2010
[3]
SHAKER LIKE A WEAPON
You make everything harder
And more complicated and always,
Always you make things verge on argument
About territory, dominance,
A sense of judgments, double standards,
Family ancestry, about
Various forms of learning disabilities,
Constant criticism, and who's better than who.
You dredge up old contests about bicycles,
Cars, houses, what happened when,
Who was right who was wrong, you
Relish those moments when you were
Victorious over the alpha male, or when
You were so mistreated and retreated
Cut off all ties for almost a year.
You bring these back as though they just happened,
Those moments of my failures, my weaknesses,
And you grab the shaker like a weapon
And pour salt on those wounds and rubbing it in
You laugh wickedly as though in ecstasy
Beyond bounds and control.
And then you walk away,
Out of the room full of the righteousness
That only a happily closed mind can conjour up.
I am left alone standing there with nothing
Left to say. Almost.
"I was only asking if there were
Any more paper towels, Honey."
Bill Purdin: 6/6//10
TO REVEL IN THE LIGHT
They have changed that's for sure.
It all started with a kiss, actually.
Lips so soft, transporting to another world
Where everything was candy and the heat
Oh, the heat. It warmed the worry
It took away the fright, it cozied the night.
It brought forth a deluge of things
The best things, everything, it just kept
On bringing them. As though everyday
Things were love uninterrupted, a child
So rich in experience, years upon years
Of challenge of failure of rebirth of changing
Of everything always changing changing.
And now those kisses are more than ever,
Although briefer, now in passing,
Perhaps casual, some might say taken for granted.
Kissing like our parents, they might say.
But we can only hope our parents kissed with
Feelings like these. Oh, we can still dig in there
And kiss like lovers lost in ardour, steeped in lusty Provocations, as though depths to be plumbed
Were crazy red with excitment. But now all of that
Can be just brushed, lips to lips, within each other's
Breath, touching lightly and still feeling it all.
No one knows what a light kiss can be
Unless the light is on them. And even then
It takes time, oh time,
To revel in the light.
Bill Purdin: 5/11/10
You struggle, as though wrapped
And being squeezed, life out, no hope
Twisting to be free, nowhere to go
Hopeless beyond saying it, lost in utterness
Alone, in darkness, descending, so, so low.
I know. Once so deep in me, I caved
So cold in that dark place, that I came
Close to the tip of things, nothing
Beneath, nothing above, just me
And the tip of the iceberg, the tunnel
With no light.
There on that balanceless point, I teetered
Like a bottlecap spinning, eternal-less
Empty of reason, discarded, to be forgotten
Useless now, less than ever even imagined,
Even dizzy-less, still spinning, knowing
Not even obliviousness was given to me.
Forced to witness my own torture
Pain never became pleasure as they say
Agony, full throated, was mine as long
As I chose. No filter, no dampening
It was pure, delivered with intent by
An enemy all mine. All mine.
I wish I could free you, but I know too much.
There is only one way out and it's through.
Takes your doing not a lover's touch.
If you make it, I'll be waiting for you.Bill Purdin: 4/13/10
2009
[14]
STRANGE FLAVORS
Freedom comes in strange flavors
That hit the tongue like fire,
Like ice, like a sweet candy,
Like a retching piece of grizzle,
Or even like a tasteless thing
That passes without notice.
Freedom always seems strange at first.
What do I do now? It seems dark in here.
Nothing is the same, all is misplaced.
What's that? Where's that?
Who are you? Who am I?
It's disorienting.
Like leaving home with no goodbye
Nothing stays the same.
The smallest things seem to satisfy.
Everything needs a new name.
Bill Purdin: 12/28/09
THOSE TEARS
Dark times
I was on attack.
Made such mistakes.
Wish I could go back
To unsay and undo
What I said and did.
To resay and redo
Quickly close the lid.
I would cage that lion
There is no doubt.
Sheathe the claws
Tear those memories out.
I can't, though I would.
It's done now for years.
Doesn't matter what I could.
There are those tears.
Bill Purdin: 12/15/09
PAIN
There is a pain that
Statistics can't define,
Can't be labeled
As chronic or acute
No treatment can erase.
It throbs and spreads
But never shows.
It aches and deepens
And never slows.
The only one who knows
Is the victim who suffers
But we hide it
Never confide it
And on and on it goes.
There is a pain so horrible
That it numbs us
And it dumbs us
Until we actually
Think it's normal.
Just another day
Alone, in disarray.
No more questions now:
Hope is the prey.
Bill Purdin: 11109-5
THERE'S NO END
The problem with goodness
Is there's no end to it.
When you are disjointed,
Addicted, wasted and
Killing yourself, it all
Goes down and down:
It all comes to an end.
It's not pretty but
It is dependable at least.
Being good only lifts you up
And up without end.
World's come along for you.
Sky's blue for you.
Friend's call dispels loneliness.
All of life is richer with
The uncertainties of good.
And there's just no end to it.
Eternality vs. a known end.
It's a really hard choice, friend.
Bill Purdin: 1139-5
The problem with being there
Is that you see things incontrovertible
That make you shudder, make you stare.
Your eyes don't lie, it's irrefutable.
Is it better to just stay home
To hide among the memories
And soft things that settle back
And put your feet up, thinking
All thats behind me now. But
All that's behind me now is still
Ahead of me too. I run in circles.
The past they say is prologue
How true it is. So, so true
That the past is still here
Dragging along like a lazy dog
Or tire chains I forgot to take off.
I see dead people too. My mind
Remembers some so vividly
That when one comes along who
Walks that way, or says a certain
Word that way it fills in all the blanks
And there they are. People long dead
Talking to me, walking to me,
Causing me to stop and let my
Past walk past. Sometimes it is
Actually the same person, not dead
Of course, but one from long ago
Who is still here saying the exact
Same things, smiling the exact same
Way, annoying, fumbling, and
Even looking at me in the exact
Same way. Or is that just me in
The mirror? The mirror in me.
Each day is a trail I have walked before
I see the same forks coming and
Take the same forks going. And
Why not? Sometimes we grow tired
Of battle, of new and better.
The old and worse look good some days.
Attractive even. But that old hermit
With the miser's touch must go out.
It all happens again.
The problem with being there
Is that you see things incontrovertible
That make you shudder, make you stare.
Your eyes don't lie, it's irrefutable.
Bill Purdin: 10/29/09
LOSING IT
Biting nails
Talking excessively
Not sleeping
Can't get a break.
