findingtimetowrite

Thinking, writing, thinking about writing…

Archive for the tag “cynicism”

You Can Never Go Home

Landscape from planeIn the country where my tongue

should feel limber,

my mind goes slurry.

I hear the gasps between words,

feel the teeth in the smiles.

 

In the land of sensuous beauty,

I spy abandon, breathe in decay.

I opt for potholes while above

a sky of such wonder

casts up its blue tablecloth of hospitality,

flecked with golden smudges.

A generous hostess.

I groan in over-fed wantonness.

 

potholesIn the soft arms of my mother land

I detect only flab.

Since when did cynicism poison my well and render

my cattle so sick?

How did love grow so shallow that mere breezes

can topple the ship of my faith?

 

I don’t believe  they care much about my grimace,

or ruefully take in my artful sneers.

They live each day anew, alight

in flames I can no longer name.

I shiver unburnt.

And in the thirst

for life of my people I am humbled

out of the girth of my own navel.

The Cynic

Something wicked this way comes

and no pricking to forebode it:

half-life of worry to presage,

beating of the foreign drums.

 

It’s all counting, it’s all trade,

beauty envied but not looked at.

Stuff back, shot-like, into boxes,

all the pretty dreams we made.

 

Hurting now, distance shattered,

we’re too close to feed our vision.

We lunge, retreat, fall out, regroup,

as if anything mattered…

The Sceptic

There’s no fun in joining in

but what’s the point of staying out?

Every cliché in the book

has been tossed, bandied about.

Every shadow, every smile

which has flitted on her face

he’ll remember and attempt

on his heart’s parchment to trace.

She spelled wonder, enchantment, light,

the earthly pull of love divine.

But arms enchain, roots entangle,

metal corrodes on every sign.

Better safe, better far,

diminish your attention span.

She promised so much:

He ventured forth leonine man,

Came back worn to bone

Insignificant also-ran.

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