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GRASSHOPPERS AND PRAYING MANTI
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CAN'T WIN FOR LOSING
Grasshoppers and Praying Manti
the delight fancies of childhood;
the clouds rolling across the sky;
the worker ants on their hill
and I’m left
deserted
in attempted nostalgia
towards those days of yore—
of Ultraman and Superman
but now Emasculated Man
can’t seem to comprehend
these delusions—
these character flaws
and all the minuses
that always creep
to the surface
All the defeats and often
at my own hands—
the slashed wrists of solitude;
the delayed flight to Utopia
All the dreams
are put on hold
waiting for the line to clear
It comes too
late
It comes not
at all
and children still laugh
they play
and ridicule the limpid poet
the tattered eyes
and their limited vision
it seems so wondrous—
the Blakean theme;
but their wonder remains
the wonder of the ages
It is still the call of the wild:
the ecstasy of the rapture
The poets sing and the Prophets warn
The angels cast their solemn glances
downward
Paradise alluded to by priests
and suits and ad men
and it all goes to a place
called Nowhere
and gains nothing
So we cling to past glories
It all has slipped away
Ultraman becomes
a trip to New York
becomes a fear to move;
a fear to be
Disguises don’t work
because masquerade
never to wear the kiss
of sweet imagination
and its cousin fantasy
The crown is no longer worn
by the young brazen victor
It is now merely token
to be worn by anyone at all
tis a mere gesture
void of meaning
void of sincerity
none of it
has any sense
Meaning eludes as the daily
Chaos continues
looking on at
the toddlers
and feeling the insane jealousy
of wasted youth
Time elapsed, seeing the sand
all run out
depression and mass confusion
The hands of time
eclipse our lives
We are reminded of futility
as the Autumn leaves fall
The seasons pass; years roll by
devils laugh insidiously
at our pathetic plights
Vulnerability admitted—
The chinks in my armor revealed
The exposure leave me open
for assault
I await; assume defense posture—
the cornered animal
that lashes out defensively
at the slightest provocation—
keep them all at bay
I while away my hours
I look forward and I look backwards
My eyes coolly penetrate
the fog that covers the city
I just time my life—the past
gone forever
except in memory cells
with questionable accuracy
debatable nuances
So I see the waves break
over the sanded shores
and I watch stars come out
on the clear nights
but without any real inspiration
due to lack of conviction
Must be the greatest loss—
the loss of faith;
the loss of the madness
the gemlike flame
that burns in the poetic soul
These losses tallied
with an attempted rally imminent
an attempted coup; an uprising
a few lost battles along the way
in a never ending war
Watching all the footsteps
on the sidewalk
pattering along the urban streets
left wondering
pondering the future
What will be? What will be?
Like the child asking
pestering for a solution
and still waiting
with no one yet to answer
9-21-92