Playiing favorites.
Write it down.
Pants too tight.
Totally impatient.
Staring stupidly.
Fucking crying.
Can't follow instructions.
Fighting panic attacks.
Silently freaking out.
Scaring me angry.
People finding me out.
Privacy invaded.
Trying not to be an asshole.
Learning nothing.
Thinking too much.
Jealousy welling up.
Wanting a little good luck
But getting nothing
Except a feeling
Of deepening need
To talk and
Bite nails.
Bill Purdin: 9-2-09
ANY SINS THAT WERE COMMITTED
Edward Moore Kennedy 1932-2009
The hand of God, so called,
Comes down on men without favor
Like a guillotine dropping without
Merciful gravity or a curtain coming down.
The hand of God wipes
It all away or wipes it all clean
Again. Happiness: a memory;
Great deeds: just a record somewhere;
Neither for us or against us, this
Hand comes down either with justice
Or with love; or if you're lucky, both.Edward Moore Kennedy was a sinner
And a liar, and a reckless fool,
That's for sure. Edward Moore Kennedy
Was a great man who saw the needs
Of others and ran to meet them,
He was a wise man who led a nation
To be better, to be kinder and
To be freer. That's for sure.
He was a bad husband and a good one,
He was a bad father and a good one.When all is said and done -- and
Now it is -- he was just a man,
A boy, the youngest in his family,
Who lived and, now, has died.We grow no bigger in death
Than we were in life, but
It does seem that way sometimes.
As our sins are forgotten
As our bodies dispose of
Life's burdens and struggles
We seem, sometimes, to enlarge.
In this case, presidents and all the
Pantheon were there but were
They thinking: "I wish it were me."?
Do they envy the successful end
Amid the gathering of great to
Pay homage? No scandal marred that
Day in Massachusetts even though
A hurricane was bearing down.
Did they think to themselves...
"I should be so lucky!"?
After all of the hoopla and uproar
Of his life it must have been awfully
Quiet in that linen-drapped coffin.
After standing all his life in the harsh light
Of politics and gossip, it must
Have been awfully dark in in there.The camera strolled over faces like
A landscape to assess. There were
Bored eyes, crying eyes, eyes that
Looked around from their corners
As if concerned about where
The camera was and where it
Was going next.
"Father, hear our prayers"
Rang through the church with a
Recital of liberal doctrine, as
If it were all part of the liturgy.
Then came the Eucharist.
It celebrates the ascension into heaven
But, really, who knows? Is
Ted, just dead and gone, or is
It something more? And if
Something more ... what? That is
The question. True?Death always seems so religious
And yet life seldom feels
That way. Just as the curtain
Is coming down we all genuflect
In the isle and take our seat
Piously hoping that it will do:
After all that we have done
What else can we do?
All the cards have been played.
All the dies have been cast.
Everything is through.The gathered sadness is a swirling mix
Of so many reasons, it's a concoction
Beyond comprehension.
Each attendee's thoughts are hidden
Behind a bereaver's mask.
Some sorrow is self-referential,
Some is self-torture, some
Is thoughtful and some full of regret,
Some is denying and busy rewriting
History frenetically beneath those
Knitted brows. Some is unselfish,
Sad for the loss of others, and
Some is confused and worried that
No deep feelings have emerged.
Some is empty and dissolute:
Hope the mask is secure and
Complete. Hiding in bereavement
Many sins stay covered. It's
Safe in a sea of tears to
Just tread water there. No one
Knows and you look just like every one
Else. You hear the music and
See the priests, but like a rock in
A stream it all goes past, and you,
Unaffected, unreachable, beyond
All hope. So, the least of the
Mourners and Ted had something
In common that day, The passion
The purpose all swept past
Them both, eddying motionless
Amid the flow of time.
Now immovable, still.Ted's son, it must be said,
Really, really loved his dad.
His speech was the favorite
By far: better than YoYo
Or Placido Domingo, or the
Great mezzo-soprano Susan Graham.
Better than the brilliant organist,
And better than anything
Anyone else could have said.
He used the one instrument
That only plays the truth and
The only one that cannot ring
False. The human heart.Ted said that there was no
Security in hiding and did
What he could to continue
The dream and honor
His brothers. Right down to
Today. President Obama's
Speech was wonderful, but the
Hug he gave Ted, Jr. said
Far, far more.As darkness fell in Arlington,
The eternal flame seemed
To flicker a little
As the casket went down.The cemetery pulled
The black night over itself
Like a cold, cold blanket.
The little flame
Was burning bravely
As the cameras and
And the long sleek cars
Departed so slowly.
In the rear view mirror:
There it was on the hill
Beside three graves
Now.
Bill Purdin: 8-29-2009
BIRTHDAY SONG FOR YOU
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday dear dear one
Happy birthday to everyone.
May your true wish come true
May all good come to you
May you drink from the well of love
And act on the good you think of.
May you give love to everyone
Forgive all that's been done.
Expect nothing but a chance to give
Like it's your last day to live.
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday dear dear one
Happy birthday to you.
July 31, 1947: Bill Purdin
EVERY DAY PRODUCES A CHAMPION
Chasing a dream, makes us closer
The odds-on favorite often falls short
Convince yourself that you are going to do it
Because you know you; you've got the game
The crowd loves a fighting loser, underdog
Who keeps chasing the lengthening dream,
Who overcomes the doubts to win anyway
It's just about honing your abilties and using
What you've got. The real battle of course
Is within, way within, deep within where
You really live. That place where no one goes
Except you. Just you. You know where it is
But no one else. We all have one. It's sad
In a way because it is there. It's great in a way
Because it is there. A human dichotomy.
But working out of that tumor, or control center,
We take the day for what it is,
How well we do in the struggle from
Where no one sees to where we are out in the open
Is the everyday production of champions.
It's the middle distance of life
Where what we are and what we do
Struggle to defeat us and to help us.
The battle of knowing and doing
Feeling and acting
Safety and freedom
Fearing and loving.
At some point you will give up
And let life take you like a lover
Open to whatever is coming,
Not caring about consequences
Embracing life at its essence.
Suddenly you are your own
True champion. You are your own
Best friend. That one true
Friend.
Bill Purdin: July 19, 2009
UNTIL I DROP
There is nothing like not doing.
Not doing what hurts.
Not doing what tortures.
Not doing the one thing you most want to not do.
Not doing the angst thing.
Not doing the waste time thing.
