SEVENTY-NINE

Seventy-nine has just one working kidney.
Even that one doesn't work so well.
Vast domains of knowledge, passion, pleasure,
Eagerly await his ample leisure,
Nor have they aged, as far as he can tell.
The problem is he's in such pain he simply
Yearns for moments peaceful, clear, and still.

Needs are hopeless mountainsides, nor is he
Interested in digging deep for treasure.
Now it is enough each day to fill,
Enduring grace too bountiful to measure.

I HAD A ROUGH TIME WITH THREE KIDS BY MYSELF

I had a rough time with three kids by myself,
And I know that I didn't do well.
Counseling, fights, children's services, courts:
What I put you through must have been hell.

But I loved you - all of you - all of that time,
When my heart seemed to break every day,
When crushed, and crushed, and crushed against stones,
I would that the wind were my way.

And I tried - how I tried - to be what you needed
And show you the love in my heart.
But often the fantasy crashed and exploded,
And all that I was came apart.

And now you are grown, I don't ask forgiveness,
Just some understanding will do,
Of the person, however imperfect, whose life
And whose love was devoted to you.

THERE ARE NO BARS TO OUR EMBRACE

There are no bars to our embrace,
No presence more than in the heart.
We live our lives with love and grace,
Together still, though still apart.

No presence more than in the heart,
No touch more salient than a dream.
Together still, though still apart,
We are more lucky than we seem.

No touch more salient than a dream,
Though dreams alone must sometimes be.
We are more lucky than we seem
If I trust you, and you trust me.

Though dreams alone must sometimes be,
We live our lives with love and grace.
If I trust you, and you trust me,
There are no bars to our embrace.

IN EIGHTH GRADE MY BEST FRIEND PASSED AWAY

In eighth grade my best friend passed away.
He isn't gone, of course. I have him here

With me, within my heart, as I do always.
How beautiful that people are so dear
To one another! For all my life I'll love him.
Only one small part of us dies. The rest
Lives on in others. We are music within
Music. Nor do we ever hear the best
Of us, which sings in other hearts, a chorus
Of angels! However much I miss him, he sings
Here now, my friend, in me, to you, for us,
Still breathing in the beauty that he brings.
Love lives forever passed along, and we
All are blessed to live, to love, to be.

WHAT A PUZZLE NICK'S POEMS ARE

What a puzzle Nick's poems are!
I cannot grasp what he is after.
Marx is easier by far!

Why write, if one is out to bar
All comprehension? Does he hafta?
Marx is easier by far.

If only some new thought would jar
Bourgeois perception, as in Kafka!
But Nick's poems empty puzzles are.

I think I would put him on par
With Cage or Pollack: Which is dafter?
Marx is easier by far.

Under what sectarian star
Was he begat? What gnomic laughter
Twists those poems which puzzles are?

Ah me! I'll never know. A for-
Eign joke, a filial disaster!
God! Such puzzles Nick's poems are!
Marx is easier--by far!

MARRIAGE IS A TURN TOWARDS INNOCENCE

Marriage is a turn towards innocence
As two vow what can only be naïve.
Romantic love, of course, comes more than once,
Returning with the fickleness of sense,
Interring what sweet semblance one would save.
Adults, however, know the story well,
Grasping the harsh truth of higher love,
Embracing what endures but through the will.

SING OF ALL THE GOODNESS YOU'VE BEEN GRANTED

Sing of all the goodness you've been granted
In a life where little might be sung.
Xylophones and bells will play along
To give you the embrace you always wanted
Yet always had, the wellspring of your song.

For though the past can never be recanted,
In every moment love is ever strong.
Visions may be heavenly or haunted,
Even as sweet music can't be wrong.