Madhouse Poems (Part Two)

Madhouse Poems
Part Two


Maybe Children Know

Maybe children know, something grownups forget,
The simple windy days flying kits in the wind,
Walks down a street, holding your mother’s hand
Playing in the backyard, cowboys and Indians;
While we grownups count the days
As the years pass, looking at pictures, saying:
“I remember that…!”


#2322 (3-14-2008)

To Be Remembered

How old is old, to the point of being remembered?
Often our bodies are locked in a coffin, framed in glass
Set on a dinning room mantel…and left!

Perhaps fifty to eight years at best,
If you’re lucky I’d guess.

Then someone cleans the dust off the glass
From the new generation, and throws it in the trash!


#2324 (3-14-2008)

Crippled Poets

In a saloon I’d sit around the round table bar
Drink until I crashed; talk with all the prophets
Of doom, all the PhD’s in the room that knew
Everything old and new; all the politicians
That didn’t vote; all the good and loving folks,
That slept in another’s marriage bed—:
All crippled poets with booze…
Mostly now dead!

#2325 (3-14-2008)
Saturn’s Moon

A spacecraft launched some years ago,
is going to do a flyby of one of Saturn’s moons, soon;
perhaps today, or tomorrow—and signal back, pictures and facts.
There’s a diabolical wind now, near its polar icecap,
filled with gasses and water, and who knows what. And that’s a fact.

#2323 (3-14-2008)