled a beer.
There's an empty can on the nightstand.

What was I crying about?
Does it matter?
I usually find something to cry about.
You see I have a very active imagination...I'm nuts!

They say that I talk about myself a lot.
They're right - I do.
And then blame it on the drink.

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When the world plays little games I wish they'd leave me out
Because I don't need the hate, the fear, the doubt
Of little minds awhirl
Inside their selfish worlds
Wasting much of what they ought to save.

When the people want to move the world please pass me by
 Though they won't understand the what or why
They find it hard to see
What is quite plain to me
Standing still is moving all the time.

When the world wants to shout with rage hear my voice
For finally they've made a choice
For action once begun
Is a problem almost done
And that's all I've come to say.

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Ho you makers of tomorrow; of ideas and goods for man.
Whatever you do in the days of Earth -
Do it not to perfection.
People do not trust perfection and will condemn and scorn you
  while looking for a single imperfection.
And not finding one they will further persecute you
  for to accept perfection is something they can not do.
So if you must strive for perfection
Take warning never to reach it.

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The shadow on the wall's a big man
Tall, dark and muscular.
The shadow on the wall's a ladies' man
Quiet, silent and strong.
The shadow on the wall's my rival.
It's him I'd like to be.
The shadow on the wall's my shadow
But I can't believe it's me.

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I am not stupid.
I am deaf.
So please don't treat me differently.
Just talk to me plainly
For I can not know what's on your mind.
I can only see what's on your lips.
I do not know word games made for jest.
Words are important to me and have their own sound.
I hear it with my eyes - and my heart.

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On the first day I learned to talk.
On the second day I learned to walk.
On the third I went to school.
While on the fourth I played the fool.
And on the fifth I played it cool
Laying long in love's warm pool.
On the sixth day I was wed.
Knowing the seventh would find me dead.

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Is this good-bye
  or another hello?
Please tell me
  if you think you know.
I don't.

Are we lovers
 or are we friends?
Does one begin
  where the other ends?
What's the difference?

Should we change
  or stay the same?
Would it matter if
  you had my name?
Or I had yours.

Do we argue
  or do we discuss?
Who cares what others
  may think of us?
We do.

You talk to me
  and I talk to you.
That way we both know
  what we can do.
Or can't do.

Are we in love
  or do we desire?
Which is hotter
  the flame or the fire?
Which burns longer?
 I know I can't stay
  you know I can't leave.
It's a sad situation
  but I'll never grieve.
I'm yours.

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"What?" said I to you
"Is it that you always do?"
And as a grin sped 'cross your face
Said you; "Tis most commonplace.
To ponder sailing ships and vessels.
To dream of stylish tracks and trestles
To live for the sake of strife.
To study things as life designs
Like postage stamps and traffic signs."
"Of you I feel I must request -
What to the world do you bequest?"
Said you so full of human cheer.
"That we may live another year."

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BUT STILL SHE CAN NOT FROWN

She rises in the early morn
Showers and awakens her mind
To a new day, no better than the old.
But still she can not frown.

She fries the eggs while the coffee perks
 While she brings in the daily news
With only stories of death and violence.
But still she can not frown.

She grabs her bag as she rushes out
To her waiting car then roars
Towards a job that doesn't pay.
But still she can not frown.

She leaves at lunchtime
For home to get the mail
Where she reads her love in war has died.
But now she can not smile.

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They tell me i shood go to skool,
 to lern to ad, subtrakt, and spel.

Maybe they think that i shood go,
Cuz i dont speke so wel.
But i no watt i fele,
and i sa watt i no.
Pepal cal me dumee,
So for them i go.
I dont no y,
they cal me dum.
But after this,
theyl respekt me sum.
So now ive told u,
Watt i think u shood no.
So wen the skool bus cumz,
i think ile go.

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Tonight it's hot
  and muggy
    and I can't sleep
  even though it's well after midnight.
So I sit and work on my poetry.
Work on my poetry
  now isn't that odd?
I mean that I always thought
  poetry was a creation
   an inspiration
    a need
  to put a revelation or feeling down on paper.
So that everyone
  or anyone
    or no one
  could understand it.
What I am doing here
  is called free verse.
I am not creating
   or pointing out anything.
I am just talking to myself
  on paper.

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ALONE TOGETHER



How can I stand being alone you ask?
I don't know.
I have never been alone.
I have always been with me.

And while I and me have not always been friends,
We have learned to live together.
For we need each other and can not survive apart.
If I did not have me to understand him
I would feel sadness.
Sadness would overcome me.
I would feel agony.
And death would finish me.


