Published: 19 February 2026

Singer of Songs

All you lyricists
who sing to get by
I am not one of you
I claw at the stars to find what lies behind

You philosophers who
chase the question why
care not for my reply
I’ll tear down the foundations to find what’s behind

You glorious beauties
who beguile in your time
don’t look behind
you won’t like what you find

Now is not the time for songs
tell me your reply
did you play along or cry
show me the wounds that lie behind

More Poetry:

Visit from the mother

Mother hummingbird,
pray perch on subtle twig of lilac,
wise to trust, or so I tell myself,
pirouette so I may admire electric green

River of paper

River of paper flows beneath my every word,
where would my thoughts be but for this substrate?

How Shall We Sing The Lord’s Song In A Strange Land?

variation on psalm 137, By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat
hands drumming on ribs, feet, the ground,
the mouths of pots and guns beckon,
the wind, the clouds, are the sight of sound
to the deaf, the foreign, the prisoner.
This bridge is the harp hung across
the tears of our sorrow. Each life

Everyone wants to love me

Everyone wants to fall in love with me.
I know it.
The guy in the lineup
who waved the cucumber at me
and said, I could hit you with this
was really saying he loves me.

what is it you don’t get?

based on psalm 83 ”Keep not thou silence, O God” KJV
if you don’t want to talk it’s not all right by me
I would really appreciate a moment of your time
as I am listening to more hatred, than those who
hate you can raise, lousy lizard heads, how they despise you

Related

How Shall We Sing The Lord’s Song In A Strange Land?

How Shall We Sing The Lord’s Song In A Strange Land?

variation on psalm 137, By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat
hands drumming on ribs, feet, the ground,
the mouths of pots and guns beckon,
the wind, the clouds, are the sight of sound
to the deaf, the foreign, the prisoner.
This bridge is the harp hung across
the tears of our sorrow. Each life

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