SIMPLE PHILOSOPHY ALLOWS A VENT

ANSWERS:

I've chosen better for me, live with simple,
faithful, not producing imaginary alchemy,
in common sense, that you will mistake
for innocence ... innocents make sense.
Where it takes more real understanding
to grow a real rose or tomato from bloom
to beauty, useful stuff, really golden tune.

I've played with chaos theory, needlepoint,
jukebox rocking the joint, on a roll:
hoedown, hoe'd another row,
still reap and sow ...
ridden conchos heavy on cutting saddle
and steuben'd forward-seat over fences
flown prop-lite down a river,
flown over one
pulled back on the stick
while listening to
Ravel and Rolling Stones, unstoned
unscathed ...
do you think you, fool, would
touch me, or do as much as I could?

Still wished to see and do more --
and did ... and will ...
always wanted to hear or imagine more,
not fondle an imaginary stone for gold;
so I listen to the backstreeters
or the little man sing opera or ole opry,
for in their voice is truth and beauty ...
and me rapt or rapping audience,
as human being, it is my duty,

I've gone for real, done the math -- YO!
in no chess garden, played the thumb
and concert grand piano ... in me,
no metaphysically grasping, clasping
no caveat emptor ad infinitum -- no,
just me, just me, just me
patiently, calmly liking, loved, loving ...
love expressed literally, happy philosophy

Happy being me, even with old Nabokov
watching me stretch my new limbs ...
leaf'ing these to reach, thanks winds ...
real, reality, problems solved.

I'll hug that tree, saw, and regrow it!
From great oaks, a limber twig is bent,
not deformed; reformed to wrestle,
and wrapped into a collective vessel.
When heated, not just dropping a hint,
allowing the creative steam to vent.
And you thought Ferlinghetti, oh, man,
could curl The Spaghetti in San Fran!

Come on out and play on my hot street.
Listen, Sweets, even steam has a beat!

(c) 2003 Rennie Lorca