Spring is bursting here. We’ve finally had some sun and warm weather, and now we see the fruits of all the rain, everything green and budding. Soon my roses will look like this, and we’ll be in mid summer.
But for now, it’s time for spring cleaning and the re-budding of our souls, coming out of the sleepy winter of gathering water. Now we drink it in and make it flowers.
Anyhow, spring cleaning on my computer, and I found this poem I wrote last summer, maybe I posted it then? I think it started as a song, but then turned into one of my impressionist ramblings. With some minor edits, spelling and what-not.
An Inspirational Cautionary Tale
by J.H. Prescott, August 4, 2016, 4:20PM PDT
Livin’ in a hotel
But I can’t tear down no walls,
So when you do it all again,
What’s the sense of it all?
Makin’ it every night,
Used to be easy
breakin’ hearts unknown,
not at all sleazy.
Every time I hear a poem, in the walk,
the scary walk of the destitute.
“Brother you got a light?”
“Uh, no man . . “
Do you really want that cigarette?
It didn’t sound like your heart was in it.
Do you really want to get on that bus?
Can’t say I blame ya, but I can’t light it.
What’s really not fair is pains from my youth,
Those son-of-a-bitch aches you thought were conquered.
But it was youths’ disguise.
An inspirational cautionary tale.
Portland OR, Sun is up.