Wild Willy's Poetry Corner

A Moving Experience

2009-07-31T16:27:00.000-07:00

Moving is one of those universally unpleasant human chores
that any human with any wits about him (or her) abhors.

As if moving in weren't bad enough, you spend the next five years
moving things around and about;
and then, when you've finally got them the way you want them
— or, at least, the way you think you want them —
it's time for moving out.

When you're living someplace, you can collect all kinds of doodads
and thingamajigs,
and odds and ends you don't really need,
because it seems there's no end to stacking them;
then, all of a sudden, you run out of room
just when the time comes for packing them.

The quality of life at home, I'm certain, would dramatically improve
if you didn't have to drop everything you're doing
and stop everything you've started every five years,
in order to move.

Because while it's true that being born in a house
and spending the best years of your life there
is nice,
I'm thinking that being born in a house,
spending a lifetime there,
and dying there
would be paradise.

— Ender

Looking Forward

2009-05-05T14:07:00.016-07:00

There's a light at the end of the tunnel;

though, it seems to be fading fast.

And my eyes are fatigued and blurring

... yet, my faith tells me I will last.

There's a train sounding off in the distance;

though, it's barely a whisper, now.

And my hearing is not what it used to be

... yet, I know that it's there, somehow.

There's a mountain that looms before me;

there's a storm driving at my back;

and a river that rages beneath my feet

... yet, I'll weather the worst attack.

For, my spirit will not diminish,

nor my confidence ever grow weak.

I have hope, I have faith and the gift of love

and a world full of dreams to seek.

— Ender

Where Go I, Ego, Too

2008-10-26T23:06:00.003-07:00

I go, ego, we go
— codependently go.
Where go I, you'll see go
unfailingly my ego.
When shadows vanish in the night,
my ego keeps on burning bright.
Where I go, he go ... we go — I and ego.

When we socially go,
I and my amigo
inseparably go
— happy and carefree go.
Always walking two-by-twos,
there's someone with me in my shoes.
Where he go, I go ... we go — I and ego.

— Ender

The Giraffe

2008-10-26T23:01:00.000-07:00

The kiddies want
to pet his nose
-- a charming pho-
tographic pose.
And so, to please
the juveniles,
he doubles his neck
in half and smiles.
And who would guess,
why, who'd detect,
who'd ever imagine,
who would suspect
that this giraffe
— whose neck is breakin' —
can't resist havin'
his picture taken?

— Ender

The Elephant and the Tricycle

2008-10-26T22:58:00.002-07:00

"What's this, here? For me? For me?!"
Elephant shrieks and stomps with joy.
"Oooh! She's shiny, she's beeoooteeful ... I love her!"
(An elephant with a brand-new toy
is a dangerous beast — for all his mirth —
as he teeters and vibrates and shakes the earth.)
"Oh, I must try her!" And, thoughtlessly
(her pleas, her confusion he cannot hear),
he centers his elephant seat above her.
Elephant, he holds her near,
caresses her — his arms enfolding —
hugs her tight (oh yes, he loves her)
... but, alas, she cannot hold him.

She was meant for another rider
— someone gentler (someone lighter?).
He could never keep her, touch
her, love her (woe! he weighs too much!).
She, his fondest wish, was granted
— elephant, his eyes shone starry.
Now, he cries. Her crushed cadaver
lies before him — he could not have her.
And, disbelieving, disenchanted,
he turns away and says, "I'm sorry."

— Ender

Monkey See, Monkey Do?

2008-10-26T22:54:00.002-07:00

Monkeys have no sense of humor
— unamused, unmoved ... alas,
silent in their cages sitting,
watching all the people pass.

Long ones, short ones, fat ones, lean ones
... pointing, laughing, making faces —
people are such funny creatures.
Monkeys ought to trade them places.

— Ender

Do You Believe in Monsters?

2006-10-31T22:45:00.000-07:00

Do you believe in monsters?
Are ghouls and goblins real?
If zombies truly walked at night,
how nervous would you feel?

