Sisyphus in a Pickup (#poem)

yellow pick up truck on grey concrete road
Photo by Derwin Edwards on Pexels.com

If this were a country song,
I’d say I’m so far down
I have to look up to
See the bottom.

I used to get more
Kicks than a horse in a
briar patch, but the old mare
Ain’t what she used to be.

I always heard that
Rock bottom is a lonely place,
But this domain is
Now well populated.

If misery loves company,
She’s become a promiscuous
Polyamorist, and we’re having
A resentment orgy.

We look up at the peak,
And get the idea a group
Of down and outers can climb up
To bring the Gods right back down.

Feedback (all failure is) – poem

Instead of “why is this happening?”

I ask, “What is this teaching me?”

I understand that all failure is feedback,IMG_2683

And I want to grow in full self-awareness.

Perhaps this rejection is telling me

That I don’t deserve to be loved,

Or this earthquake is teaching me

I live in a chaotic and hostile universe.

I think the shadows in the room

Want me to know I will always be alone.

Perhaps this new and fatal diagnosis is

God’s way of saying all prayers go unanswered.

And I suppose it may be the case that your

Betrayals have taught me to never trust again.

The rain of abuse has flooded my soul,

And my spirit drowns in a sullied sea.

I’ve learned the lessons of helplessness

And despair by the glow of an eternal flame.

In the end, all suffering comes from life,

And a universe free from suffering

Results only from all encompassing death.

Hagiography

In the Halls of Knowledge

The Great Men shared their wisdom

With emperors, kings, monarchs, and generals.IMG_2596

Great women shared their insights and guidance, too,

But their words are stored in different wings of the Great Hall.

It was the Great Men who laid the foundations

For civilisation, for democracy, for tyranny,

Architectural planning, sewage, and war.

It was the Great Men who failed to save humanity

From the thirst for destruction men can never quench.

Some warned against aggression and greed,

Others advised on the proper path to power,

But the Final Solution was always one fault away.

These hoary gentlemen appear to watch over us,

But their stony eyes have no more sight,

Than the once active brains that planned

A future of deprivation and conflict.

They’ve let us down for three-thousand years, now,

But we keep returning to the font for another drink.

Surely this time Confucius will save us,

Or perhaps Seneca’s sagacity won’t be ignored.

Maybe Erasmus can calm the passions of the commoners.

 

I will smash the stone feet of those assumed sophic.

Their dead eyes, long blind, offer me no vision.

Their petty squabbles resolve no crisis.

Let them rot and roil the dead with their mendacity.

Let them be forgotten for giving us false hope

That we might see a brighter future.

Let their names be trammeled underfoot

As we race to our annihilation.

They should have seen it would be the only resolution.