Enjoy the ride [poem]
sometimes I think that everything’s an emptiful distraction
[{(whether words or flesh or artefacts invented by the human race
or smiles or laughter even poetry and music’s comely face!
and most especially entertainment’s ambush-wraith
when spiced with life’s apparent inbuilt lack of faith
in what we mostly cannot willnot mustnot ever see)}]
waylaying us whichever zesty restless way we turn
from what we truly ought to see and flow and know (and learn)
some jewelery hidden in the dirty snowy clothes of time
a throne or elemental shrine in ether’s cloudy wine
a spinning leafy ricochet around a rose [uncrime]
a strangeness underneath this world’s assembly line
a priceless dreamer’s vision of a skybound vine
which, if one should intrepidly nontepidly and honely climb
will culminate in joyful mouthy cries of…
[pause here]
thoughts and words which never can be understood
save only by the one who bravely would ascend
the beanstalk bends of don’t-know-which-way-home
who shares a joke inside his newly gene-changed soul
acknowledging the role of everything material
deflecting unconnecting (though we think it’s just protecting)
us from fallingrising no disguising centri-fugal-petal
spinning stationary wisdom-bringing endbeginning
updown hymning inescapeful blackhole swimming
ardently against the tide
enjoy the ride
.
.
© Alan Morrison, 2013
The Naked Troubadour 