PHILOSOPHY OF HAPPINESS

 

 A THEORETICAL AND PRACTICAL EXAMINATION BY MARTIN JANELLO

he loves to walk

on misty days

when sound nor sight

can travel far

and ravens scare

from his heart’s bright light

reflecting in feathers of glassy tar

 

 

 

they broke mirrors

for being offensive

and silenced singers

contrasting their crows

locked up stirrers

who made folks pensive

and cut off fingers

denoting their lows

 

 

 

life like a doctor’s waiting room

hushed looks

and wondering ’bout

strangers’ afflictions

rapt in old gossip

till it’s our turn

 

 

 

people call her self-indulgent

but nobody wants to indulge her

 

 

 

no i don’t hate you

she answered the stranger

and passing me’s

sure to keep it like that

 

 

 

the one thing

he wanted her to know

he could not keep himself

taking away

as he sometimes put it

for lack of reward

 

 

 

melody was her name

and like a song

her life ended in refrain

 

 

 

he learned to grasp

the tension of time

from spaces filled with happy

 

 

 

the places he kissed her

in church

seemed improper

but god kept watching them anyway

 

 

 

eating makes her

embrace the earth

but she prefers

numbness of airy hunger

 

 

 

she lights up men

inhales them deeply

ever since

he made her quit smoking

 

 

 

she wanted a castle

and that’s what she got

beauty with beauty repaid

when she realized

she was merely bought

she knew it was much too late

 

 

 

she hung on my arms

an exhausted cold bird

then i was certain

i’d never dislike her

 

 

 

why were there no

childhood photos of her

 

 

 

she did not know

what he had put to rest

to seem so calm and collected

 

 

 

she swears

she’ll keep him in her heart

but he wants to be all over her

 

 

 

he farmed in the valley

wrestling with oxen

plowing the fields

pushing down with his hands

still all he dreamed of

was lifting her up

 

 

 

people he knows

walk by like ghosts

they look right through him

or fake not to see

he lives in the past

before he was cast

not useful anymore

 

 

 

nobody said hi

to counter his low

 

 

 

she opened

and asked me

to come inside

 

 

 

sure as she was

a chalice of love

he drank her

and threw her away

 

 

 

no no no no no

she laughs

you go

you go first

 

 

 

a video sees back before she departed

so lifelike it now is hard to bear

he sits in a dark room weary hearted

trying to think of what black to wear

 

 

 

she rises his sleep

until he smiles

he puts her to bed

until she sighs

morning and evening persons

 

 

 

the little elf

left her mushroom home

to dance in the fields

and make love to a gnome

 

 

 

malgré cela she somberly whispered

and i thought these words meant

her faith had waned

 

 

 

like a chinchilla

with hidden razors

he would not know

at first when she cut

 

 

 

he screams at her

to go to hell

then realizing

that’s where they have been

 

 

 

married a mackerel

or might as well

fortnight passed

she could not stand the smell

 

 

 

so cut so blunt and unafraid

of what her judgment would be

the less he cared the more she did

to try to make him see

 

 

 

she admits i must have been crazy

he responds i hope you still are

teases him claiming a little too lazy

i’m not for you like before the war

 

 

 

moorlands cradled her

gardening naked

hares and the postman

kept her secret

 

 

 

baloney baloney

she kept repeating

the worst curse a vegan

like she could cast

 

 

 

his desire to sire

was for hire

but lack of a buyer

had him self-employed

 

 

 

mold covered land

like soft muted blankets

stirred every then

in swirling spores

 

 

 

seal in labor complications

pulled herself up on the beach

deadly exhausted

ignored by most

the rest are taking pictures

 

 

 

his decision to stop being cool

cost him dearly with the crowd

her decision to make him her fool

cast him finally down and out

 

 

 

prefers field poppies

over roses

leaving them unplucked

 

 

 

the last move he makes

is his hand on her eyes

so she will not see

how his love for her dies

 

 

 

she was of a dour disposition

and had no taste for sweet

his love seemed an awful imposition

that’s why he took refuge in mead

 

 

 

their love story

had reached an impasse

where nothing and everything

needed be said

 

 

 

take off those riding

gloves and tights

spring in the spring

and back to life

where under trees

the grass lies waiting

 

 

 

she held his promises dearest

long after they had turned to lies

 

 

 

when someone familiar

entered the room

we detached

as temporary strangers

 

 

 

in a past blooming

of soul to a mind

this child was crushed

digging coal in a mine

 

 

 

as she rescinded

to run after people

much more attention

fell on her path

 

 

 

you’d like me to write

of love and its beauty

but sometimes its want

to mourn is my duty

 

 

 

he’s a platitudipus

she a philosloth

 

 

 

i knew surfer girls are different

when she said she didn’t

own hard shoes

 

 

 

marathon runner

faster than i

did not mind seeing her

from behind

her dog shuttling

gave his acceptance

of my becoming part of the pack

 

 

 

i fell in love with a girl hitchhiker

when she mourned insects

hitting the windshield

she said she lived

where the moon’s full and brighter

one more sign she was not from here

 

 

 

she chose to live

like she pictured the afterlife

for undead souls and hopeless sinners

 

 

 

so many suitors

she picked me

even insisting i picked her

 

 

 

conjured were

all her spirits and stories

 

 

 

i am a knight

betrothed to the might

of right and principled love

committeed evil

made me an outlaw

forcing me to fight

 

 

 

to foster his path his impulse was

the purchase of a new car

but better by far he invested instead

in travel experiences and a bed

 

 

 

she wakes me up after nightmares

to still her bleeding heart’s worries

 

 

 

he marched to the shore

commanding the sea

to swallow him or recede

 

 

 

he keeps repeating

he understands her

however never lets her talk

she keeps fearing

he will blame her

for being a problem

and one day walk

 

 

 

she balanced her surf board

like a tray

to indicate what just had happened

 

 

 

in hushed tones

encountering humans can’t hear

demons and angels

fight love or hate

one by one deciding our fate

 

 

 

no fairy tale dear is without any fear

or damage that calls for its mending

the story we share lays all of us bare

still let us not cut to an ending

 

 

 

he tried calming her

i will come back

say why she weeped

buried in his neck

 

 

 

to gain familiarity he remarked

that she had amber eyes too

yet this worked against him

implying blood relation

 

 

 

all people he claims

should plan their funerals

at least then they’d know

what they’ll be getting

 

© 2013-2017 BY MARTIN JANELLO

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