Not doing the thoughts that lead to the doorway
Where you want to not knock,
Not enter, not even side glance at it
As you pass happily by.
Today's goal: not doing until I drop.
Bill Purdin: July 13, 2009
There are a million ways to screw up your life
And I've enjoyed them all.
But, thank God, for my feeble faith
Which saved the final fall.
-- Bill Purdin, 6/10/9
Standing in the waiting line, it occurs
That the shadow cast comes up short.
Others seem so beautiful, so happy
So successful, so unthreatened in their
Spaces in the line. They seem all set.
And yet, the scream inside echoes
Like a cash register taking in the money
Time after time, the clock's hands can't keep up
With my retreat. The paid piper
Is never, ever paid in full.
Walking out with bags weighed down
With preconceptions long spent
I think of you gone, some other noun;
Wish there was time to repent.
3/18/09: Bill Purdin
LOVE WILL HAVE ITS DAY
The elements of desire are legion
Too many to embrace even infinity's catalog.
They leap out like perversion
They hide away like sweet memories
With some passion and some pain
With attraction and revulsion
All beloved in some way.
All defy clarity's definition.
The merely physical, in time, takes a back seat.
The score becomes a memory
Where the textures, the smells,
The sounds -- oh the sounds, so soft
And whispering, what did they say? --
Even lovemaking was mere apophasis
To distract from the frontal assault of course.
We wanted to be friends true.
We all did. Making love?
Well, that was just amative handshaking.
We did it with enthusiasm but it was a potion
To help us forget the pain and sorrow
Of a buyer's market where what we wanted to sell
Was often more than the buyer wanted to buy.
Oh, perfidious imposters, how beautiful you were!
But lovelife, ah, that was a coin hard to cash.
The word, beloved, haunted all of us as we groped
Through our innocent laughter and hoped,
Learning that hate comes with love sometimes
And then finally, finally,
That love comes in hate as well.
That was a lesson of love, believe me.
Polish the stone, he said, and you may find a gem.
In love, emotions rule. It's the only language scribbled
In love's lucubration.
Screaming helps, but does not impel.
So, now, decades are the measure, not just days.
In that long endlessly receding mirror images abound.
So many to choose from.
There emerges a mosaic,
Many times compounded:
A sense of what is, what will be,
And, oh yes, what will never be.
Love will have its day.
Love always have its say.
Bill Purdin: 2/14/09
2008
|42|
It's like a day only longer.
It starts with birth but
Goes on forever.
You can't buy your way out.
It takes giving like nothing else.
It takes taking to a whole new height.
It takes control where there isn't any.
It takes surrender so deep
That you may never find your way out.
Life is great with it or without it.
But it defines life like nothing else.
You think you're crazy.
You think you're so smart.
And it all comes down to the next second
Over and over and over and....
Bill Purdin: 12/13/08
There are so many bad things
Pummeled at us every day
No wonder right and wrong
Are difficult to discern in the blows.
Artificial foods that are indigestible.
Fast, powerful cars that wreck the world
And kill 45,000 Americans annually.
Drugs for everything: weight loss,
Erections, bone growth, pain of all kinds.
TV Shows that mirror a world
That no one really lives in.
The news is old before we hear it.
All the big deals that promise
But don't deliver. This is what we hype
As though it is what we all want.
I almost never see anything advertised
That I really want. Mostly they are selling
Things that, if you buy them, you are worse off.
It's just bad things looking good.
It's just good things looking bad.
And people looking the other way.
Bill Purdin: 12/12/08
Getting ready for better things to come
Is the heart and soul of life.
The cleansing of things
From daily clothes to the planet itself,
Is part of us like breathing in and out.
To know how to separate
The horrible from the beautiful,
The foolish from the wise,
The petty from the forgiving
Is life's struggle universal.
The cleansing of the corruption
In our intentions, our motives;
Clearing antonymistic defilements
That turn our good into our bad
Our wholesome into our whoresome
Sanctifies life.
Not success but effort toward success
Is the only security we have.
As long as we try to be
It will always be possible to be.
This guards the lover, the poet,
The dreamer, the friend.
It makes a day something
To celebrate not vacate.
This makes a life worth living:
Friendship worth giving.
Bill Purdin: 11/20/08
The trouble with daily living
Is not the daily;
It's the living.
Living with other people,
Living with confusion
When two people are together, or
When working together, or
Even shopping together.
The communication protocols
Are so uncertain --
There are so many --
That even speaking is dangerous
And duplicitous,
When the opposite is intended.
The struggle to be heard is overwhelmed
By definitional difficulties so hidden
And lurking that, even among friends,
Misunderstandings
Are far more prevalent
Than agreements ever were.
Agreement is now acquiesence
Into the world of "whatever;"
So far from the world
We really want to live in
Daily.
What's needed is more compassion.
And commitment, that's needed too.
What's needed is more understanding:
All that matters is the we, not the you.
Bill Purdin: 11/19/08
BETWEEN HERE AND THERE
I was standing there in the line
Looking at my fellow voters
And I saw them with the face
Or expression of doubt
Of being unplaced in time.
As though they knew they were
Standing there waiting to cast
A meaningless vote
In sea of meaningless votes
That at the very best
Would all add up to
Something less
Than meaningless.
They were still dead-set
Determined, solid and implaccable
In their determination to do it.
The line was the longest line
I've ever seen for voting
And getting longer all the time.
It reminded me of a line
I was in at an airport once
Where I was running to catch the end
But the end of the line
Was moving faster than I could run.
I had a sense that if they had
To stand there for a week,
They would stand there for a week.
I had a feeling that if a hurricane came by
They would not be moved.
Both sides of the eletion
Were standing there
Side by side.
They were all there:
The people who were for my candidate
The people who were against my candidate.
When something funny happened
Everyone laughed.
It was fun to be in that line;
That meaningless line going nowhere.
We were all perfectly happy there.
Contented really.
Lost in that middle distance
Between here and there.
In a place where time has been
Set aside for some purpose,
And there was no limit or requirements,
Around this time.
We just stood there
Watching the clock, watching each other
Waiting.
Someone mentioned
The sun coming up that morning,
How it looked like a giant "O"
Rising in the sky. Some people
Found that funny. Some did not.
This time in line reminded me
Of waiting for an airplane
Or a night watch on an ocean racer:
It was just time that was there
In the now. Not in the tomorrow
Or in the yesterday,
It was just all of us standing there
Wait for the polls to open.
