John

Apprentice

You need a mad life to prepare

the militantly hip.

To deal with chaos tools are rare,

it takes some time to get a grip.

The city is the last frontier

between the heart and humankind,

but you have there all needments near

if out of mind you'd yourself find.

A working student athlete poor

and major in some arcane art -

that life would be the choice of fewer

than I can think - and a good start

if madness fun were to explore -

so you would maybe long years on

return where you had been before

to pique love's faithful since the dawn,

to be a colorful old salt

where love's a smaller younger field -

then love's ubiquity t'exalt

though peers to disillusion yield....

"Veterans of Domestic Rebellion"

Men such as have done months of time,

who don't take readily to rhyme -

not oft' affecting arduous sports,

they're hunting for a box of shorts,

a Pyrex pipe, a twenty-bump.

They cycle not - that rush would stump -

but only bike if motorized.

When hung'ring for some eldritch drug

they're known poor scribes for funds to bug.

Their rep's their style and only wealth.

It is unlikely it's for health

when they're seen to get exercised.

Their words, though mainly foul, are prized....

“Starlight”

I do not know what may occur

in the galaxiy's other neighborhoods,

but one thing I can say for sure -

on our space I have got the goods.

A star – for instance Sol – can beam

but the tiniest share of its total rays

to his own planets' life. 'Twould seem

the rest of his light streams on its ways

through countless other-worldy skies -

then falls, one of many a nighttime twinkle -

into countless alien systems' eyes

to make them romantically crinkle.

…

My first-grade teacher said, "To do your best

in all your classes it would you behoove,

so when from time to time we give a test

you'll always know how quickly you improve;

the subjects you most love you'll dazzle at -

if reading, math or science you have shown

to be your greatest gift - you'll then know that

to be the kind of work you'll do when grown.

For spelling words take out a clean new sheet,"

she told us with her canny eyes a-gleam.

"If all get A's by Friday, but none cheat,

the whole class will be treated to ice cream."

Back then, who'd guess success is competition,

most work mere techno-wage-slave exploitation

at endless hours of desk-bound inanition -

and all gifts fare for greed's mere despoliation?

“Heart”

Small high-school boy who's come to grief

from football bully, lunch-bread thief,

take heart – in science class you'll shine,

earn scholarships too, down the line;

and his ascendancy won't last:

you're bound for college, he the street;

from tougher thugs he can't run past

he'll there his due comeuppance meet.

As you win wealth with your degree

he'll toil as your Security

while they, your cops, herd dumb wage-slaves

for you until they reach their graves.

But there are some who cages can't

dissuade from dreams, ideals or art -

who, decoyed by recruiters' rant

through chaos, war – will yet keep heart!

"On a Christmas Card"

On X-mas day we celebrate

that sweet nativity of X''s,

whom jealousy's god's son we rate,

knew neither girl gods nor sex's.

For merciful forgiveness, though,

compassionating empathy,

he was no slouch - and so

in all our pantheons he'll be

with those love-gods we venerate

with maybe readier devotion -

mad votaries DO take the notion.

“Reflection”

Does he who dwells behind

the glass wherein I look

suspect what he will find

if he should wink? The kook

he sees must right then wink -

my other eye. Who'd think?

Supposing I then trace

with my right index finger

clockwise loops in space -

his southpaw circles linger

with counterclockwise grace,

quite complementary

and yet contrarian,

sincerest flattery

with artful varyin'

In portrait, to my left,

hangs she, beside our mirror,

by whom my heart was reft -

since then I've been joy's fearer.

Let mirrored me glance right, he

would more than likely see

some nymph whom he rebounded to

since losing not one week to rue,

leaning langorous on his wall -

his joy, his flame or fleeting all.

"Artist"

To make imaginings real is not

so difficult - this painting that I've got

half-done grew from my first reflecting that

a meld of hilly landscapes with the flat

would change straight lines of depth that merge,

toward point of vanishing converge -

they, depth-ward into distance shrinking,

diminuating sign-waves now become

A place as uniform as plane is this,

though hilly as one upland drizzles kiss,

but morning scene, sea-surge-like suburb-scape

from eaves-height viewed through eyes tear-eddies drape.

Impose, on third-D sign-waves growing small,

elliptic ripples, major axes all

contracting, snaking down horizon rays:

The anonym is blue some summer days.

Perhaps that background city's made him sad,

a tedium he grows less and less glad

to go to weekday mornings in that town,

some parabolic tower's looming frown.

Jack Mellender