STUMBLING UPON THE TRUTH
By Muldoon Elder
Part I
In the throes of an astounding recognition beyond my wildest dreams,
I came face to face with the subtlest thinkers alive,
Listened to their exquisite babbling that answered all
But one of the many pressing yet unanswered questions
That frayed my soul since childhood.
And as I reveled in their lucid answers
And stroked the furry calm their words provided,
I shocked myself to see that I,
As if I were another, other being, distanced from all I knew,
Totally foreign to my own familiar self,
That I,
Without the slightest hesitation,
Spat in their filthy faces,
Scorned their answers,
And fled
To that hellish numbness I choose to call my comfort.
Part II
From the many varied faces passing by my post
I see a world of moods, thoughts, hearts and gestures.
Steadfast, some refuse to give me heed, some curse me,
Some reach down to thrust a coin or two into my piteous lap.
Some have a look of masked scorn beneath their outward compassion,
While others must be thinking, There, but for the grace of God, go I.
Let me tell you how those faces hit me;
Joyous, melancholy, distracted, thoughtful, thoughtless, embarrassed, pitying,
Pitiless, gracious, confident, amused, angry, happy, deceitful, puzzled,
Or sometimes, just beautifully blank. Which were you?
I wonder if you know I know...
If you know I know?
Part III
"The bird beyond the bough, the single one with all the air to greet him as he flies..."
That's a line in a poem I've always liked.
It speaks of a freedom of a kind that few have ever had.
Part IV
Beggars' Obbligato
The beggar begs. The giver gives. Who's the freer? It's how one lives.
"Giving's more blessed than receiving," is a phrase that's quite deceiving.
I' m dirty, stinky on the sin side; You' re dirty, stinky on the inside.
I'll take your dough, look up at you with fragile laughter,
Look down on you, in the hereafter.
In spirit blessed, I'm lily-white,
And that, I've guessed, gives you a fright.
You're nothing but a crook, you know,
But what of me? It isn't so!
Defending taking mafia dough,
Remember Cardinal Cushing's quip
That some thought wise and others flip.
Said he with glee, and lips of dripping honey,
"But don't you see, we purify the money."
He was a stoat, that weasel crass,
He tweaked the goat, then let it pass!
My body's old, my spirit young,
"Thank God," I'm told, "you've got your tongue."
I'm dressed in rags, to look quite humble,
Yet meekness lags within my mumble.
They hand you food, their "loving" tricks,
When what you want, is drink or fix.
Panhandling's my profession proud,
Another job is not allowed.
And thus I sit, with forlorn look
Until your money, I have took.
Part V
Please, if you please, get over your laughter,
You're not to tease, we're in the after!
This poem shall end with sharpened point
If you'll just bend, and pass the joint..
And if you don't, then take good care
That you are warned, beware, beware!
© 2003 - Muldoon Elder