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THE WIND



The wind whistles through the trees.
Why does it whistle?
Could it be it doesn't know the words?
Don't be stupid you say.
And why not?
What advantage is there to being smart?
No matter how much you know
   someone is always asking you for something you don't know.
Or begrudging you because it seems that you know everything.
 So why not be stupid?
It would give you so many things
 - freedom from ulcers
 - peaceful sleep
 - time to do what you wish
Only to name a few.
Does the wind ever hum?


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ODE TO A HUNGRY SAILOR



The morning's done,
The chief is gone,
So from the shop you go.
To stand in line,
Perchance to dine,
But the darn thing moves so slow.
Three times a day,
You make your way,
On to the messdeck maze.
With hunger bright,
You squeeze in tight,
And slowly start to graze.
The meal you eat,
Then gain your feet,
The scullery your goal.
But alas you find,
Another line,
And anguish grips your soul.
You set your chin,
And start to grin,
As you think if leave a plenty.
A phrase you find,
Comes into mind,
It all counts on your twenty.


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ON THE OCCASION OF MY BIRTHDAY



Last night I cried.
  Not as a man cries
    But as a child cries
Over something he has lost.

And I have lost
Another year.
A portion of time God has granted
  For me to live.
But have I lived?

Tonight I am twenty-four.
 Is that even the number of friends I have?
I think not.

The number of lovers?
Hardly.

Then what does it mean?
Does it mean that I have wasted that portion
  Of the life I have been granted?
That too I believe to be false.
For I have played my part well
  Even though it be a lonely part.

Lonely.
Yes that I am
  Whether alone or with friends.
For I can not love enough to ever be loved.
So I cry...and grow older.


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A MAN IN BLUE



Look dad, there stands a man in blue
Who looks a lot like me.
A man with archaic principles
On life and liberty.
A man who puts himself behind
His friends and family.
A man who...who...
No dad, it just can't be!
I mean a man like that could not exist
In our society.
Where everything and one is watched
With such close scrutiny.
A man who lives within the rules
While yearning to be free?
A man who stands alone in blue
And looks a lot like me.

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ELIZABETHAN



What hath wings
But does not fly?
What sees all
But hath no eye?
What sings not
Yet all men hear?
Tis just my heart
Since thou art near.


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SLEEP



Sleep reaches out to wrap me in its arms like a woman.
In its clutch I feel the warmth I crave so dearly.
It lets me travel in a world which I control
  though not totally.
 For like a woman sleep needs to challenge its partner.

Sometimes sleep turns cold and lets the day creep in.
Its clutch tightens and sets my mind afire with fear.
I no longer control my world
  and must fight
    even to control my very being.
But I do fight
  and I awaken
    and I win
For tonight at least.

Then I go back to the warmth of my woman slumber.
Once again she is content to bend to the my will.
Forevermore delivering unto me the feelings
  and events
    I can never reach outside her.

Eventually she will fight again and one day win.


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IT SURE WOULD BE NICE



It sure would be nice to have someone;
  to tell me not to cuss when the car breaks down.
  to break the silence when the car breaks down.
  to have a smile when I can't pay the bills.
  to warm the soup when I've got the hills.
  to share the laughs of a funny show.
  to share the music when the lights are low.
  to wear my ring be it of gold or lead.
  to have a headache when it's time for bed.
It sure would be nice.


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A LESSON IN LITERATURE



Sometimes a poem is given a name
  Due to its length.


Short ones are called
  - Rhyme or
  - Verse or
   - Limerick or
  - Haiku.
Longer ones may be
  - Odes or
  - Sonnets.
And the longest ones are Epics.

Sometimes a poems is given a name
  Due to its value.
This usually depresses the poet.


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PROLOGUE



This is my book, it bears my name.
My one and only claim to fame.
Yes it looks quite small I must confess,
When sitting there among the rest.
But still I found it worth the time,
To set these feelings down in rhyme.
So you might read them one by one,
And in the process have some fun.
Revelling in such mental games,
Of other things with different names.
Which I am sure you have felt,
I hope with these I've ably dealt.
So that when you've reached the end,
I might have made another friend.


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LET US FIGHT



As I awoke I heard a young boy before my window crying
"Let us fight, let us fight to win."
Rising from my bed I asked
"Why do you yell at this hour?"
He must have thought me daft but yet he replied
"Have you not heard?"
"We have been challenged and must enter into battle."
"By whom have we been challenged and for what?"
Asked I not quite sure of being yet awake.
By now he must have been convinced that I must be a complete dunce as he yelled for all to hear.
"Our enemies have challenged us and by our God we will fight and win."
 Perplexed I found I must inquire of him.
"And what will we win?"
"The battle - We will win the battle!"
I found that I could not understand the boy which was indeed strange
For the people of the street surely did as they rallied around him.
Myself, I returned to the bed from which I had been awakened and wondered of the people.
  And of the battle.


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Email:  tipusnr@wideopenwest.com



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