I haven’t had anything to write about and I feel guilty-ish for not sharing more. Here is a Christmas gift for you music aficionados. It reflects my entire abstinence from writing. I could never say what this music feels like and that is a little disturbing for me. So enjoy if you can and feel better soon if you can’t. I hope I have more to say on the matter sometime in the near future.

Also Happy New Year and many other fond wishes to all of you.

The eternal optimist said with a smile
It’ll all be over in a little while

The miserable minister gloated with a grin
It’s the thought that counts, so the thought’s the sin

The aggravated atheist smirked at the thought
Your faith is your own but your soul has been bought

The translucent trophy bride sighed with desire
If two are to tango, they first must conspire

The perplexed puritan turned to the light
Asking no one for anything can make nothing right

The beautiful barbarian finished his dessert
Assured happiness is knowing a little pain couldn’t hurt

The whimsical writer parses his nomenclature
With the dignity of logic comes the beauty of human nature

The absolute anarchist cried to the crowd
Take everything you want but no apathy’s allowed

The minimalist moron swore to his mother
He would never stop looking for his prodigal brother

The capitalist congressman announced changes to the bill
The doctor won’t help you unless the government will

She was a dignified, graceful lady
with flowing long white hair
my parents visited her begrudgingly
and she had knick-knacks everywhere

She had two friendly, fluffy white cats
a black slinky one and a calico
and she treated the cats like company
and us like her loyal subjects

I wasn’t allowed to touch or play with anything
but she would hug me and check behind my ears
and she had the best cookies and warmish milk
and her eyes would always glisten happy tears

I didn’t see her much but I loved her like I should
always mentioning her in my bedtime prayers
and the last time we visited my father found her there
lying dead at the bottom of the stairs

© 2007 by Paison de Moot

Mortality

Where is my courage now
when I need it more than ever
I know I can’t keep up this act
I’m really not that clever
and reality is relentless
because it’s now or never

I have to be someone
to qualify my existence
I’ve fooled everyone up to now
despite all their insistence
and my will is surely fading fast
for I have no more resistance

I think, therefore, I must be
no matter how hard I try
to fade away to nothingness
and, more or less, to die
for most of my friends have passed away
and I wonder, why haven’t I

I am somewhat ashamed

I don’t really care
people talk, that’s what they do
I tire of listening,
it’s always something new
or something old,
borrowed or blue
I can only focus on one
maybe two… and you
make the storm go away
and keep my course true

but then…

you and your babies, your lovers and kin
are all to compare with my own
discover if everything I’ve gathered within
is anything like I was shown
so much more than a place to begin
prevail, then apologize and atone
for the absence of effort, no real need to win
I miss what I’ve never truly known

the better to trust you with

a flashlight, torch or moonbeam…
or just a candle is enough
the darkness hides many wonderful things
as well as some pretty bad stuff

and I know it is there, my eyes take my word
still they fret what they can’t prove
but I’m sure enough to just let my eyes close
and anticipate your next move

Life is not a fantasy
unless you don’t believe
that people full of vanity
are trying to deceive
and break your concentration
on focusing your lens
to see the sublimation
of their purely human sins
for God hath writ this fairy tale
“The Human Being Myth”
and it isn’t if you pass or fail
it’s who you do it with

Mortified Heaven

In the time it would take to enunciate
all my petty worries and woes
I could probably die and be born again
and then see how that life goes

But I’ve become attached to this plot I’ve hatched
and it’s far from over yet
there’s adequate time left to get it done right
or at least decide what to forget

Because all my mistakes have had what it takes
to go off with a boom or a bust
but nobody knows what I’m truly made of
so there’s nobody I can trust

I’ll pin all my hopes on how destiny copes
with my manicured foibles and quirks
and have faith in my fate to negotiate
until I figure out how it all works

I’m doing okay in a modest sort of way
considering how I’ve abstained
from doing any more than what needs to be done
and make use of the freedom I’ve gained

Now has come the time to let reason and rhyme
substitute for ambition and schemes
to enjoy my egress from undue duress
and explore all the sundries of my dreams

Wet Space

In a relationship lost at sea
such a wonderful place to be
since I never could stand
being stuck on dry land
that is planning to bury me

But I cannot deny it’s a thrill
when cresting the top of a hill
and I see a new view
that just wouldn’t be true
if it wasn’t for my own will

Still the water makes everything cool
and the ship is my home and my school
where my goal is a shore
I can roam and explore
finding everything there has some rule

And I know I could never feel free
’til I’m back making waves in the sea
where the stars realize
were it not for my eyes
they could never mean anything to me

On the Diversity of Nutrition

I had a vision at school one day
inside a book, yet far away
beyond alive, below the living
unborn, an omen of Thanksgiving

The leaves were dead in spite of joy
with swirling winds in their employ
the cool air seeping right through the glass
interrupting my sacrifice to algebra class

With so many reasons to be alive
I wondered why so many people strive
to attain perfection or relative success
even suffer for it, take abuse, no less

And I suddenly felt my malaise slip away
it’s a cycle to ride, just an ordinary day
so I ate my algebra and washed the dirty plate
I knew the leaves and the wind would wait

waking up at convenient times

when I was young and god was new
and life was green and red and blue
I would sing the songs from the radio
never lacking for anything to do
with thoughts of death and fantasy
and hearts forever true

the mornings felt like progress
the evenings felt like dreams
until one day I awoke in protest
and nothing was what it seems

except love, even with all the corn
and giggling when new thoughts are born
and loneliness in introspection
and pain when oaths are sworn

when I grow up and god is close
and fear is selfish and morose
I will dance the steps of the world-wide-web
not afraid of stepping on toes
to dream of love with smileys and prose
and hearts like nobody knows

