The Poetry Nook

Strange Days
　
Strange days have come
into our lives the oddity of death
waiting for the inevitable
waiting for the last breath
feeling blue and melancholy
trying just to carry on
the pattern of life disrupted
we must let go of our loved one
life is a ritual of being
facing death all ritual is nil
simply just existing now
slipping out of consciousness, losing will
can’t get a grip on this
can’t understand the purpose
don’t want to face this thing
can’t take the morose
tried to reason it all out
can’t see through the haze
life and meaning blurred
you walk around in a daze
maybe death should be a mystery
maybe we shouldn’t know
that way like the seed in the ground
in death we truly begin to grow

Leon Guzdzial
Copyright 2006
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Ramona, come closer,
Shut softly your watery eyes.
The pangs of your sadness
Shall pass as your senses will rise.
The flowers of the city
Though breathlike, get deathlike at times.
And there's no use in tryin'
T' deal with the dyin',
Though I cannot explain that in lines.

Your cracked country lips,
I still wish to kiss,
As to be under the strength of your skin.
Your magnetic movements
Still capture the minutes I'm in.
But it grieves my heart, love,
To see you tryin' to be a part of
A world that just don't exist.
It's all just a dream, babe,
A vacuum, a scheme, babe,
That sucks you into feelin' like this.

I can see that your head
Has been twisted and fed
By worthless foam from the mouth.
I can tell you are torn
Between stayin' and returnin'
On back to the South.
You've been fooled into thinking
That the finishin' end is at hand.
Yet there's no one to beat you,
No one t' defeat you,
'Cept the thoughts of yourself feeling bad.

I've heard you say many times
That you're better 'n no one
And no one is better 'n you.
If you really believe that,
You know you got
Nothing to win and nothing to lose.
From fixtures and forces and friends,
Your sorrow does stem,
That hype you and type you,
Making you feel
That you must be exactly like them.

I'd forever talk to you,
But soon my words,
They would turn into a meaningless ring.
For deep in my heart
I know there is no help I can bring.
Everything passes,
Everything changes,
Just do what you think you should do.
And someday maybe,
Who knows, baby,
I'll come and be cryin' to you.
---Bob Dylan---

 

A bump for the afternoon crowd.

 

Bump for the evening crowd.