I am at home with myself
Wherever I am, Thank God. But there was a time When I required more. So I understand the need For book and chair, And tea, And hearth, And familiar footfalls In the corridor, And even for the great structure Of mud and plaster, Board, and brick, And paint, That rises up around it all. And I understand Why people stay Even when the enemy Is at their doors. It is home. It is the sacred thing They feel while there That binds them fast And will not let them go. And so, They stay until They can stay no more. And only at the point of bayonet Will they be torn away. But I am a traveler. I have learned To wander. And so, I go. And where I stop Is home.
0 Comments
The scripture says
That they will beat their swords Into plowshare. But when? Exactly when they decide to, I suppose. And who is they? Anyone who chooses, I suppose. And so if it is coming for us anyway. Then why not start now? After all, there will never be many Until there have been a few. And doesn't few begin with one? And if one, why not you? And yet, you’re a bit too late To be the One, the First, The Example to us all. He came and died Because His sword Was bent the wrong way. He forsook His life for many. And showed us how To bury our weapons of war Deep into the earth, And by so doing, Sow a crop of peace Though we pay for it with our lives. I love the places where nobody cares
Like this parking lot. It is a miracle that nobody Is rushing out to tell me to leave. But on the other hand, I'm clean. It might be different if I made a mess. And I am not a vagrant. I serve a purpose here. I simply prefer the peaceful places That, at this particular moment, Man's ambition hasn't claimed. There is something sacred there, A quiet that the world can't find In all of its frantic getting, And keeping, and protecting. In the absence of all of that, I think, God claims the solitary places For those who do not care For the accumulation Of earthly things. I live in a mini-van
All cramped and small. It's like living in a box. And that's ok. The rent is cheap And I don't mind Because I am a poet. I don't need much - A place to sleep. And a chair. And a typewriter. And I sit there all day long and write Except for the days when I stand in the open air And rhyme for spare change. A mini-van is just right For one like me Who lives on the move. A poet's palace - A mini-van. A night of busking,
Two dollars earned. It’s the beginning of another life And the way of the traveling man. My table’s out with copies of my book. And I lure them with song. Why? Because if I don’t do it, Nobody will. The Fender Acoustasonic 40,
The beginning of amplification. What does it mean? I am not sure. But I bought one With the intention of singing a song That people can actually hear. |
Archives
March 2024
|