A Poem

         By James Strauss


I’m not the angel of my morning,
And I don’t shave to the beat of any lyrics I ever think of,
But I’m among those angels,
Not to be helped nor to be harmed.
At least not without some warning.


I’m no good at night moves either,
Among other edifying songs I’ve listened to,
But I do sway with the music,
Looking for direction from anywhere,
And anybody I might get that thing from.


Don’t you forget about me,
I listened to that one very late yesterday,
Rain keeps falling down, down, down, down,
Like it somehow is going to fall up,
Or at least blow sideways through the canyons of my mind.


I write and speak when called upon,
But I rarely speak more than once,
As the messages I deliver so very well sounding,
Are not those based on accepted mythology,
Writing is safer and can be done in hiding.


Camus wrote about being lonely among people,
But he wasn’t the first to claim that,
As Jesus Christ had that problem in spades,
Feeding the throngs so they might listen,
Speaking but not hiding nearly enough to survive.


Jesus came back to get even,
But that’s not for mortal humans to consider,
As the temporal world doesn’t allow for that,
But there’s always another way,
Through writing of a will or a life trust.


Puff lived by the sea thriving happily,
Then a kid named Jackie came by,
And both their lives were changed forever,”
Mythology at its sad smiling finest,
But am I Puff or Jackie Paper, I don’t know.