Waiting to vote.
Finally.
Now.
Bill Purdin: 11/4/08 7:57 a.m.
MY ULYSSES IN MORE WAYS THAT ONE
Writing poems is not a daily website function.
It requires a whole lot more than just a rising sun.
My guitar must be tuned, my mind must be tuned;
My life must be in balance somehow, and there's no way
To know exactly what that is ... a feeling.
I can't be too tired or too awake.
I can't be too busy or too not busy.
It has to be just right in a crazy
Seeking the middle sort of way.
If my mind is too steady, nothing happens.
If my mind is too irratic, nothing happens.
If I force it, it won't be forced.
If I wait, it waits me out.
If I just start writing sometimes that's okay,
But sometimes there is a lot of wadded paper flying around.
I used to hand write every poem and saved them all in books.
Now I type them on a computer and then write them out,
Just to see how they look in ink.
I have always played every poem on my guitar,
And I have always sung them all. If you know them,
You will know that some were not suited to singing,
But still I sing them all. There are some that die right there.
If I kill too many, I stop for a while.
If I write too many I stop for a while.
I think I have written over 10,000 poems now.
My first poem was in 1966, the same year
I bought my first guitar. I still have them right here:
The poem and the guitar.
I stare at that "Coming soon..." promise on my site
Sometimes for days, then weeks, then months,
But never years.
It stares back at me like a taunt.
But it is always been a kept promise.
I always write another one.
I always write another one.
My books are like one long poem:
My Ulysses.
Sometimes it seems to be chasing me.
Sometimes it seems to be leading me.
Sometimes it's sitting here beside me
Like a friend enjoying the moment.
It's a shadow and a foreshadow.
It's left and right, up and down.
I've been writing it so long
I'm not sure what it is anymore.
But I know it is a true
Statement of something,
Perhaps something important,
Perhaps not.
But, without it, I would be lost.
In more ways than one.
-- Bill Purdin: 10/22/08
The fear we feel
Just life's weary doubt
The spinning wheel
Day in and day out.
You react in anger,
Sometimes tears,
Were you really entitled
To all these years?
Oh, these hours of love.
Oh, these hours of peace.
Promises more and more
Everything's increase.
When did you really earn
Those eyes that shared
Deeply into yours
You could taste the yearn?
When did you actually deserve
Those moments of bliss?
Those loving arms?
That deep, deep kiss?
You didn't ask why.
You didn't try to earn it.
You didn't really deserve it;
And neither did I.
We sang those crazy times
Like a heavenly choir:
We heard sacred chimes,
Felt forbidden fire.
We acted as though --
Who could blame us --
As though love was always
And nothing could tame us.
That we were right
Years remove all doubt
We were oh, oh so right.
Day in and day out.
Bill Purdin, 10/10/08
Sometimes I begin it
Sometimes I'm deep within it
Sometimes all I do is spin it
But sometimes (sometimes) I can win it.
Grab the controls and twist the scene
From something nice and now obscene.
Bring new players on the stage
Shove new layers 'neath the page.
See the revolutions fade, the people run
See the evolutions gain, it's almost done.
Wonder what when it all up-ends
See how deep deep it all descends.
Sometimes I begin it
Sometimes I'm deep within it
Sometimes all I do is spin it
But sometimes (sometimes) I can win it.
Sometimes, I'm just watching
Sometimes I'm just wondering.
Mystified at the plundering.
Sometimes, I'm just watching.
Sometimes I begin it
Sometimes I'm deep within it
Sometimes all I do is spin it
But sometimes (sometimes) I can win it.
Bill Purdin: 9/13/08
It's all too much, really, what goes on.
It's all too much really, to get it all.
It comes at you like light speed
One thing after another.
Sometimes, I'm deep in it
Something, I can win it
Sometimes, all I do is spin it
Sometimes, I'm just watching ...
They grab the controls and twist the scene
From something nice and then obscene.
They bring new players on the stage
They shove new layers beneath the page.
I see the revolutions fade, the people run
I see the evolutions gain, it's almost done.
I wonder when it all up-ends
Can we live standing on the sun?
Sometimes, I'm deep in it
Something, I can win it
Sometimes, all I do is spin it
Sometimes, I'm just watching.
Bill Purdin: 9/13/08
When I threatened retribution and revenge
I didn't really mean it, shouldn't have said it.
But I wanted you to know how deeply I love you,
How much I hate it when someone hurts you.
I wanted you to know that your pain is mine.
I wanted you to know that you are not alone,
Not ever alone, not ever. You may feel that you are,
You may feel an unspeakable sense of threat or
Something like worry times dread times fear
And think that no one knows that feeling,
But I do. When all of this happened I was like
A drowning man, surging to the breathing air, but
Held below the surface, unable to rise. I watched
As the arrows of envy pierced you, and the ropes
Of dispair snared you. I saw you twist and writhe.
So, forgive me for wishing death and destruction on
Your enemies, for wanting their error to follow them
To the gates of hell, that their souls would cease
And then, by God, they would know what they have done.
Forgive me. I knew what I was doing, and that's even worse.
But, it passed without moment. It faded without effect.
Back to normal, I see beauty. I see wonder.
I see hope. And realize the deep of love:
That it can be so soothing and fire such venom.
And that in the morning when the world is born anew
It can bring back that reality of sureness and yes faith.
A quiet grows within as the tigers lay down.
Bill Purdin: 8/27/08
And countervailing arguments hold no sway.
Happiness is a voiced love that clearly sees
A warm embrace, a sunny kiss, a whole new day.
Bill Purdin: 7318
WRONG AND WEAK
We scare easily. Too easily.
When right is so powerful
And always wins in the end.
The trials come long
Like cars on a busy road.
You’re not crazy.
The weird thing going on
Is that so many people
Believe in bullying and emotional
Distortion and manipulation
When they would never
Want it to happen to them.
Suddenly we run the other
Direction, metaphorically speaking.
We turn and run when
We should stand and resist.
They should turn and desist.
It’s the way things get better,
But what chance does the world
Have to change if every one
Scares easily and runs
Toward fear as if it were
Love and trusts love
As if it were wrong and weak?
Metaphorically speaking.7258
What others may not see in their rush
I see every day, I see every time, you walk by.
The scars, the bruises, the broken dreams
Only refining, defining moments
That deepened and deepen you
Like a writer enriching a character
Or a painter mixing new colors
Or a conductor digging out a
More vibrant performance from one who
Might be holding back.
