The Old Man and the Seed

Gaze now, callow youth, upon the old man spurned,

His overtures honest, his calls unreturned.

Why should he long, unmet, for this one connection?

To change callow youth from his own sins' direction?

To guide one who holds the same interests as he?

To extend the world's recall of how it used to be?

Or perhaps it's not to teach. Does he aspire, then, to learn?

Gaze now, callow youth, upon the old man spurned.

Life is Loss

Life's no prison, but a holding pen.

So many enter, and pass out again,

and so we struggle to make friends.

On people one cannot truly depend.

I had hoped you'd stay until the end.

Heaven—and life's nature—forfend!

But not everyone holds the pedal down,

Blowing, over the limit, through town,

and so I had hope that I had found

Someone not so elsewhere-bound.

One day, I looked up and you weren't around.

In expecting that you'd wait,

There's a truth that I didn't anticipate,

Learning it only once it was too late:

Some don't just leave; they accelerate.

Decades, it took, to remove the gloss,

To learn that at life's core is loss;

All the world's a ride, and that's the cost.

Why I Write, Part x+265: Director's Commentary for #WeCanLandOnACometButICant

I don't do it often, but when I do, I find

That if I'm writing with an audience in mind

I do it not to move, but rather to impress,

And that I'm rarely if ever at my personal best.

800 Days of Summer

In the last five years of “play ball!”

My Pirates have learned to stand tall.

Though I should be thankful, I'm appalled

To note, as the last of them turns to fall,

That they've yet to win anything Major at all.

Horseshoes and Handgrenades

I want to play.

Let's play a game

Of horseshoes

and handgrenades.

Together, we'll be

Almost perfect.

We can get close,

Close together

and then you can

blow my life up.

Lies My Devices Told Me, Pt. 3 (Or Why I Don't Write Anymore, Part 2)

Check off that box,

and then go see a show!

Life's in schedules and lists,

What you make, where you go,

What you spend when you get there,

All the to-dos we all do,

Not subvocalized reasons

We have to push through.

It's the tangible clutter

That I purchase with time

That I could spend relaxing

My thoughts into rhyme.

A Love Anthem for the Survivalist

Roses are red.

Violets are blue.

If the world ends tomorrow,

I hope I'm with you,

(Violets are blue.

Roses are red.

But if you're a zombie,

I'll aim for your head.)