Keep stress outside the wall
do not answer, no matter
its mindful mournful call.

Call the archers to the fight,
light all the fires you must and
bring light to the darkest night.

Never tire defending, for the stone
laid in your castle walls are strong
and look and see you’re not alone.

If it breaches, it fights eviction,
like an unwelcome tenant
challenging your conviction.

And if it’s already thru the door,
and it is howling at you, then
you must wrestle it to the floor.

For you can and will surely win
you have weapons and help,
so never give up or give in.

If you had one wish
what would it be,
something to do with you
or something for the world?
Would it involve something new
or something old you remember
but would like to change?
Would it be money to buy
happiness, which it isn’t for sale
or happiness, which has a
mind and time of its own?
Or rather be about health
and long life, but what if there is
forever, without happiness?
Or maybe something clever,
like enumerated more wishes
to avoid dreaded choices?
There are many wishes
we all seem to imagine, but
no one said they’d be granted.
Wishing, and doing for others
and self is our path and nature.

Lyrics once were
to tell a story
of heroes and great deeds.
To entertain with stories of great
conquest and fools failures.
Or to impart moral lessons
of great import and value.
Or to soothe babes with
lullabies and inspire wonder.
Tell of great causes and
rally thought and hope.
Reaching for imagination
reaching for the stars.
Or to woo a young
woman to love.
Lyrics were song
with a melody and
rhythm that all who
might hear could sing along.
But today so many are
of deeds of madmen,
gangsters are the monsters,
drugs are in the streets,
the rap is poetry with
vulgarity as stock shock,
For whom will it inspire,
for whom will it soothe,
for whom will it woo,
and bring solace or love?

Part 2
I arrive at the car under the tree
now green with pollen washed
down by the pitter-patter
over, then starting-over rain
and it just sat there in its
impertinence getting green
all night long, as if it was my fault.

I opened the hood not sure
what I would do, but I thought
it looked good to open the hood
cause doing nothing seemed
obviously more stupid,
than looking under the hood.

I touched the battery cable,
because why wouldn’t I?
The crackle of spark as
the negative cable moved
suggested the last idiot
who worked on the car
didn’t tighten the cable.

I found the right socket
for I was the idiot and
knew which socket fit
and it was the only one
not of perfectly clean chrome
and tightened the cable.

Walla.. if that’s a word?
The car started up, once
again Repaired, and
I, the idiot, was grateful
to drive it home, with
the realization I should
stick to poetry versus auto repair
and listen to the rain,
pitter-patter.

I went to the store to buy a couple things,
happy the newly repaired car started
and ran great,
until I had a few groceries
and the newly repaired car
would not answer me
when I asked it to start,
so there I sat wondering why
it would work then suddenly not,
and there was no answer at all
except the rain on the roof
that said pitter then patter,
and then started over,
unlike the car that never started over.
So, there it remains sitting in the rain. 
Pitter-patter. 

If dogs had opposing thumbs
would they flood social media
about the butts they sniffed?

If birds could speak,
would they pass on fake news
along the wire?

If people could envision
the future, would we see
what we see today?

Early in the morning I hear the marsh
birds sing their lonely songs, with
repeating melodies, as if they have
no other purpose but to fill the world
with sound.

And I sit with wonder, and think
then write these lonely words, with
repeating rhythm on this page
with no  purpose but to fill the world
with thought.