It's like an athlete calling for more effort,
Or a teacher drawing out a student's best,
Or a friend standing by no matter what.
I see all of those in just you looking at a menu
Wondering what to order.
Your beauty is so astounding,
So amazing, so astonishing
It's brightness takes concentration
To see clearly, not through smoke and mirrors,
But through a clarity with such a sharp focus
That some are confused and some are dazed
Seeing something like that.
The years have given me
A proficiency,
In seeing your beauty.
And I would share it with others
If you would let me.
If you would believe me.
Bill Purdin: 7168
She Said, "It's My Life."
Striving to be always good is futility.
It is impossible for a human being to achieve.
At every turn we are tempted and succomb.
It happens over and and over and over.
The dream of perfection is a false hope.
It deludes us into thinking that we will grow.
But then when it comes we always go down.
It's the way we are, unsettled, never sure, so weak.
We kid ourselves with religions and political reform.
But in the final moments we always screw it up.
There are no reasons other than the selfish ones.
And, if you doubt, just look in the mirror.
It's the darkness that always wins.
It's the curse of Adam and Eve.
Just when you think a bright day comes,
You stand there watching it leave.
Bill Purdin: 758
SWILLING SOFTENERS
It's tough to be alone:
A terrible self-deception.
If running from one thing to another
Changes anything, let me know.
Stick with one thing,
Until you exhaust it,
Drain it,
Beat it to the ground,
Take it apart to its basic elements
Put it back together twice:
First, the way you think it should be
Second, as it was before you wrecked it.
(And that might not be enough.)
Always be ready for the harsh
That it was perfect before you.
Before you saw its flaws,
Before you saw the fix,
Before you strolled in and took charge,
Before you screwed it all up.
Remember you.
Remember how you are:
Looking at the world through your eyes
You see the world through your despise
Your experiences, your disguise,
Your hiding-in-the-corner truths
That may have stopped the real truths
From ever getting past your filters,
Your devices,
Your walls that look like doors
Your emptiness that looks like windows.
As you sit there alone, diffusing the world
Swilling in your softeners,
Remember that putting it back together
Is harder and harder the longer you wait.
And you will have to do it at least twice.
It's tough to be alone
When you are not
And never were.
It's tough to be alone.
Bill Purdin: 6288
ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE
You were one of those people.
Those people, so many of them,
Who I have never really understood
In their dark corners watching
Who said things but behind the words
Were those small ripples that linger
For years and years and years and years
Vibrating around some hidden definition
That my dictionary could not confine.
You were one of those people
I always knew where you were, kept track,
If you were home or not, when
You were coming home, or not,
And I always wondered why about you
Why did you like that or this,
Why did you do something or not
Why did you say want to come along with me?
Or why you said nothing at all.
You were one of those people
Who haunt my moments of doubt
Who make me always worry that I missed
Something important, who always make
A question of every motive, every thought
And everything I've done on the
Dark nights when the sheets are tangled
And I drift in and out of twisting fettered
Thoughts as though you are still nearby.
Maybe it was because you are so shallow
So without real reason or true rhyme
So vapid and tepid that the pulse missing now
Was missing then too. Maybe it's because
You were too deep for me, too rich in reason
And in those textures of life and rhythm
That I missed it all. I missed the affection
I missed the devotion, I missed it all.
You were one of those people.
Bill Purdin: 6158
To my dad on Father's Day
NEVER CHANGES
She was nineteen and I was twenty
I had orders to Vietnam
She was planning a life.
No future she said to me.
The years have gone by that's for sure.
Life has been good to me.
I remember how it made me cry.
How so many years later,
Still I think of her, so young and pure.
In my pantheon her place
Is untouchable, unchangable and perhaps
Untrue. Who knows these things anyway?
Of all the events that have ploughed
Through my time are all there for sure;
Each one is right where I put it.
Hers is no greater or lesser ... except
That I remember it so vividly
Always in the exact same way.
It never changes.
Never anything new, anything different.
Always the same: she's unique that way.
Old memories are projects to fix, sanding them
And shaping them into something
Just a little bit better.
I fuss with everything until I'm happy.
Reality's not real.
I've added some stones around one of my gardens.
Every day I push them and worry them around,
Adjusting unseen imperfections.
To anyone else they are fine.
To me they are a mess.
I do that in everything.
Everything gets adjusted.
Over and over and over.
Except for her.
She was nineteen and I was twenty.
I had orders to Vietnam
She was planning a life.
No future she said to me.
Bill Purdin: 668
War and war's remembrance:
A dedication of those who know not
What war really is.
Marching up and down America's streets
And streets everywhere to patriotic music
Immortalizing how we killed each other
When all we wanted to do was just go home
Seems obviously improper to some who do.
Innocent people watch as the parade goes by
But bloody hands are everywhere under the sky.
Those who've never done it go so unnoted.
Better that there be a Kindness Day for them,
But who would stick out their chest and march for that?
Who would get up on a holiday and beat that drum?
Who would grab a lawn chair at 8:00 a.m.
And head down to Main Street to be sure
To have a great spot as that parade goes by?
Oh look, here comes little Johnny, he's nice to his sister.
Here comes Mr. and Mrs. Arno who were married for 60
Years and lived lives of faith and forgiveness.
Here comes that grocery clerk at the supermarket
Who always smiled. And ... look, look!
There's the old teacher everyone loved.
But today, all over, the other drum beats
For medals of war on soldiers sent to fight
Who wanted to just go home.
Those dead lie still and yonder;
That Day, again, to ponder.
Bill Purdin: 5/26/08
The human race walks out the door.
From China to Chelsea,
From Daytona to Hobart Island
We walk together in our strange suffering.
The horn of plenty blows empty.
The promise of love is broken.
"Why me?" is a universal prayer.
And head-down we droop in dispair.
Bridges collapse and the whole world shakes
In a Seismic reading off the scale.
Politicians tireless and profits soaring,
No one hears the mouse's roaring.
We rush into gridlocked traffic,
We hurry to meetings that never end.
We stir and stir but nothing mixes
We try and try but nothing fixes.
I met a little boy hiding under a bush
He was staying out of the parent's eye.
He said to me to go away,
But he meant he wanted me to stay.
He cried as he tried to smile
And he was mad as hell, he laughed as well.
I took his hand and we walked back.
He said later he wanted to return to the bush.
It is trust we want, but can't imagine a way.
