Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

what do you mean I'm too serious
that I should lighten up a tad
write some poems about butterflies
and Christmas mornings, how can I
do that, are you suggesting denial
as an effective tool for survival, or
maybe you mean I should behave
today, like I used to years ago when I
pretended there was a Santa that would
always bring us presents, or how about
that cute little bunny I said would keep us
deep in chocolate, am i shunning my
responsibility when I illustrate what I see
when I close my eyes these days, no
you're right, you're right, I can't seem to
conjure up the tooth fairy to save my ass...
I guess you got me, I am too serious
I'm mistrustful lately of leprechauns, jaded
about genies in bottles, down right cynical
that my fairy godmother has ditched me
for a man with more imagination,
I'm really worried that I am no fun any more....
now I understand why those boys
on the corner huff glue every day
they've lost their sense of humor too

"i used to go to sleep at the foot of old glory
and rise at the dawns early light
but much to my surprise..." john prine from memory

I wonder if I have lost my sense of humor.
politicians unintentional surrealists
Dada politics, can they be serious?
Waiting for the changes
This darkness got to pass

saw this bit the other day

AMERICA has entered one of its periods of historical madness, but this is the worst I can remember:

The combination of compliant US media and vested corporate interests is once more ensuring that a debate that should be ringing out in every town square is confined to the loftier columns of the East Coast press: see page A27 if you can find and understand it

John le Carré

Saw, a combination of humor and philosophy all rolled up into a poetry burrito- good stuff!

saw, we need more of this. I could write light verse forever if I lived on a cloud. I don't, so I say it is not easy for a poet to be an optimist. Many, little better or even worse than politicians or Hollywood, have lied to us. Still it is a pleasure to find a bit of pleasure now and then, like candies thrown to us by bigwigs from their parading cars.

Excellent.
Five bright stars from me.
Your fan,
H

A dog-loving kid once believed
in the mysteries mystics perceived
as the truth of their hope
which the world sold as dope
in its dime bags of myth to the grieved.

But now he’s a man who’s relieved
from the refuse that had him deceived,
though I still watch him grope
for the way he might cope
with the hopelessness life’s bitch retrieved.