Ice Whine

If I lived by a beach.
If it was warmer.
If I had more money.
If I had more time.

If if if.

It would be so much easier.
I'd feel so much better.
The world would be so much better.

Ok, maybe not.
That doesn't make it easier, though.

The daily grind again.
That hamster wheel to nowhere.
The dreary 9-5.
The endless cycle.
The tired Monday.
The can't get out of bed Thursday.
The too short weekend.
The Sunday night I hope this never ends.

Sigh.
To be on a good Ko in Thailand.
Just five days.
That's all I'd need.
Fruit drinks with straws, umbrellas.
Mornings that never end.
Two hour breakfasts where you read the whole newspaper.
Long beach walks at dusk.


Meanwhile February's just began and I live in Canada.







Fuck.

No Sense At All

Maybe our mountains are too high
Maybe we aren't strong enough
Perhaps we should climb smaller mountains
Recognize too how long they'll take to climb

But as a life's goal, to be a mere climber of hills
Who cares if the mountain's too big
So what if you never reach the peak

Right
And what if you fail
That's a hell of a long fall
Makes no sense at all

But then what mountain climber ever had much sense
So long as you can enjoy the climb
And hey, at least you tried

My Metaphoric Fireplace

To those I know in need

I wish I could offer more than a prayer to heal your desperate wounds
I wish I could do more with my hands than type this simple tune

It's cold in December and the darkness has seeped in
But tonight I light my metaphoric fireplace to invite you all in

To all the sad souls I know
And this year I know more than a few
To the unfortunate on whom tragedy has befallen of late
Come sit by my fire I've made hot cocoa for two

In poetry not prose because perhaps you don't feel like talking
What is there to say
Sometimes you just need a shoulder
Another to tell you it'll all be ok

Like when your parents rubbed your toweled arms hard after a swim
Who knows if it actually helped
Was it not though worth a try
Still it's natural to question and ask aloud God Why

These symbols, these words, what power can they hold
Not nearly enough in all honesty
The dark they cannot reverse

But if they come from the heart
As these sentimental lines of verse aim to do
I hope tonight they find you
And hint at hope anew

The First Stanza of the First Country Song Jon Never did Write

Slow down long enough and you begin to ask how, and why
Slow down too long and you begin to cry

there are few thoughts in my brain cause my brain is hazy cause it's early, in the morning, and the work day is starting and the mouth it is yawning. there are few thoughts in my brain cause i'm feeling quite lazy and the air conditioning on the bus makes me sneezy. few thoughts in my brain besides thoughts of what i'll eat for lunch and the apple i must buy at the start of my day. and the goals i have to make today a little better 'an yesterday.

#2 - a prose poem

Fire up that lamp, boy.

Good. Now look out the porthole, look through and tell me what you see.

See, sir? It’s night. I see nothin but water.

You see water. Yes. You see, boy. But tell me. How’s the water? How does she feel?

She . . . she feels calm, hypnotic.

She lulls us now, don’t she? But will she stay that way forever?

I dare think she won’t, sir.

What’ll happen then, pray tell?

Soon enough will come a storm.

And she’ll get angry?

Aye, I think so, sir.

You know, son. Why though? Why’ll she get angry?

Why, sir?

Don’t think! Answer.

She’ll get angry because she has to.

Good.

Why must she?

To sooth her soul.

Does the sea have a soul?

I think it does.

Then it does. But tell me, must all souls scream?

Aye, sir. I figure some nights they must.

Why must they?

I don’t know, sir.

Try.

. . . Fear, sir?

Fear of what?

Death.

You think the sea is afraid of dyin?

No sir.

Why then does the sea rage so?

I don’t know sir.

But you must.

Sir?

You must!

Why must I?

To settle my fear.

Are you afraid of the sea, sir?

Yes, boy. I fear it, I love it.

And it would help you to know why?

Just tonight. I just want an answer tonight.

Why tonight?

Just please, find me an answer.

And, sir, if I don’t have one? What then?

Fake one. Please.

You want a fable.

A story, yes. That’d be fine.

Shall I put out the lamp first?

Do.

-Jonathan Mendelsohn