Do you suppose that vampires
really sleep the day away,
then, pounce upon you in the night
and drain your blood away?

Do witches, trolls, and warlocks
patrol the forest, too?
Is there an ogre somewhere
wishing you were in his stew?

I'm sure it's all just silliness
and you should never mind me!
But even so, if I were you ...
I wouldn't look behind me.

— Ender

Self-Eulogy

2006-08-09T23:09:00.000-07:00

(circa 1975 ... pre-gray hair!)

As yet a youth, I've written my obituary,
imagining the world a vacant place without me.
It's warm and effervescent
— why, it's really rather pleasant —
and it says all manner of delightful things about me.

Though I would lke to live to lengths extraordinary,
should I expire tomorrow, it would not surprise me.
Not bound to live forever,
mortal ties, someday, I'll sever.
And then, who better than myself to eulogize me?

— Ender

Apology to a Ufologist

2005-12-05T10:24:00.000-07:00

They were here,
he'd mused, enlightened.
They'd arrived,
he had appraised.
He'd insisted they had landed
(I recall, I'd thought him dazed).

They were due,
he'd often told me.
They had come
— possessed I'd thought him.

Yet, he's not been
seen for months, now.

They were here.

I guess they got him.

— Ender

God (the Movie)

2005-11-29T13:35:00.000-07:00

God is in a lot of movies.
He could be a movie star.
Though, I doubt we'd ever see Him
driving in a fancy car.
His priorities are different:
mercy and love everlasting,
hope eternal — qualities
you wouldn't find in Central Casting.
Omnipotent, omnipresent,
God could surely steal the show.
Why He trifles with us humans
is a puzzle. I don't know.

— Ender

The Heartburn of Heartbreak

2005-11-26T00:08:00.000-07:00

Love is a hunger,
a flame desirous
— the wandering ember, electrifying.

Love is a poison,
a raging virus
— ambitious bacteria multiplying.

Love is confusion's
apotheosis
— an unfinished longing, the ageless question?

Love is a madness,
a wild psychosis.
But mostly, I think, it is indigestion.

— Ender

The Mortal Majority

2005-11-21T23:38:00.000-07:00

Humans and power just do not mix.
There's something about authority
that changes the psychic chemistry
of the hominid majority.

Wrong is wrong and right is right
— deceit demands its toll.
Though, truth is more than often gray
to the man who's in control.

We're quick to pass judgment and quick to scorn,
and quick to dispense advice.
But responsibility's a drag
when it's time to pay the price.

We rally 'round a cause celebre
— the taste of success is sweet.
Yet, the price of failure is placing blame
at somebody else's feet.

Ah, but you and I are different,
astride our moral horse.
Just who's responsible for this mess?
Well, somebody else, of course.

Mortality's armor binds the soul.
Humility holds the key.
The day the sinners elect a saint
is the day we will all be free.

— Ender

Older but Wiser

2005-11-19T23:41:00.000-07:00

Toothless am I,
with memory fleeting —
wrought with confusion
and cereal eating.

Gone is the recall
seniority throttles;
crumbled, the molars
that opened bottles.
(First went the choppers,
and then, the grinders ...
only now dentures,
as sad reminders.)

Deaf and bereft
of my last incisor.
Toothless, forgetful
... but somehow wiser.

— Ender

The Funeral

2005-11-19T01:46:00.000-07:00

We buried Auntie Em today
— just dug a hole and, with a sigh,
we gently lowered her away,
and covered her and said goodbye.
And, well, of course, she wasn't pleased
— she put up quite a fight, you know.
But, oh! the way she coughed and wheezed
— she soon enough was bound to go;
We simply thought we'd lend a hand.
Someday, we hope, she'll understand.

It wasn't such a large affair
(we knew she wouldn't like a crowd).
But all the family were there;
and that, of course, would make her proud.
We bade farewell, we toodleooed
and doffed our caps and said a prayer.
We spent our day in solitude
— so wishing Auntie Em were there.
Then, rapt in sorrow, hushed and still

... we hurried off to read the will!

