Blameless

Our hands are clean and free from stain.
We're not like them, who cause such pain.
We're chaste and pure and free of blame.
Ask again, and I'll tell the same.

On my boat

Everyting's going smoothly on my boat.
No gaps, no cracks, no lapse on my boat.
No leaks, no creaks, no breach on my boat.
No wolves 'cause there's only sheep on my boat.

Still, I sense something amiss on my boat.
Some cheat, some sneak, some thief on my boat.
Some vice, not nice, some ice on my boat.
No sleep 'cause there's some kinda creep on my boat.

Won't tolerate these mutinous dogs on my boat.
Some din, some sin, within on my boat.
Some knife, some scythe, some vice on my boat.
Lost nerve when captain stares ice on my boat.

So everything's running smoothly on my boat.
No gaps, no cracks, no lapse on my boat.
No scurvy, no worry, don't hurry on my boat.
Upright, insight, tonight on my boat.

That's why everything's light so bright on my boat.
No scorn, newborn, it's warm on my boat.
Some vice turned nice, upright on my boat.
Thus ravenous wolves bleat "baa" on my boat.

Sojourn

On sojourn now
from here to there.
Dream of arrival--
I do not dare.

That destination
is far remote.
And for one like me,
to dare approach...

Unthinkable.
Laughable.
A fantasy.
A direction
so so far from me.

Can a flea mount Everest?
Can a rock make wine?
So how can the base
traverse sublime?

But on sojourn still,
and wonder why?
Vain to embark
and not arrive.

If such the case,
then why leave home?
Why take the trouble?
Why even roam?

Some people travel
to see the sights.
I do not sojourn
because I like.

I sojourn simply
because I must.
And envy those
content to rust.

If I could do it,
I'd do the same.
It's only because
I'd go insane...

So on sojourn,
keeping somewhat keen.
And walking,
at least, it keeps me lean.

"Where are you going?"
Over there.
"Can you even arrive?"
I do not dare.

That direction
is so so far from me.
To reach it
perfect fantasy.

Some make effort
to reach the prize.
I make effort
to keep alive.

But it's not
impending death I fear.
It's resigning to reside--
remaining here.

An empty hell

I have one question,
now answer well:
Will you be my queen
in hell?

Just you and I
against the world.
Scratch that, plus two:
a boy and girl!

Our mountain palace
above the flames.
Just past earshot
shrieks of pain.

We'd soundproof walls
so we do not hear.
Hold dinner parties:
good laugh and cheer.

Affluent neighbors.
Of course of course!
And vacation in some
fine resorts.

Don't read the news.
That isn't true.
We left that when
we said adieu.
To that gory lifestyle
the suff'ring pain.
Blackjack, the casino
of Death, his game.

We left that casino,
we struck it rich.
And ran for the hills
above all it.

To enjoy our comfortable
mountain perch.
Live and enjoy
for all that's worth.

I watch my parents,
the king and queen.
And happily ever after
is make believe.

It's not that they
did not teach me well.
They paved the way to
success in hell.

But this base address
I can't abide.
I cannot stand it.
I won't reside.

Others more gritty,
and jaded much:
"To live in hell,
you must be tough!"

No doubt. No doubt.
I do agree.
We need to be tough,
but I'd rather be free.

But perhaps I'm just
more greedy than most.
Some infants take comfort
at mom's approach.
Still others by jingling,
shiny prize.
Not me, kept wailing.
I cry and cry.

I don't like this place,
I want to go home.
An inheritance of transient
flesh and bones.
Those brokers
peddle mountain homes.
And to win one,
gamble all you own.

I have one question:
now answer well:
Are we meant to resign
to reside in hell?

I had a queen picked out,
she'd prob'ly tell me yes.
And the mountain perch
which to contest.

The dream was there
within my reach.
I did not grab it:
it's make believe.

So what about a palace
above the din?
I'd rather exit
and not return again.

Don't try to placate me
with some corny prize.
I beg for exit,
I cry and cry!

But an exit is
what they do not know.
And wand'ring from place
to place I go.

Why gamble on
a mountain perch?
The exit
was my primary search.

But the exit was shut
by lock and key.
And good fortune
pointed it out to me.

Others just wail on
through the night.
Unable to change or
resolve their plight.
The hopeful gamble
all they own.
Hoping to win
a mountain home.

Myself,
perhaps,
more foolish than most.
Uncomforted by mom's approach
Unsatisfied by jingling prize
On and on I used to cry.

I have one question
now answer well:
I have a secret,
today I tell.
From the moment from
the grace we fell:

Would you love to see,
an empty hell?

SI 2011-12

PT: Rejoicing in the visible shift from burden to ease, but who invisibly
carries the difference?

PSC 12: To transcend this mentality is to transcend to Li.

Rolling in the mud and expecting to be without stain, vanity is thus.

Considering benefit for one's self, it is easy to appreciate.
Considering hassle for one's self, it is easy to complain.
Seeing hassle as benefit, the negative mentality is transformed.

Supporting others motives, it is easy to agree.
Questioning others motives, it is hard to agree.
Reflecting on one's own motives is the way to self-review.
Transforming difficulty into ease is the way to break through.

To cultivate tolerance, one must first tolerate one's own intolerance.
Tolerating one's own intolerance, what then is intolerable?

Scribble on the wall

Don't mind that scribble on the wall,
Some nonsense that I wrote.
Mind this drivel not at all,
Some babble that I spoke.

The house always wins

Some win good
and ace the test.
Some win better
and shame the rest.
Losers lament
while winners jest.
But Grim laughs harder,
'cause Death wins best.

The house always wins,
you know its true.
Don't look surprised
when they come for you:
for this body, name
and all this fame.
Blackjack in the casino
of Death, his game.

We've had a streak
of luck, a bit.
And security's been
watching all of it.
Cocktails, women,
dice, and play.
To congratulate us on
our lucky day.

We go back to our
hotel room up, a bit.
And Death's been
watching all of it.
We close our eyes
for just a wink.
And wake up teetering
on the brink
of fortune, fame,
a roulette game.
I lost my house,
and it felt the same
when I lost my
degree, my kids, my name.
I lost it all.
And death's to blame!

The house always wins.
I know it's true!
But I thought I could win
and shame him too.
But Death is patient.
And Death is kind.
And Death will surely
take all that's mine.

So what is it
I truly own?
These are not "mine"
but rented bones.
And Death will come
and take these too.
House always wins.
And I know it's true!

But is there wealth--
if just a bit--
that moth won't chew
and rust not git--
that's always shiny,
golden, new--
is there anything here
like that, that's true?

And some win good,
they're better than rest.
And winners love
to laugh and jest.
But an unsettling cackling
that quiets that din.
And the one that's laughing,
I know it's him.