Poems of a Young Man: “Friends and Other Lovers”

.

Everything conceivable travels in cycles.

though I can barely discern them

I am at their mercy.

Born under the sign of balance

and at constant odds to retain it

I am subject to delicate catastrophes.

Born of the air and ruled by Venus,

I glide each night with the birds-

perfect imbalance in dynamic progression.

Still naïve enough to freely submit

to dangerous fits of hope and passion,

and vulnerable enough to proclaim:

“Everybody I love you!”

Desiring

even though I know

desire is the root of all discontent.

Wanting things.

Feeling with my head/Thinking with my heart.

Fumbling through phases of stages,

fluctuating between extremes-

each fruit in its time.

Blessed, or am I cursed

with so many people,

unique relationships each.

I alternate: Crazy busy!

Too many friends to nurture each chance.

Too much love spread too thin.

No time to think about where I’m going.

Then? A grinding halt.

Entropy forces me to succumb.

I am caged by

laziness, boredom, loneliness,

restlessness.

Too busy thinking to DO.

That army of friends have all skipped away

each, to their own destinies calling

and one by one

they are lost in the haze I pass through

to navigate the fog ahead.

All, gone. All lost.

One to a fight-

one to a marriage,

some to the lure of the world

some to the urge to nest-

Moved.

Moved on.

Changed.

Phone numbers lost.

Or fallen, to the final curtain call of death.

Maybe the will to keep the flame afire

fizzled out.

Yet, I remain open:

open to love

and loving and falling in love.

(Though strangely unused to being loved.)

Of all my lovers/all my friends,

time must take its toll.

A parade of faces fills my mind

materializing from memory-

personalities, keeping me guessing:

Bernie- taken by the streets of Hollyweird…

Beth- northern bound…

Joyce- off to Tahiti! …

Bob! Jim! Paul! The three stooges float away…

Tracey- back to New York…

Theresa- here, and then gone…

And Grandma Keelan-

gone back to the ground.

Now, it’s just me and Michael,

Michael and me-

fellow fools

floating in a happy-go-lucky bubble

of theoretical questions

and rhetorical answers,

ever-searching, ever-inquiring.

What are we searching for?

And the absent-

have they found anything

besides harder questions?

The entire commune clan

disintegrates like mist.

Bonds break.

Complicated entanglements fray.

What happens to Love

when the people who housed it go away?

Where do I put

all this surplus-Love?

The next love is out there-

spinning round now

in a whirlpool of fate,

ebbing and flowing,

turbulent and then calm…

But I can feel the tide turning-

gathering momentum,

sucking the two of us in.

And where will it end?

.

 (8- 6- 77)

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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About KPKeelan

Fool, Philosopher, Lover & Dreamer, Benign TROUBLEMAKER, King and Jester of KPKworld, an online portal to visual and linguistic mystery, befuddlement and delight.
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One Response to Poems of a Young Man: “Friends and Other Lovers”

  1. Very nice expressions of the familiar social angst we are all faced with in ‘mobile Amurikka’…..The ones we love come and go and shut us out and there is very little continuity…and we are worse off for it, all of us… We are stupid social beings Kev….

    Like

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