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Tag: Douglas Pinson

The Ironies They are a Changin’

The Ironies They are a Changin’

Different times blah blah blah Call for different blah blah blahs As in Right now there is no reason For all of those blah blahs And extra blah blahs None We need to be direct! Tell it like it is And not worry so much about Offending the cliché police The earth the sea the once blue air      The glaciers the beleaguered soil      The fires this time So instead of stories about this or that           Neuroses This…

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Disintegration at Four O’Clock

Disintegration at Four O’Clock

John Wick is cool If you like that sort of thing And I do But not for the usual reasons He’s in-de-struct-able And that can come in handy – a lot That’s really it in a nutshell And, no, he doesn’t have Superpowers – per se He just survives when others don’t – like moi For instance Like when I’m fighting my usual endless battles Against ancient but lively assassins and I keep dying over and over again John Wick…

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I die a little inside when I see this

I die a little inside when I see this

A farmer on the way to market Told his beautiful muse That we’re much too self-conscious These days So she said to him Don’t I know that! As if she were from New York By way of Dublin By way of a steamer A century ago Or was it a zeppelin? Not that it matters Because she flew on her own, Regardless Muses can do that and more Much more Like make us think We’re making the art When it’s…

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Integration at Four O’Clock

Integration at Four O’Clock

I wonder about the ideal all too often. I wonder if we were ever, as a species, supposed to attain something even close to an ideal. But that doesn’t stop me from wool-gathering, looking at clouds, staring at the darkness in my coffee cup, etc. That doesn’t stop me from questioning, endlessly, the way things are. How should we raise our kids and ourselves? Because, of course, all the while we think we’re raising them, they’re raising us in a…

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The Bridge/Part II

The Bridge/Part II

There are degrees Of course There are always degrees So that one can connect And still not know you Like the friend who saw your face Before you were born Knew that face before it was here And after it leaves the scene After it moves on to that place None of us can return from Or talk about with the living So bridges can range in size and strength From the shaky to the permanent From the earthly To…

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The Bridge

The Bridge

The best writers do more than just Take you there They do more than just describe the scene The village city ocean sky They bury the dead where you buried yours They surround you with your own secrets They sing the song you learned in the womb And only in the womb The best writers know you Even though that’s impossible Even though that would mean The walls you thought existed — between humans plants animals space — Never existed…

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Floating in my Tin Can

Floating in my Tin Can

  Live for today? This may be among the most pressing Questions of the era Given the fires the seas the melting ice caps Why? Why is it so profoundly important? Because I said so That’s why And because I just said that You stopped reading Most likely Which leads to our next proposal: Dance sing play the drums Piano Guitar Bass Like it’s the End of the World Like no one is watching While being cleverly Decidedly Indirectly Didactic…

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A Box a Bundle a Triptych of Poems

A Box a Bundle a Triptych of Poems

Slouching Closer to First Sins   She sat on a universal A universal space and time Not of her making It was hers by right And everyone knew it Many decades later Some would call this Into question Timidly Decades after that Aggressively and with anger They would question the universal Itself They would question the idea That anyone can really see anything From anywhere Without all but nullifying What they see Because Motives Because Privilege Because The stain of…

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