We live in a world-wide thesaurus
Of words that change from one thing to another
So we no longer know what to say.
The true words are forgotten in a buzz blitz
Of color and commercials and sexy glitz.
Lonely and faced with a tough, tough day
The human race walks in the door.
Exhausted, and drained, we throw ourselves
On the futile couch and exhale a sigh
Like a gut punch would require.
Or a nail driven into a tire.
Bill Purdin: 5/22/08
Difference from a live one to a dead one
Is easy to see in poetry
Because it just happened.
Because it just happened.
Right in front of you.
I saw poems die all the time once.
They were rhyming along
Swaggering with dusty rhythm
And then they stopped moving.
And then they stopped moving.
And then they stopped, moving.
A few, even as they were still and unrestless,
Torn from a book and tossed to the ground,
Dead for sure, still moved, still moved.
I remember every one, those poems.
They were structured like Housman,
Or free like Sandberg. Or long like Vachel Lindsay.
They were cryptic like Dickinson, or too brief
Like Yeats. They still move. They still move.
They, still, move.
But then, there were those other poems, too
The ones the winds blew away.
Many more of them.
They were well written but unremembered.
I watched them drifting away, carried off.
What's the difference: the living and the dead?
When a poem dies, it dies right in front of you.
When a poem lives, it lives because of you.
They were all written in different hands
They are all there for us to see,
They all had their wonder plans
Some are, some will never be.
Seems a shame all those dead poems.
Seems a shame all those dead poems.
But for the living, would've all been a waste,
It's something that must be faced.
-- Bill Purdin, 5/6/08
Can't spend a life not saying things
Can't spend a life just wanting
Can't spend a life just screaming
Can't spend a life just run run running.Part of me wants to please everyone
Part of me wants to tear it all up
Part of me drifts into sad sad things
Part of me just sings sings sings.People say I remember all wrong
(I do get paid to make stuff up)
Memory's just a lonely love song
Life's an unfilled overflowing cup.The things I like are not for everyone
(That's that way it should be)
When I like something or someone
It's a deep diving zeugma mystery.
The rythme of the strings is air I breathe
The frets of are worlds to play on
My sword goes back into the sheathe
Can't remember why it was drawn.
Bill Purdin: 4/28/08
People love a love song and they always have.
Imagine a young woman, sifting through
Her memories of failed love and saddness
Who meets a man who seems to be perfect
But she knows he's not. She wants him to be
And marries him and lives with him
For years and years, always hoping, but never
Really happy because reality is never
What we want it to be. In her last days she
Knows that she has lived longer with this man
Than her parents, than her daughters, than any friend.
He has been her companion of a lifetime.
Did she ever really love him?
Was he just a category filled in the album of life?
She sees him there across the room and wonders
Do I really know him? Does he really know me?
Even after all the years there is no clarity.
Even as she closes her eyes, one last time,
She does not know.
Her last vision is his face, eyes awash with tears.
His hand on hers holding tight as she goes.
Her last thought: who am I?
All the years simmer down to questions.
All the moments leave us uncertain.
Never comes that moment of revelation,
Except in loving with no conditions.
Once we love like that, answers are not needed.
It's then that the true song comes.
Bill Purdin: 4/22/08
Watching the long nail bite
Into the wood, and watching
The wood accept it so painfully,
Then sanding the wound, smoothing
The puncture crater and filling it
Then sanding again, and softly stroking
The satin paint over it as if nothing happened.
Now joined, the two pieces have new meaning.
They didn't ask for it, but there it is.
A shelf four and a half feet off the floor.
From the scrap heap to a purpose.
But it began with that piecing, that pain
That attack on things as they were,
An assault of the status quo.
If I were that piece of wood I would have
Hidden further down in the heap, she said.
I would have tried to be useless appearing.
In the pile of wood scrap, she said, I would
Not have stood out. It would have been
Hard to find me. I would have seen to that.
She smiled. Her lips seemed soft and her
Face radiant. What a shame that would be,
I thought. Down there in the depths of
Useless forgotten scraps that smile,
That determination. That humor and all those
Thoughts of how things are and should be.
We were looking at all the scrap wood
Still in the pile.
They look happy she said.
I took her hand, turned off the light and
We walked outside. We were both squinting
Into the sunset when she said,
Let's stay home tonight.
Bill Purdin: 4/11/08
There is a thought that we all have sometimes:
Go your way in peace.
Even after an all-out argument you might have that thought
As your opponent walks away.
It's part of human nature, to see something
Valuable in allowing all to continue.
The difference between the dark revenge
And the willingness to forgive.
I could be wrong is a thought well placed.
He could be right it's possible, should be faced.
When we cut the cord, it's an ending.
Sure there are more to come, beginnings.
But still that bridge is burned, rebuilding is hard.
When we see ourselves in others we see.
When we see enemies in others, our eyes our closed.
The turned cheek still burns, I know.
But our hands are peaceful, our minds hopeful
When we do not eye for eye.
Go in peace. A wonderful parting.
Go in peace. We will meet again.
We can all bring hell to bear, it's sure in us.
But to wish well, well that's adventurous.
Bill Purdin: 438-5
Erasing the past. It's just a button you push.
Then it's gone. All those visuals, those memories
Slowly disappate, but it's a big file.
There are a lot of interlinks. You think it's all gone
But then, there you are at a stop light thinking
This is taking too long. One them reappears.
She was walking in the crosswalk, carry a Macy's bag;
Or he was climbing out of a cab, carrying my old briefcase;
Or it was a dog barking somewhere; or
A television show that I watched once, now on rerun;
Or there was this crack in the sidewalk that reminded me
Of Minnesota, or Kansas or maybe a small village
In the jungle where things were flying around;
But it was really just this shopping bag blowing
On the street, empty like a drunken balloon.
And then I was moving along and the breeze through
The window reminded me of my Dad smoking Luckies
In the car. Then I came to a stop sign that seemed
Like one in Indiana I saw every day. It was just a stop sign
Then but now I remember how I would just stay there
Looking at this cornfield growing from little seedlings
To tall stalks and then to harvest plunder everything
Shredded and strewn like a battlefield after.
But we do push the button. It takes months and months
Of planning and thinking and rethinking. Actually,
To erase the past I looked as far into the future as possible
For me to see what I could see there. I know the little
Things will grow and then they will be used up and then
Well... then what? That was as far as I could see.
Some memories have gone now, pushed out.
But some fight their way back in, pushing in.
