Poem: My People

A drop in the Ocean.
This poem has been written before.
By me, by others,
in other times, in other languages.
In fact, it's being written right now,
by somebody else,
somewhere,
who feels the same
as me.

The joy of youth has fled.
The purity of ignorance soiled.
Remaining is the dirty toilet
of myself.
Which I keep trying to clean.
But there is no return
to Innocence.

Where are the joyful adults?
Them that live and laugh and love?
I do not see them near.
There are the scared,
the suppressed,
the hiding,
the repressed,
the pretenders,
the defenders,
the parents,
the drunks,
the lairs,
and the rest:
Treading water
and trying to "survive."
Artistic parasites,
living off the ignorance
of the wealthy,
who will never know
the pain of
"not enough."

Where are the Grown-Ups who know?
The Adults who are?
The people that need
nothing more...
than Themselves?

Poem: SMS Game

I texted again

"Ag. Sorry."

finally clearer of mind.

She texted back

four pages of

anger and spite.

I tried to imagine her fingers

typing so fast on the phone

her fingers

so much smaller than mine,

more nimble,

less swelled,

less,

arthritic.

She knows I hate

long emotional texts.

Has promised not to do them before.

But she does anyway.

It is part of _her_ anger problem,

though she'd never admit it.

Expectations unspoken,

wants not met,

then Guilt,

Shame,

Blame.

I hate that Game.

Poem: Chistmas Eve '09

I'm an angry,
mean,
spiteful,
grumpy,
Old Man.

I despise my friend's
wife and child,
because I do not have any,
and probably never will.
I despise my friend for having them,
for being part
of a web of comfort,
that I have no part of.

I am a bitter,
envious,
Old Man.

Hating my friend
for traveling far and wide,
seeing sights
I had only dreamed of,
apparently only to dream.
I hate him so,
my skin tingles
on the top of my head.

I am a lonely,
and selfish,
Old Man.

Remembering all
the hearts I've broken,
yet still wanting
to break more.

I'm a devious,
atrocious,
Old Man.

Taking comfort in
my friends'
troubles and ills;
All the better to
"show them"
how much
I care.

I'm an old,
Old Man.
And I'm alone.

It's Christmas again.

And I'm actually 29.