A Bohemian Yearnal

I long for a ramshackle hole in a wall
with insects and mildew, uncomfortably small
surrounded by refuse, recyclables and all
and a candle that smells of anything but pine

I would go there to think and reflect on my life
and the women I’ve known who could have been a wife
and I’d be sure to bring my lucky pocket-knife
to carve a sort of memorial sign

I’d write ‘this is the life you warned me about
with no real desirable qualities to tout
but it’s mine, you can’t have it,
you’ll have to live without’
because I know I am doing just fine
and nothing can ever really be mine

A Product of Butchery

(going bad in the freezer)

I feel comfortable on a platter
being served up fresh and hot
but, to me, it doesn’t matter
if I satisfy you or not

because all I have to do most times
is just my standard shtick
without worrying when I get done
or if I make you sick

I am proud to be a commodity,
a savory piece of meat,
a tempting culinary delicacy,
most importantly, a treat

and knowing I am sought-after
without previously being tried
esteem for me is flattering
but chokes me on my pride

I feel the same way most foods feel
when, left-over from indulgence,
being dealt with like a daily meal
with small thanks for grand performance

I am more than happy to satisfy you
if you promise to relish me
but the same old flavors will never do
unless one thing is all you want to be

I’m meat… it doesn’t  matter to me

left again, right?

I was left too
on a doorstep, piss drunk
and dishevelled
out of hand

and a proper lady told me
how her husband
made a living… and then dying

wish for her a fond forgetting
wish for me a jealous smile
as the heart may wear a badge
inside an overcoat

Screwing

With a continual twisting effort
ever deepening in assertion
like a spiral or a coil
into a hole..
a helix, one could say
inhaled like haze in hell
but not exactly that way,
it’s sucked into the soul
with all the geometry
that begins to like tooling around
with a dimension it doesn’t grasp too well

It attaches things to things
and tightens and holds
and strips and breaks
works loose, lets go
a little slip is all it takes
for the weight to become
too tenuous to uphold,
it’s nothing but physics
extending logic beyond the wheel
as a favorite way of keeping stuff in place
and with some consternation
like when information boggles
it’s the way one, often stupidly
might rearrange one’s face

My mother was a virgin, I was born in her herb garden
and my father, a fine mechanic, seemed to be her only friend.
I had Jesus sprinkled on my head, God granted me a pardon
and if I abstain from sin then I can live life without end

But now I know it’s all a lie, told with the grace of god
to encourage me to love without vain, selfish expectations
to let me be who I really am, everyone, a friendly nod
and let life do its damnedest, I can deal with complications

the only foil to my existence
is a passive, strong resistance
to allow me my truisms or blues
in an awkward manner of speaking
with small portions of me leaking
into light like it’s fast-breaking news
my truth isn’t really mine to choose

a poet doesn’t need to check his facts
with research or any kind of study
he just tosses his words like a stone in a pond
and then sees if the water gets muddy

Illogic Circuit

My down-time thinking smelled like smoke
nobody even got the joke
or if they did it didn’t show
I’ve told all of the jokes I know
and waited there until time to go
with hang-down head and sorry eyes
no one could even criticize
for lack of feeling critical
my neck wrapped in umbilical
I felt her love and walked away
since what needs said I cannot say
and feel I should not anyway
for light shines brightest in the dark
I think my thinking caused a spark

Emotion Sickness

Her words without meaning but feeling revealing
Her longing for knowing for what she would long
Her messages garbled, birds warbled no clearer
Much dearer to her was to whom she’d belong

She would be his possession, confession withstanding
She wasn’t demanding but standing behind
She’d tease as she pleased and she pleases so easy
Much pleasing was forfeit somehow in her mind

His heart was a part of his notion of devotion
His trust was a must that was just about knowing
His growing was showing reclusive but strong
Much ado would ensue as to where he was going
And going was about knowing he couldn’t be wrong

Daisies would be nice

With a precipice ahead and a quagmire behind
anyone else in my shoes would be losing their mind
and I’m not comfortable here betwixt hard place and rock
but for the constant reminder of the fast-ticking clock
knowing well that the end may be only the beginning
and that paradise was lost by accidentally sinning
and I lay in between, a song stuck in my mind
believing now as ever, love is not hard to find

(The Solace of Bullshit)

As a child I remember playing all day
interrupted by challenges and obstacles
and the only future I could ever forsee
were just deadlines, bedtimes and promises

I lived in the now imagining when I am free
I will cross over the 4-lane and explore the whole world
to make anything and everything I wanted to be
with great deeds to be done, advernturous tales to be told

But sinking fast into fantasy, reality never enough
to entertain my heart or enlighten my spirit
when death shook my structure, despair met my soul
I had a story to tell but only I would ever hear it

All my wisdom was tainted by insider dreaming
my energy wasted on impossible endeavors
or monotonous subservient survivalist sniveling
while escaping to temporary sublime forevers

And I was lost in this vision, only me and my shadows
my infernal obsession for comforts of the flesh
in my silence hides madness, my words milk my sorrows
my message truly cliche, a common whine of distress

As a man I am empty yet filled with relief
never harming a soul with my considerable delusion
never being the changes I didn’t want to see
and pretending my fears are all brilliant illusion