Memories swirl like they are blown on a wind
That is going somewhere but the only way to find
Out where is to let it blow and just go
Along. You can't really wipe them off, or
Efface them in any true way. Some things are there forever.
Dead people walk in our thoughts; mistakes take
Their toll over and over. Weaknesses reemerge
Jack-in-the-box-like. Good deeds done drift away
As they should. We wander in a hinterland of doubt
And hope. The past and the future are like a slow fog
We are walking through. It's always before us.
It's always behind us. We can see around us but not
With clarity or definition. It takes a lot of faith
To be alive. Imagine the things we do foggy-bound.
So many things that we forget some of them.
So many things that we can never do them all.
The past walks with us, the future holds our hand.
We are in the moment no matter how hard we fight it,
No matter how many buttons we push.
There's no erasing. There's no procrastinating.
It's all happening: the central revelation.
The stop signs are not really stop signs.
Go.
Bill Purdin: 418-5
When it's other people's things.
When it's you, it's like a spray gun
Over all your accountings.
It's always the things not showing:
What's really going on in your life.
It takes assumptions to real knowing:
When it's you, you can feel the knife.
But watching others cope with change
We encourage them to accept what's due.
It may be something rich or strange:
We tell them ... "It's up to you."
Bill Purdin: 3318-5
He can look at a room and calculate the framing
In his head down to a sixteenth of an inch.
He can look at a house and rightly judge
It's weight and force integrity. Always on the money.
He drives a broken down Chevy truck 100 miles a day.
He says it's the most dependable vehicle ever.
He has a story for every topic and will talk and talk.
He charges a lot of money, but gives more than he takes.
He always returns his calls, volunteers to do pickups,
And never complains about hard work no matter
How far off-plan things go. He once worked for four hours
To bore a hole through the sill of this house and
Talks about it as if it were the best day ever.
He charged me for one hour.
He doesn't really have any money.
He doesn't really have any future.
He does, however, have today in the fullest measure.
It's his heaven. It's his hell. It's his dream. His wishing well.
He exists in a moment, a second-by-second world
With nothing behind or in front,
With no one better or worse,
Where ability matters and kindness rules.
And then he's gone.
An innocent in a world
Of hammers and saws.
Bill Purdin: 3/24/08
RIDE, RIDE RIDE
It's an entertaining place, this world.
You can really do anything you want.
You can really do anything you want.
There are no limits, just look around.
People do the craziest, funniest, weirdest and meanist things
You could ever think of . We couldn't make it up.
The billions all thinking about doing something
More than a single mind can grasp.
The soldiers, the whores, the flyers and the dreamers
The schemers and then there's you.
There in your life thinking, thinking, thinking.
Our planet lights the dark black space
We sail through. All the minds thinking
Cast a light to the end of time for you.
It's an entertaining place, this world.
You can really do anything you want.
You can really do anything you want.
To waste a life in dread and doubt
To spend day after day waiting to find out
Is the curse of all who huddle and hide
Jump on, grab a hold, and ride, ride, ride.
Bill Purdin, 3/16/08
Remember those days when you played in the sand?
Or when you ran to the dinner table, hungry?
Remember those dreams you had of a world of wonder?
What happened? Did the politicians wear us down?
Did the corporations turn us into consumers?
Or was it just the millstone of life grinding away?
Yesterday I was staring into the eyes of a newborn girl,
Just a week or two old. She was smiling in her sleep.
When her eyes opened they didn't focus, just let in the light,
And then she sort of squirmed her arms and turned her head
And fell asleep again. She was laying on a giant, for her,
Pillow made for babies to sleep on. A successful design.
When her young mother carried her around she watched
Closely as her world went by at what must seem like
The speed of light to her. Just out of the womb
Where movement was only measured in inches,
Where everything was pretty quiet and cozy dark.
Over her mother's shoulder I saw her looking around.
The world is suddenly huge and all she sees it
Is one room at a time, if that. Research says that newborns
Are "disconnected" at first. They see their arms and hands
But don't get it that those appendages are appended to them.
They do know voices and when I spoke she looked right at me.
An invader? Danger? No, it was curiosity in pure form.
Her eyes looked at me with interest, scanning for information.
I'm still thinking about that several days later. It's been a long, long time
Since anyone has looked at me like that. She was just looking.
Filling some small part of her mind with information,
Whatever it was to her. It made me laugh with some indescribable
Happiness. She filed that away as well. Those dark baby eyes
So intense and yet so open and unjudging. I was still looking
Into them when they closed very slowly. I had the sense that they
Were looking and looking as this slow moving curtain came down
Over her. And then she was asleep again.
I wanted to wait right there until she woke up, but
I had things to do and places to go.
Bill Purdin, 3/508
It started out pretty bad.
I forgot everything and had to go back.
Half an hour behind schedule
And it was only 6:30 a.m.
Then it was really hard. Harder than I thought
It would be. But I did it.
Then I planned to spend some time writing
But the phone wouldn't stop ringing.
Now it's nearing half day, and I am still
Way, way behind. Like a runner
Who won't give up, I'm still pounding away
Looking ahead and hoping.
Always hoping.
Sometimes I think that not giving up
Is what life is all about.
It has nothing to do with achievement.
It has absolutely nothing to do with winning.
And even less with losing.
It is just a long lesson in perseverence.
It is just a long, long lesson in overcoming.
It is just a long, long, long lesson in leaving yourself
Way, way behind, way off schedule, forgetting everything
Except that no matter what ...
On you go.
Bill Purdin, 3/4/08
Doing something you didn't really want to do
And finding out how much you love it.
The dragging effort to get going,
The constant turning back thoughts
That I can't even start constriction
And the this is horrible, I'm going to stop compulsions.
Then there's the I did it feeling
That lasts all day
And the I remember doing it
And beyond.
Bill Purdin, 3/3/08
Three inches of soft snow fell last night.
So soft it brushed away like a better thought
Brushing past a thought of dread or worry.
I saw two pairs of footprints:
My wife's to the end of the driveway and back.
She was getting the newspaper. It was
Still dark and the world was quiet, peaceful.
Her steps at the end were bigger as though she had paused
There, warm slippers melting the snow
In the midst of her errand, to sense
A world so quiet and fluffy, she might
Have looked around with no one awake
And thought to herself,
"Isn't this beautiful? It's like a miracle."
I hope so.
The other footprints were really paw prints.
A small animal had come from behind the garage,
Across the driveway and up three stairs on the back porch.
