Weekend


Early Saturday morning
All things are possible.
Time suspends
Into the mad pursuit of pleasure.

Regret is vanquished
Until late Sunday afternoon
When pleasures left untended
Gain altitude and soar away,
Unreachable,
Leaving me,
A tiny speck on the darkened landscape,
As Monday draws near.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Lost


It was her favorite ring.
At least it seemed so after she lost it,
Taken off her finger and put in her shirt pocket
To keep it clean while pulling a few weeds
In her overgrown garden.

It was the ring he gave her,
A line of tiny diamonds in the oval opening
Of the brilliant gold setting,
Sparkling jewels erupting
From the entrance of a golden cave.

It was the ring he gave her
When they were entranced,
When she was so sure
The enchantment would last forever,
Now lost,
Unintentionally discarded among the detritus,
Unconsciously abandoned,
Belonging now to that place where lost things go.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Humility


Standing in front of the audience,
Bowing to thunderous applause,
Scattered cheers,
It’s hard to resist the idea of your greatness
After all those wilderness years,
Hard to remember that fame is momentary,
And random,
That legions of fashionable men and women
Become laughable in time,
That villains have been worshiped
And are worshiped still,
That so much of what was once revered
Becomes despised in time,
That only a few things remain eternally true,
One of those being humility.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Not Me


I would never do anything like that,
You think,
Reading about the murderous explosion of rage
From the “quiet man” who lived next door
To his victim.

You stop reading,
Set the newspaper aside and search your soul,
Looking for something in the recesses,
Something that might unleash some inner demon,
Demons,
Some hair trigger waiting to be pulled.

Not me,
You conclude,
I could never do anything like that.

You hear heavy footsteps.
The guard comes,
Unlocks the door,
Escorts you to the courtroom.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

Happy Pills


I stopped taking the happy pills.
All that happiness was making me superficial,
Too full of contentment to empathize
With the suffering of friends,
Of the world.

I needed them desperately once,
When I’d fallen too far,
Lost in the darkening forest,
No way out
Until the happy pills lit a small candle.

The flickering flame grew brighter
And the darkness fell away,
The fear slowly evaporating
Like dew on daisies in the warming sun
Of an early summer morning.

We are all wounded by this world.

Normal is an idea in wet cement.

My thoughts dare not contain too much truth now.
I dare not feel all that I know
Lest I relapse,
Compelled to ingest the happy pills once again,
Returned to the gated community of unearned serenity.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved

The New Version


Not long after you’d pretty much figured it out,
Pretty much,
Sort of,
You were prompted to download the new version,
No doubt enhanced for improved functionality and security,
Better,
No doubt,
Better than what you already had,
Now referred to as the old version,
Practically obsolete,
So you comply,
And each time you do,
Each new version takes another little slice of user autonomy,
Another little nugget of user control,
Away.

Enriched personal data collection,
Upgraded monetization cloud,
The steady trespass of technology
Past all those surrendered boundaries,
Now removed,
Disabled,
Discontinued,
Deleted,
In return for improved functionality
And security.

The new version.


~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved