Philip Good
Moldy Sweet Potatoes
Not another what's for eating
Just a reminder of the growing
Season's endA trip to post office renews
Familiarity
We trade our dimes for postage
A trip to the supermarket
We wonder how much we can
Take home before the
Money in our pockets rots
Keep Your Hat On
How to begin again
This art that seems useless
In a world still searching to
Find itself among the
The tribes yet to be lost
And those who don't understand
Is it not just a feeling like those
Hazy days never seeming to be wasted
Until you're always rushing ahead
To catch up to something that can't be found
All those riddles wanting to be solved
Now not trusting history
Because all world leaders
Are speaking in untranslatable tongues
Fly The Friendly Skies
Waiting for the airplane to take me over the ocean
Here the days seem uneventful and that could be a good thing
Yet, no new jargon to fill my head with golden notes
Here among the snow covered who cares about poetry ground
Occasional friends appear once in awhile
Some appear to care about the words
Other's our looking to celebrate life's pleasures
Are they one and the same?
Sometimes it seems to hard to reach over to the
Bookcase and steal a line or two
For everything has been written more than once
Here among the dust covered books
Who cares to reach over and steal a line or two
It's been played out before
Looking to celebrate golden notes
Occasional pleasures appear
Waiting for airplanes to take me to other places
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