The Heart Will Beat Till It Don’t v2

Watermelon Heart

The sun will burn till it doesn’t

The heart will beat till it don’t

Worry is a thing I wouldn’t

Do because I won’t

Manage the details and aspects

Of that I cannot control

So I’ll let the world sort through it’s cycles

And ease the burden and toll

Of the weight that builds up sometimes

At the base of my neck and my spine

I’ll listen to the wind, rain, and earth’s hum

And my thoughts will become once again mine

Gene G. McLaughlin 2014

The Equanimity of Waterfalls

Spring Waterfall

The waterfall knows no equanimity

In early spring it rages

From the remnants of melting snow

In fall it is bone dry

Depleted

From the heat of the scorching summer

In winter it is still

The water cold and iced upon its rocks

The effort is

Throughout the seasons

To keep the waterfall in your mind

From early summer

When it is steady

Calm

Flowing

The water will escape its state

It always does

As will you

The effort is holding

Equanimity in your mind

When late spring is gone

And the water is a storm

Or drought

Gene G. McLaughlin 2014

 

 

There Is A Heart With Wings

Heart on Blue Mountain

There is a heart with wings

That flies beneath a golden sun that illuminates its shape

Brightening the dark of its red

Sometimes the heart moves gently

Jostling in the air that surrounds it

It does not lower or fade, at least as the mortal eye can see

The heart is and shall be eternal, from some points of view

Made of paint, nails and wood

Containing a message, if not possessing a name

Gene G. McLaughlin 2014

Late March Sky 6 p.m.

March Sky

March is ever undecided

Nothing in the cold wind

Or the warming air

Betrays its mind

Or intentions

I’ll decide

When I decide

March decries

Gene G. McLaughlin 2014

That Which Was

That Which Was

 

Linked in my mind

Through the hazy smoke of years

Burned by

Without me noticing

 

In the record store

They once again look at me

From the dusty bins

Side by side

 

Their world

That which was

Seems impossible

As today will seem

In 50 years

 

Gene G. McLaughlin 2014

Sitter In The Vineyards

Sitter on the Vineyards

 

His heart is not stone

But metal

He is of man

Not man

Among the grapes he sits

Fragile

Every dying

He does not smile

He merely is.

Gene G. McLaughlin 2014

As The Flames Dance Proud And Free

As The Flames Dance Proud and Free

 

Once there was a dark blue sky

That a fire burned beneath

The flames were born of

Magma bubbling underneath

The crust and stone of the rock

The cosmos did bequeath

 

The forming was slow and steady

Selections were rapidly made

Until once a man and woman

Sat one day alone in a glade

They made the choice to name themselves

To call their chosen pairing love

Upon a tree near to them

Perched a pure white dove

They called the dove a thing of peace

Then decorated the tree

With things strewn throughout the glade

As clouds approached from the sea

The cloud became snow in the sky

The tree covered in the coldest white

They light fires to warm them from the cold

Sitting up through the night

They were joined by others soon

To sit before the tree and flames

Soon the others before the fire

Choose to also take names

 

Still in the winter we sit before the fire

With our decorated tree

We ask for help to make it through the dark

As the flames dance proud and free

Gene G. McLaughlin 2013

He Had Never Seen the Storm

The Eyes of the Buddha

When emaciation had taken its toll

His eyes were sunken in, closed, and hollow

The life slipping from them slowly

Understanding was no closer

All that was left for him was the end

The final stages of the suffering that haunted him

The hunger that held tight to him in these final moments

The desire and want and need

All would be gone soon

Nothing was left to take

Nothing was left to give

The last step was the loss of what he saw before him

The blood slowly coursed through him

He opened his eyes

The tree and air and grass and sun all were in front of him

This was the moment

Maybe this had always been the moment

Maybe this would always be the moment

There was color in the world

There was a color in all things

There was the dark red of his blood

There was the brown bark of the tree

There was the green of the grass

There was the golden yellow of the sun

There was the white swirling wind of the storm of existence

Lingering and circling in the air around all of it

There were his eyes

Through which his slowly diminishing life force met the storm

He faced the end

He saw the storm was not actually white

The storm was all colors

The storm was everything at once

The storm was always there

He had never seen the storm

Gene G. McLaughlin 2013

Fall Leaves 2013

Fall Leaves

All is forgiven

In the end

The leaves fall to ground

The sins of summer

Are forgotten

By the colorful silent observers

As their roots

Absorb their memories

In spring

Their brethren

Will view the season of rebirth

As something new

With no judgement

Only hope

In brilliant green

Gene G. McLaughlin 2013

A Few Words On Lou Reed

Lou Reed was a capable musician, a fine songwriter, the epitome of cool, a jerk, uncompromising, and an icon of both the great and terrible things of the last 50 years.  His songs could be beautiful, touching, searing, self indulgent, disorganized, and compositions of remarkable skill.  The thing that was always shocking upon first encountering him was how mercilessly honest, self aware, and naked his art was.  Lou Reed represented truth in music and self expression in a way that could be jarring and unpleasant, but left one with the feeling they had encountered something real and tangible. At his best his songs were an artifact of a moment.  Those of us who followed his career and considered ourselves fans were not always entertained or pleased by what he choose to present to us, but in the end we stuck around because we never felt like we were lied to and our lives were richer for listening to what he had to say about the human condition.  When he was at the height of his powers and combined melody, realism, beats and words together there was nobody like him.

Gene G. McLaughlin 2013