Tag Archives: Happy

Just About Life

Just about everyone has asked “What’s the meaning of life.”

Just about everyone has learned the answer.

What got lost was that they weren’t asking the right question

And the right question is:

“Have I ever been unhappy?”

If you say “no,” then you apparently know the meaning of life already

But just about everyone says “Yes, I’ve been unhappy.”

And the right question continues:

“Have I ever been happy?”

And if you say “no” then you need to keep reading

But just about everyone says “Yes, I’ve been happy.”

And the right question continues:

“So what happened that made you change

“From being unhappy to being happy?”

There are many answers to this question

And just about all the answers are correct:

When you were born and became distinct from mother, you were unhappy

And when mother held you you were happy

And so the meaning of life is to be held and loved.

When you were scared and confused and lost, you were unhappy

And when you got comfort, knowledge, direction you were happy

And these too are the meaning of life.

When you were sad, you laughed.

When you were alone, you fell in love.

When you were hungry you ate.

When you were tired you slept.

When you couldn’t go on, you kept going.

Every single time you’ve been unhappy you did something joyful.

Every time you were hopeless you hoped one more time

And when you couldn’t, the universe gave you hope from outside yourself.

The meaning of life is about becoming happy

And if you’re happy you can’t become happy.

Life is the opposite of unhappiness

And so happiness is life.

If you are unhappy, you are alive,

If you are happy, you are living,

And when you make your final choice in this life, choose to be happy again

Because just about everyone can.

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For Sunflower

I love you, my sunshine,

My sniffer of books,

For more than your laughter

And stunning good looks.

I love you for doubting,

Examining life,

For wanting to be my

Spectacular wife.

I love you for giving

With no hint of greed.

You’re all that I want

And more than I need.

I love you for being

The woman you are:

A dreamer, a doer,

A fighter, a star.

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Euphonious Flosculinity

I verified the veracity

Of very vermillion verbs.

The fairly ferrous fairy

Ferried very hairy herbs.

Very ferrous fairies fared

Fairly unverified.

These sayings may be meaningless

But they make me smile inside.

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You Have It, But You Choose How

I share with you a secret

That you think cannot be true:

That everything to ever be

Exists solely for you,

That every book and every shell

And every coin and bill

And every star and sunrise

And every sloping hill

Exist as in a melody

From one eternal voice,

That you might seek to claim them

Through your only power: choice.

For if you choose to value wealth

Then wealth you will attain

Through labor, luck, investment,

Or through theft and threat of pain.

Perhaps you value honesty

And see all worldly truth,

Or perhaps you choose your body,

To sustain the light of youth.

But though the universe is yours

You cannot hold a star

For the heat of it would burn you up

(And also, it’s too far).

So too, if wealth should pass you by

Or youth and strength should wane

That too’s the gift of everything

Preventing unseen pain.

So if you wish to value

That which pleases most of all,

Don’t wish for that which others give

(Or to be six feet tall)

But choose to value where you are,

To dream only to be,

And you shall live in paradise

For all eternity.

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Hidden In Plain Sight

I am the bird who built her nest

Beside the onramp to I5.

On the road mens’ eyes are glued

As they drive to their servitude.

Millions see me every day

But almost none will notice.

They lose the chance to look at me

Because they have somewhere to be.

I eat a bug and flap my wings

And smell fresh air and gasoline.

They think they need the Earth and Sky

And long for what they cannot buy.

They can fly to planets

I’ll never know exist,

Yet I don’t mind my being small.

I am the freest of them all.

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Why Cops Love Summer

The twinkling stream

In sea-foam green

Was strolling o’er the rocks

And on the sand

A merry band

Were clothed in naught but socks.

They danced about,

Let it all hang out,

Just happy to be young,

Especially he,

Who’s six-foot-three

And very amply-hung.

Their harmless fun

Had hurt no one

But the cops lacked any pity:

“This here stream,

“Rural as it may seem,

“Is legally still the city.”

The cops gave out

With an air of clout

Citations to the nudists.

They seemed unstressed

As they got dressed

As if they all were buddhists.

Now clothed, the band

Heeded police demand.

It’s true! I checked on Snopes.

Unclothed, unarmed

They went home unharmed,

So black folks: there’s still hope!

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Home Alone

I stare blankly at the wall,

Fill my mind with off-white paint,

Then picture staring at your face

And feel thankful that I ain’t.

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The Stakes Are Low And The Cakes Are Dry

I baked a cake in the microwave,

Forgot my keys, chose not to shave.

I wore white jeans after labor day

And yet somehow I’m still okay.

I woke up at 6:00 and stayed in bed ’til noon,

Thinking both times were a bit too soon.

I left dishes in the sink and clothes on the line

Yet somehow the world turned out just fine.

I freudian-slipped that Rosebud was a sled

And nobody minded or ended up dead.

I’ve done this and more and I won’t lie:

It’s great to be a single guy!

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Today

We are lazy-eyed romantics

Who, slothful, deign to leer

At sexy ghosts like future, past,

But seldom now or here.

We seek the worldly pleasures

That we, in moments, lack

Knowing we once had them

And hoping they’ll come back.

And like the perfect lover

The present sees us gaze

At a future that will never come

And long-forgotten days

Yet gives us still all that we need,

Supports in every way.

I write so we’ll requite the love

Of the miracle that is Today.

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Aria for Happy Fools and Background Noise

Our lives are like a song

In a language we don’t know.

Our feet tap to the beat of the world

When we feel that special flow.

It starts out as a whisper

And builds into the cry

Of a baby with the will to sing

But no knowledge how or why.

It may turn many corners.

It changes every verse.

The song always gets better

Even if it may sound worse.

Some songs will stop too suddenly

And some go on too long.

Since we don’t know what we’re singing

Why care if something’s wrong?

You can sing however’s comfortable.

When all is said and sung

I hope I’m singing nonsense

‘Til I get my iron lung!

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