Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

Spring Song

May 22, 2009

I’m not going to worry about science today,
Or the state of the world economy.
I’m not going to think about climate change,
Or whether we’re headed for ruin.

The sun is out, the sky is blue,
It’s a blue so pure and serene.
The air tastes sweet, the light is golden,
The flowers are unfolding.

I know there are many thorny problems
Facing us all today,
But I’m shelving them till tomorrow
And I’m going out to play.

I’m sorry if this sounds selfish,
I know I should worry more;
But Spring is here, my blood is up,
I’ve got to go outdoors.

I’ll get back to the serious issues
In a day or two, I promise.
Right now I have a pressing date;
A walk in the park awaits.

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I’m Indebted To You

May 1, 2009

Here’s another phone call with another fabulous offer
of a credit card, a low-interest mortgage,
a sumptuous vacation home,
or perhaps a brand-spanking-new car.
Sometimes it’s a well-known celebrity
Who’s taken the time to record a message
just for me,
about how absolutely critical it is for me to vote against
this or that.
I am flattered to receive so many calls.
I feel so important, that so many people want to
offer me so many valuable things,
or get my opinion on some essential issue
by answering a few simple and brief questions.
I try to be polite and listen to them all
without interrupting.
It’s such a lovely life they’re proffering, and of course,
who wouldn’t want to live in a gorgeous home and wear designer clothing and
drive a sexy car and
have scads and scads of money?
And talk on the phone with Sean Penn or Madonna?
But, there’s just one small thing. . .
I tried out that lifestyle already, you see;
and I’m hung over,
broke
and deflated;
so I won’t be needing any more
shiny new
fairy tales
today.

Don’t Need No Progress

April 29, 2009

Everywhere I see the news:
“The future will bring such wonders.”
Magazines and pundits all enthuse,
And tell us we’ll live to a hundred.

New discoveries, they proclaim
Will change us dramatically.
Technology will our lives reframe;
We’ll be living ecstatically.

Robots will do the dirty work;
Medicines will make us healthy.
We’ll grow new limbs, we’ll never get hurt,
We’ll all be very wealthy.

It all sounds grand and glorious,
And I hope to see it come true,
But I don’t take it very serious,
I’ve got a skeptical view.

I’ve lived too long on this Earth
To get caught up in the hype and the bluster.
I remember with some sense of mirth,
Predictions that didn’t pass muster.

Gardens on Mars, remember them?
Or affordable cars that fly.
Or the most ridiculous one, ahem:
Teleporting in the blink of an eye.

I’m not begrudging our progress,
And I love predictions so bold,
But I’d be happy with no more, no less,
Than a cure for the common cold.

Eternal Hope

April 27, 2009

I have books, many books, on how to get rich.
I have books on time management.
On interpreting my dreams.
On esoteric Oriental philosophies.
A whole bunch on how to be happy.
A few on self-hypnosis.
A smattering on religion.
A hodgepodge on visualization, yoga, law of attraction,
and other such topics.
When I was a kid I read a lot of comic books.
I was fascinated by the advertisements in the back
promising a well-muscled physique
if you just sent in your money
to Mr. Charles Atlas,
who once was a 98 pound weakling
like me.
One day I sent in my money,
waited desperately for the exercise plan to come
and tore the package open with shaking fingers
when it arrived.
I dutifully read the books,
practiced the exercises,
checked myself daily in the mirror;
and gained an inch or two in my biceps,
and another inch in my chest.
Sometimes I wonder what ever became of those books;
that patented exercise program
that made he-men out of skinny boys.
Maybe if I found it, and tried it again,
but this time tried really hard,
maybe I could still have that powerful physique.
It’s out there, waiting for me, like when I look up at the big grinning moon
on a clear night,
and it almost seems close enough to touch.
Maybe I followed the formulas wrong.
Subtracted when I should have added.
That’s it, I must have made an error;
the mistake was mine.
I’ll try again;
this time will be different.
I just need to buy another book.

The Aliens Have Left Us

April 24, 2009

By John McDonnell

Sometimes I look at the sky at night
And wonder if aliens ever took flight,
And traveled across the billion miles
And came to stay with us awhile.

It’s certainly seems to be the case.
They could have observed the human race;
And maybe joined us for a time
To probe the secrets of our minds.

They may have thought to colonize
This Earth before we realize
What’s happening, to enslave
And work us to our grave.

But I suspect that once they saw
Our stubborn nature and our flaws,
They made a beeline back to home,
And vowed never this way to roam.

How could they make slaves of us,
When they couldn’t even trust
That we’d have the same opinion,
Or do most anything in unison?

The fact is we’re a crazy lot,
We scheme and bicker, fight and plot.
We never follow logic’s rules,
Or much of what we learned in school

I’m sure the aliens would despair
And want to wash us from their hair;
They sped away, that’s what I mean,
And put us under quarantine.

They’ve left our little neighborhood,
They’ve spread the word that we’re no good.
“Stay away, it’s just not worth
The stress of visiting Planet Earth.”

A Man Of Many Interests

April 23, 2009


By John McDonnell

I’m a dabbler at heart, you see,
and there’s plenty more to me
than meets the eye.
But then you know I
never said I was a simple chap.
You can’t put me in that trap.
Subtle, that’s me, and complicated.
Not loud, a bit understated.
Preferring not to be a star,
or the loudest voice at the bar,
I’m happiest in the back,
not in front of the pack.
I get distracted easily, my mind wanders;
there’s always some other question to ponder.
My reality abounds in
complexity.
I know I should settle down and focus;
establish a locus
for my interests.
But every time I try
something bright catches my eye,
and I wander off, wasting time
on some new project without rhyme
or reason.
There’s so much to learn, I’ve always felt,
so much living to do as well.
Each day should be an adventure,
otherwise you’re just an indentured
servant, hemmed in by your
small horizons.
Tomorrow’s another day and
no way I’m going to get distracted
from my goal. I’ll attack the
day with vigor, discipline and
rigor;
at least until a bigger
shinier something comes along and
catches my I.