Like Happiness on the High Horizon

Do I

Have time to pursue rainbows?
Who knows where they end

And there are rumors they recede
Like happiness on the high horizon

But my God
I just love rainbows

I do


Our Fascination Lies

Moods have hues:
It’s like that game
Someone says you’re getting warm

Or you’re getting cold
Just so happiness is warmth
Angst and doubt are cold

The warmth the happiness
Is an indicator like red litmus paper
It’s not an end in itself

And what we need to know isn’t
The presence of the indicator
Instead it’s what was indicated

But seeing our fascination lies
Only with the messenger
Only with warmth

The message departs.
And the indicator changes hue:
Turns blue


The Candle Cat of Happiness

“It is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness.”
        –Eleanor Roosevelt

The trouble is darkness
Cursed gets mad
(Wouldn’t you?)

There’s a lying dog named darkness
(Let sleeping dogs lie)

And then the candle cat of happiness
(On little fog feet)
Can glide ignitely by

PR-473 (Published in Ascent Aspirations)

The Rules Are Cut and Dried

These are the rules:
A found penny is lucky heads up
Two found pennies together doesn’t matter

Any nickel or dime or better
Doesn’t matter
The rules are cut and dried

But I conceive a primitive
Experiment in power: for instance
If I turn a tails penny over to heads

For someone else to find
That makes now
Heads in charge

And so my hypothesis
Is that one has the power
To create luck for someone else

You may say but you
Will never know the result
And so it’s a worthless experiment

To which my reply:
Au contraire mon frere
(Establishing a tone of camaraderie)

I already know
The rules are cut and dried:
Happiness is the given

You work backwards from there

New PR-306

A Rehearsal for Some Beautiful Sunset

I should have more faith
In the clouds.

(When they lift
They do a lot of heavy lifting)

Each time they sucker me in
With their gloomy way

Of hide the sun
But it always turns out it’s just

A rehearsal for some beautiful


Quite Beautiful, When You’d Got Done with It

I call it happiness practice as perhaps
Finger cymbal exercises
(Work better when you dance)
And the wonderful thing is

Sour moods abound indeed
Found in fact with ease and in your face
Veritable fodder and raw material
Because by God over-hexed and

Just around the corner comes
Some brusque some out and out
Of the blue mistrusting encrusting
(But blue was exonerated)

Thing like a spiderweb or accompanying
Arachnid and instead of fed up
One plays a game of pretend
(And this is where creativity comes handy)

Yup–all you need is a story line
Where some apparent surface thing
Really was something quite beautiful
When you’d got done with it