— Ender

Made in Heaven

2005-11-18T23:15:00.000-07:00

She frets, "You will."
He swears, "I won't!"

He did.

Now, it's his turn to feed the baby.

He asks, "You wanna?"
She says, "DON'T
touch me!"
(They'll do it again in six months, maybe.)

He's a "tyrant."
She's a "nag."
They come together, they drift apart —
expand, contract,
ignore, react ...

Togetherness is a peculiar art.

— Ender

Blinded by Love

2005-11-18T23:11:00.000-07:00

We'll vow at the altar — cast doubt asunder —
in sickness and sorrow to muddle through;
and, years from now, in silence, wonder
whatever possessed us to say, "I do."

— Ender

Burma Shave

2005-11-17T07:18:00.000-07:00

All along the highway, craters;
and a roadside glance reveals
shock absorbers, radiators,
hub caps, mufflers, fractured wheels.
These, the spoils of wanton living
— as to ill we, too, are fated:
that a route once smooth, forgiving,
all too soon lies perforated.

Yet, we humans, bold and daring,
heedless of our mortal stations,
daily — unmindful, uncaring —
navigate the excavations.
Unaware our souls pay dearly
— shaken to our cytoplasm —
off we motor, cavalierly,
into the eternal chasm
... as a wheel coasts to the shoulder.

Thus concludes our episode.

We'd all live to be much older,
but for potholes in the road.

— Ender

Catsup

2005-11-16T23:17:00.001-07:00

Kitty in the oven slept.
Harold baked him like a pheasant.
Mother at the table wept.
But Harold found him rather pleasant.

— Ender

Omniscient Oxymoron

2005-11-16T23:17:00.000-07:00

He knows everything.
You can't tell him anything.
No matter what you may propose,
it's guaranteed that he'll disclose
it's something he already knows
... because he knows everything.

He's a visionary
— a walking, talking dictionary.
His confidence cannot be shaken.
When he speaks, the dead awaken.
Think he's wrong? Well, you're mistaken!
... because he knows everything.

Socrates knew that he knew nothing,
but he never met this guy
— whose omniscience is so vast,
he turns his head and moves the sky.

He's a miracle of creation
— a virtuoso of information.
God's own voice is channeled through him.
Heads of state pay homage to him.
Alas, his pride will soon undo him
... because he knows everything.

— Ender

The Perfect People

2005-11-16T23:15:00.000-07:00

The perfect people never err;
they're always gallant, good and fair,
and merciful and wise, and chaste,
and never lacking in their taste;
one marvels at their sense of fun;
their talents are excelled by none;
they're eloquent, and smart and neat,
and unassuming (and discreet);
and never cross, but full of cheer
and warmth; they're absolutely dear,
with all the perfect things they do.

And that is why we are so few!

— Ender

Standard disclaimer, copyright notice, and miscellaneous mumbo-jumbo

2005-11-16T23:11:00.000-07:00

ALL OPINIONS EXPRESSED in "Wild Willy's Poetry Corner" (WWPC) are those of the author and are not related in any form to any institution, organization, or sentient entity in the natural world except for Enderprise, Inc., which the author owns anyway, SO SUE ME.

WWPC is updated on an erratic basis for the entertainment and enlightenment of persons of questionable literary taste, with the express intent of disturbing their peace of mind with curious and occasionally irreverent bits of prose and poetry masquerading as expressive social commentary. Readers who derive substantive meaning from any of this are almost certainly hallucinating.

All materials appearing in WWPC are copyrighted by Enderprise, Inc. and are not to be reproduced either singly or in any collection without the express written consent of the author, blah, blah, blah ... Oh, hell, go ahead; it's on the Internet — we both know you're going to steal it anyway. Questions, comments, or suggestions may be posted here or directed via e-mail to the author at wwwilly@enderprise.com .

And NO, I DO NOT have a website ... go visit somebody else's.

← Wild Willy