An episode of Will and Grace
Controversial yet mundane.
Debrah's messing with your brain.
Even Scientologists
Know there's more to all of this.
You search the ruins for trap doors.
Wonder what you're put here for.

Simple as a hint of gas
Climbing nostrils as you pass,
Making Harvard graduates
Feel childish when they laugh at it.
Climb the rungs to kingdom come.
Sour Patch to acid tongue.
Are you opposed to having fun?
You clench the world between your guns.

We could do better.

Your life is always the post of something else.
Where is the present in the way that you present yourself?
It's disgusting how little that you try:
The existential equivalent of pink eye.

Drink alone and watch TV.
You're expecting harmonies
To tap your tune with silver spoons,
The anthem of impending doom.
Guiding Satan's steady hand.
Forcing Beatles to disband.
It's ego freaks and drama queens
The young at heart know what I mean.

We could do better .

The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the town
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes over me
That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
And tonight I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet.
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with music
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.

Lead me not to the marriage of two minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come:

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved

Love is the scent with the lotus born.
It is the silent choirs of petals.
Singing the winter’s harmony of uniform beauty.

Love is the song of the soul, singing to the universe.
It is the balanced rhythmic dance of planets.

sun and moon light.

In the sky half festooned with fleecy clouds.
Around the sovereign Silent Will.

It is the thirst of the rose to drink the sun rays.
And blush red with life. Tis the promptings of the mother earth.
To feed her milk to the tender, thirsty roots,
And to nurse all life. It is the urge of the existance.

To keep all things alive.

Love is the unseen craving of the Mother Divine
That took the protecting father–form,
And that feeds helpless mouths
With milk of a mother’s tenderness.
It is the babies’ sweetness,
Coaxing the rain of parental sympathy.
To shower upon them.

It is the lover’s unenslaved surrender to the beloved.
To serve and solace.
It is the elixir of friendship,
Reviving broken and bruised souls.
It is the martyr’s zeal to shed his blood.
For the well-beloved fatherland.
It is the ineffable, silent call of the heart to another heart.

It is the life-drunk poet’s heartaches.
For every creature’s groans.

Love is to enjoy the family rose of petal-beings,
And thence to move to spacious fields.
Passing by portals of social, national, international sympathy,

On to the limitless Cosmic Home.
To gaze with looks of wonderment.
And to serve all that lives, still or moving.
This is to know what love is.
He knows who lives it.

Love is evolution’s ameliorative call
To the far-strayed sons.
To return to Perfection’s home.
It is the call of the beauty robed ones.
To worship the great Beauty.
It is the call of humanity.
Through silent intelligences.
And a star burst of feelings.

Love is the Heaven....
Toward which the flowers, rivers, nations, atoms, creatures.....

you and I..

Are rushing by the straight path of action right.
Or winding laboriously on error’s path.
All to reach haven there at last.

Take a little walk to the edge of town
Go across the tracks
Where the viaduct looms,
like a bird of doom
As it shifts and cracks
Where secrets lie in the border fires,
in the humming wires
Hey man, you know
you're never coming back
Past the square, past the bridge,
past the mills, past the stacks
On a gathering storm comes
a tall handsome man
In a dusty black coat
with a red right hand

He'll wrap you in his arms,
tell you that you've been a good boy
He'll rekindle all the dreams
it took you a lifetime to destroy
He'll reach deep into the hole,
heal your shrinking soul
Hey buddy, you know you're
never ever coming back
He's a god, he's a man,
he's a ghost, he's a guru
They're whispering his name
through this disappearing land
But hidden in his coat
is a red right hand

You ain't got no money?
He'll get you some
You ain't got no car? He'll get you one
You ain't got no self-respect,
you feel like an insect
Well don't you worry buddy,
cause here he comes
Through the ghettos and the barrio
and the Bowery and the slum
A shadow is cast wherever he stands
Stacks of green paper in his
red right hand

You'll see him in your nightmares,
you'll see him in your dreams
He'll appear out of nowhere but
he ain't what he seems
You'll see him in your head,
on the TV screen
And hey buddy, I'm warning
you to turn it off
He's a ghost, he's a god,
he's a man, he's a guru
You're one microscopic cog
in his catastrophic plan
Designed and directed by
his red right hand

He'll extend his hand, real slowly for a shake
You'll see it coming toward you, real slowly for the take
Grabbing at your peril buddy cause you know you ain't
getting near much as he will take.

He's mumbling words you can't understand
He's mumbling words behind his red right hand.