I.
When did my thirst for anything
Beautiful, collapse
Turn dry and cynical?
The muse
With the pool-blue painted eyes
Has asked me
For one more poem.
I have none
To offer
Nothing comes
No meter no rhyme
No hope.
II.
You
Begin to lose hope when
You
Discover that
Pearls are nothing more than sand and oyster spit
The elixer of life is just his blood and your d.n.a.
And nothing more.
Hey, God
Will not appear just because
You have faith today.And
Your chimney wasn't
Big enough for Santa to slide
Down. Daddy locked
All the doors on Christmas Eve.
What was delivered could
Be taken back if we kept the tag.
III.
But still
A hobo's life is a prayer we do not see.
Cardinals sing at 5: 00 a.m. after
They wash there faces and comb their hair.
Jesus still appears on potato chips
And dies for your sins
On cross-melted cheese curls.
Your old ugly face still gets
Kind smiles from nymphs
Mailing letters out of cars
While you are waiting for the dog to do
His business with a bag in your hand.
Flowers still bloom in the oddest places
Just for the hell of it.
The young can still charm,
The wine can still be red and good
And:
The muse,
With the pool -blue painted eyes
That asked you for another poem,
Can still motivate you to write
A poem like this.
So it's somewhere over the rainbow,
And good-night Judy Garland
Wherever you may be,
Wherever you may be!
r james sterzinger
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/if-happy-little-bluebirds-fly-for-j-and-s-and-alexi-too/
