PHILOSOPHY OF HAPPINESS

 

 A THEORETICAL AND PRACTICAL EXAMINATION BY MARTIN JANELLO

the hell we make for

ourselves and others

devils aspiring to be angels

or cynics believing no god bothers

 

 

 

two causes

we fall short of expectations

lack of knowhow

and right mix of motivations

 

 

 

some people some animals

won’t respond accordingly

they’re on another frequency

or may be wired differently

 

 

 

tell them our prayers

their misery will end

all that we look for

is absolution

 

 

 

ignorant pride

of a made-up woman

her cats will charm her

when everything fails

 

 

 

you make assumptions

i do not meet

i am messy

and you want neat

 

 

 

you are icing on my cookie

but your sweetness makes me puky

 

 

 

a world that is heavily sedated

when it should have been at peace

 

 

 

collapsing tents

with sad clowns

 

 

 

times you can’t help think

what would have happened

are my consolations of pain

 

 

 

a flower unseen

a woman unloved

a shoe unscuffed

a jewel unbuffed

a life unbeen

 

 

 

beautiful dreams

and pretty flowers

left at your door

that remains unopened

 

 

 

his life seemed like

a basket filled

with crumpled discarded ideas

 

 

 

she’s nastiest

to the ones who love her

knowing she’s safe with them

in her abuse

 

 

 

with her he could not

hear himself think

no use she had

his life figured out

 

 

 

we and other sinister powers

point us toward windows

against which we fly

until we drop and die

 

 

 

look baby

he’s an options trader

and you are asking

for life long commitment

 

 

 

her resentment

of being ignored

makes them abstain

for unjust reason

 

 

 

love’s tragedy

is the rift between

promise of intention

and reality

 

 

 

what would it take

he keeps guessing

nothing he has

most distressing

 

 

 

she longed for him

to undress her heart

he only thought of clothes falling

 

 

 

arrested in caskets

of boards hinting safety

life’s pleasures are dying to resurrect

still mostly we’re worried

’bout acting correct

 

 

 

many of us have lived their extent

and it’s just now a matter of time

 

 

 

she drew on him

to give her love

not realizing

he needed it too

 

 

 

she broke his stride

complained he can’t dance

throttled his throat

denounced he won’t sing

ripped out his heart

and claimed he can’t love

 

 

 

words he wanted

were missing

and she would not help

to find them

 

 

 

you can paint

say sing scream all you want

the world’s moved on

to prepackaged confections

 

 

 

like thin piano wire

grating through my soul

its parts together

still lethally severed

 

 

 

conditioned to care

to be better than others

instead of being

more helpful to them

 

 

 

romantic love

makes regret

the enemy

 

 

 

life’s question marks

we don’t correctly answer

turn into hooks

suspending our progress

or tearing us down

 

 

 

meeting requirements

instead of people

 

 

 

he thought she was takeout dinner

abiding by ritualistic debt

 

 

 

making lovers stay

there is no such thing

but one can make them go away

 

 

 

she got cold feet

but allowed him to warm them

 

 

 

defining saints

as kind even-minded

we give ourselves

easy passes to fail

 

 

 

when we crave nights or days

to save us from the other

our balance is asunder

and we try not to crash

 

 

 

too much of her

has already left

to make him believe

she’s still with him

 

 

 

a gentleman

a modern knight

strong honorable gracious

she seeks among losers

crawling the night

 

 

 

my angel has flown

i grasp at feathers

sinking in the still

 

 

 

with high expectations

to be struck by lightning

she would not give

gentle love a chance

 

 

 

she’s thirsty for him

grown up to be ice

he cannot be like water

 

 

 

right she agreed

when he told her

he loved her

 

 

 

poetries stark

like broken trees

twisted by gales for nothing

sentiments dark

recited with glee

that others share our suffering

 

 

 

most people refuse

to really live

until it is time to die

 

 

 

feeling both guilty and debt to him

by association with his transgressions

she makes an arrangement with sin

 

 

 

though she only whined

he had no compunctions

agreeing with whatever she said

she had a listener

and he was unctuous

single minded to get her to bed

 

 

 

staying where love dwells not enough

generates most of our pain

trying to force it by battling the rough

makes us be vain in vain

 

 

 

earth’s drag of sadness

continues its slowdown

not enough love left

to go around

 

 

 

locked in a self-admiring trance

of being published and academic

the poet decided to forgo the chance

of realizing his work was anemic

 

 

 

eager poet deemed his life’s duty

casting in words

the essence of beauty

he tried to describe her

but soon could see

it would end in utter catastrophe

 

 

 

some people’s kindness

should come with notice

that it is not a sample

 

 

 

humankind’s on

the back of its heels

still we go faster to nowhere

 

 

 

good he said

now she was leaving

luck would have soon run out anyway

 

 

 

not since he had gained

emotional recall

was need

for emptiness

raging more

 

 

 

mountains of words exchanged

upheavals insults and dramatics

all this commotion yields

silent lone bitter fanatics

 

© 2013-2017 BY MARTIN JANELLO

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