If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
—Emily Dickinson
Some folks hide their hurt
Under a carapace of cruel
They’d rather be an asshole
Than be anybody’s fool
It’s easy to give up
It’s easy to despair
It’s easy to bamboozle
And pretend you just don’t care
It’s scary to acknowledge
We’ll never find a cure
It’s daunting to consider
All the hurt in the world
Focus on the little toil—
Cool one pain
It’s all that I know
To keep one sane
by Richard W. Bray
She’s a vision, she’s an angel
she’s a goddess, she’s a queen
She is natural, she is perfect
She is pure and she is clean
Love can be incredible
But love won’t make you whole
If you’re looking for a woman
To perfect your sorry soul
Everything I want and need
A perfect combination
Every other woman is
A phony imitation
If you’re looking for a partner
To play a hopeless role
You won’t find a woman
To perfect your sorry soul
Transport constant misery
To eternal bliss
She’s the only woman
Who could possibly do this
Replacing God with Romance
Is an idiotic goal
You won’t find a woman
To perfect your sorry soul
by Richard W. Bray
Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It’s hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It’s round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you’ve got about a hundred years here. There’s only one rule that I know of, babies—God damn it, you’ve got to be kind.
—Kurt Vonnegut, God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater
Miles and miles of empty
Surround our lovely Earth
Human beings are blessed to share
The planet of our birth
We devastate and plunder
And treat it like a sewer
With rapacity to horrify
An interstellar viewer
We’re stupid and we’re greedy
And violent and cruel
Who came up with such a lot
Of self-destructive fools?
Everything that we create
Will decompose and rust
All of our accomplishments
Will tumble down to dust
Existence is a gift
Don’t misuse your ration
You must defy this dreary life
With kindness and compassion
by Richard W. Bray
—William Shakespeare, Sonnet 116
I love you when you’re mean
I love you when you’re mad
I love you when you’re angry
I love you when you’re bad
Love is not a smorgasbord
For me to pick and choose
Always have to clean my plate
When I’m digesting you
I love you when you pout
I love you when you cry
I love you when you’re dirty
I’ll love you till I die
Love is not a sometimes thing
Love is not a switch
I love you as an angel
I love you as a bitch
by Richard W. Bray
Suffering is not increased by numbers: one body can contain all the suffering the world can feel
—Thomas Fowler
You can take an anvil
And drop it on my face
Feed me to the rodents
Till I’m gone without a trace
Tie me to an anthill
Drop me from the sky
Just don’t hurt the ones I love
Or make my baby cry
I know I can contain
The borders of my pain
A million shocks and aches
Won’t make me complain
Tie me to an anthill
Drop me from the sky
Just don’t hurt the ones I love
Or make my baby cry
Love gives it meaning
The hurt that we all feel
The pain we have for others
Makes existence real
Tie me to an anthill
Drop me from the sky
Just don’t hurt the ones I love
Or make my baby cry
by Richard W. Bray
Sir Walter Raleigh, The Nymph’s Reply to the Shepherd
If we lived in decades past
When marriages were built to last
I might be tempted to tilt your glass
And be your little lovely lass
When I was young my mother told me
That a man is good to hold me
But I must never bought and sold be
Thus no man has yet controlled me
She said a girl must make her way
In this crazy world today
And if I always let you pay
I’ll be tormented should you stray
I do not fit your portrait, sir
Neither rubies nor your fur
Will set my little heart astir
Or make my body coo and purr
You confirmed just what your heart meant
When you offered an apartment
And a closet full of garment
As though my life were some department
Of an edifice you dreamed
Without once consulting me
I can’t live your reality
I shan’t subsume identity
by Richard W. Bray
Everybody tells me
There is nothing I can do
The Improbable of love
The faraway of you
Removing my own heart
With a butter knife
The cruelty of love
The absurdity of life
Hope perched on a star
And dreams made out of dust
The ridiculous of love
The impossible of us
Blind to reality
That anyone could see
The temerity of love
The insanity of me
by Richard W. Bray
The greater the love, the more false to its object
—W.H. Auden, The Dead Echo
You said you liked me for a friend
And I was sure my life would end
I found a hole
To crawl inside
I starved my soul
But I survived
You said you liked me for a friend
And I was sure my life would end
I drank up a distillery
I puked up blood and bile
I crucified my crazy heart
Because I missed your smile
You said you liked me for a friend
And I was sure my life would end
I put my body through the ringer
I’m lucky I’m not dead
Playing out a melodrama
All inside my head
by Richard W. Bray
It won’t end well:
This craving for connection
There always will be blood
When we seek affection
You’ll never cure your heart
It’s a terrible infection
Jealousy and tyranny
Resentment and rejection
The love I thought I saw
Was just my own reflection
Love is a barb
That cuts in all directions
by Richard W. Bray
You state and speak
And yap and gab
You lecture and scold
And gossip and blab
You’re a chronic talkaholic
And every word you say
Is a futile attempt
To try and get away
You utter and spiel
And spout and spew
But you never come up
With anything new
You’re a chronic talkaholic
Every word you ever said
Is an effort to avoid
The crazy in your head
by Richard W. Bray
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