Then the prints had dissappeared under the porch,
Where there is no snow and a vent of warm air.
No way to track what happened but I
Imagined the little critter stopped under the vent
And felt the warm air brush over its fur.
Perhaps it was thinking.
"Isn't this just great. It's like a miracle."
I hope so.
Inside out and outside in:
Something miraculous
Always around you.
Bill Purdin, 2/28/08
Front Page (4)
McCain says his campaign rests on success in Iraq.
Hillary Clinton down and really out, goes on vicious attack.
Quietly pressing on with hopes for the future: that's Barack.
Ford is pushing its workers to a buy-out.
American business is receding, there's not much doubt.
North Korea is hosting the New York Philharmonic
And politicos stare and try not to be psychoanalytic.
Bush always says one thing and does another.
Doesn't seem to know the difference 'tween one and 'tother.
He dances in Africa and preens in D.C.
Doesn't seem to care for Democacy or you and me.
The Dems are debating tonight on CNN
It's depicted poll-wise: older white women vs. men.
My, how the times they are a-changin',
Everything is shifting and we are all rearrangin'.
Let's hope when the dust settles there comes clarity,
Peace and harmony in our time? Or more and more polarity?
It's only Tuesday, watch our Video of the Day.
Bill Purdin, 2/26/08Front Page (3)
Hillary's gone ballistic over Obama.
Witch emerges over All-American Mama.
She says he's as bad as Karl Rove ever was
But the Obamanics are now hyper-activated, abuzz.
The Oscars stolled down the red carpet
The writers came back, studios paid the debt.
Big Brother 9 went on its trashy way
Ralph Nader enter the election yesterday.
'Bout as exciting as Raul's "election" in Havana
(Or slipping on a banana).
Huckabee was funny on SNL
Tiger won again, his sixth straight trip to the well.
A bomb blew up a bunch a Shiites in Baghdad,
And nothing of Hillary "hits" could ever be that bad.
Bill Purdin, 2/25/08
Front Page (2)Homeowners wallow in debt
We shot down the satellite, and yet....
Obama takes it all and is still standing,
Clinton's campaign's spending, she's demanding
That we all see he's just a boy,
Not made of the metal: the BillHill alloy.
Democrats bicker, no resonating rhymes
And McCain blames it all on The New York Times.
Pakistan may stop our deadly, driverless drones,
But Washington still can't hear the groans
Of Darfur, Congo, New Orleans
Over Haliburton, Exxon and designer jeans.
Serbia burned out our embassy
And America goes on free and easy.Bill Purdin, 2/22/08
Front Page (1)
Obama's got 22 wins.
Hillary's on the ropes.
He talks about the people rising for change,
She's counting on the super delegate dopes.
He says "We can do it" change America and the world.
She says "Day One, Day One" but that flag's long unfurled.
He says, "Houston, we have liftoff."
She says, "Houston. That'll be his cut-off."
He dreams of a better world where people talk.
She says, "It's a fairytale." Jack on the beanstalk.
Well, the people will decide and it won't be close.
She's lost her Mojo, plus all those caballeros.
He's got Big Mo, big time. Tally-ho.
She's making her last stand. Alamo.Bill Purdin, 2/20/08
HALF
If you take half of what you want
You will still have at least
Twice of what you need.
If you say half of what you think
You will still say at least
Twice as much as you should have.
If you give twice as much as you want to
You will still have only
Given half of what you could have.
When you imagine your capacity for change
You will still have only imagined
Half of what is possible.
And when I wrote this poem I knew
That I was still only writing
Half of the truth.
Bill Purdin: 2/6/08
And a hearty "Hi Ho"
Sometimes our dreams end.
Love's not love
Without an "although"
I love you most as a friend.
Life has a promise
In the ebb and flow
Of days' and nights' pretend.
-- Bill Purdin: 1/30/08
It flew behind me like a cape.
It was red white and beautiful.
It was a life dream coming true.
When I crashed and burned I thought of you.
-- Bill Purdin: 1/28/08
It's a busy, busy world.
It's a rude, rude world.
It's a "Hi," "Bye" world.
The sirens screech bad news in the night,
We seem to lose wrong and right;
Everywhere you turn you hear, "My bad."
And the children seem to be sort of CSI sad.
They are watching our every move.
They are listening to our every word.
They worry we are their future.
We hope they are ours.
When we cross reference our information
It's a pretty good start; takes a stout heart.
We push and stress like constipation,
We tangle and rangle and pull ourselves apart.
It's a world of games and shames.
It's a five star, way-too-far world.
It's an all new. all see-through world.
Careful what we wished for, a consolation,
The family photos seem to stand still.
There is a ringing in your ears;
It could be the wind, or it could be the years.
They are watching our every move.
They are listening to our every word.
They worry we are their future.
We hope they are ours.
-- Bill Purdin: 1/18/08
That feeling in your stomach
That you've screwed everything up
Is just a feeling in your stomach,
Not reality.
Once dead, I woke up again.
Once awake I remembered.
As I remembered dying
I smiled.
Death is thinking it's over
Giving into your stomach
Thinking it's real:
Fear overcoming.
We all stand on precipices
Over long falls to nowhere
There is no bridge to
Take us.
An open mind will free you.
Disregard trepidation's gravity
And freefall with exuberance
Of careless youth.
When we were young we
Knew we would live forever.
When we were young we
Had it right.
Bill Purdin: 1/10/07
Einstein discovered that velocity is relative
And gravity is not a constant.
The theory of relativity: that even as you approach The speed of light, light is still travelling
At the speed of light but time has slowed down
For you. In other words, matter and energy
Are the same thing in different forms.
Matter and energy make up everything.
Everything is relative, leaning on each other.
How you are determines how I am and
Of course the reverse is true.
The way you view the world is the world.
The way you view me is me.
And, of course the reverse is true.
Look brightly with shining eyes on the world.
Believe the best. See the best.
Today is waiting at the speed of light
For you.
It needs you to see.
Bill Purdin: 1/7/8
Just when you think you're right, you're wrong.
When you think you've got it all, you lose it all.
When you think you're short, turns out you're tall.
You search and search, but you don't find.
Just can't make a meeting of The Mind.
You pray for help but it does not arrive.
Everyone's dying, but hey you're still alive.
The secret of life is there's no dread.
"All that, that is, is," as Shakespeare said.
You try to fail but succeed.
Life tricks you, oh yes indeed.
Bill Purdin: 1/2/8
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