Poetry

CONFESSIONS OF A PSYCHIATRIST

Every day the same...

Kiss the wife and kids goodbye,

Wish them a good day,

And then off to hustle.

No short skirt nor cheap perfume...

A starched white coat

And an air of omniscience,

The seductive tools of this trade.

"New drug" salesmen, like the "used car" ones,

Medicaid pawns and wanna-bees,

Solicit on this southside corner.

Same song on the other side of the tracks.

Drudgery interrupted, not often enough,

By the Real McCoy...

Mental illness in its purest form,

A reward that begs another day.

Better to keep quiet and do the deed,

Defenses intact,

Lest others may think

Thou protest too much.

And yet the truth remains...

'Tis not only the oldest,

But also the grandest

Of professions.

________________________________

UNNURTURED

A newborn enters the world,

Grimacing with a mug of Churchill,

Appeased by throngs of admirers,

Gawking through maternity panes,

And spewing forth niceties.

Homeward bound we go...

Gerber of your choice;

Diapers look the same.

Innocent, yet so challenging,

Through all of the milestones.

Barney, Barney, Barney

Loves you and you love him...

Self-esteem building

From a purple monster,

In a hypnotic trance.

Intimacy replaced

By high-tech sitters...

Game Boy, Nintendo

Play Station 2; TV-14

When the sun goes down.

Faster, faster, if you please...

Soccer, baseball after school,

Little Caesars, Mickey D's.

Off to bed when it's over,

And hardly share a word.

Culture gone awry

Saves Jack from dull boy fate,

But lands him in the pokey.

Trips to the shrink and scripts galore

To no avail for this troubled one.

What went wrong

With our dear little boy?

Instructions we missed perhaps,

Somewhere along the way...

"Don't forget to feed it!"

________________________________

I AM RICH!

I eat

When hungry.

I drink

When thirsty.

I sleep

When tired.

I bathe

When dirty.

I clothe

When bare.

I heal

When sick.

I walk

On my own.

I love

When alone.

I

am rich!

________________________________

IF

If I were the town bell,

I’d ding and dong all the morn,

Stirring every soul from slumber

To bask in the best the day can offer.

And if I were a summer cloud,

I’d fling a bolt

With a clap of thunder

Upon an empty pasture,

Not to strike fear,

But as an overture

To a symphonic shower.

And if I were a bee,

I’d be buzzy and busy,

Making fine scents

For all to sniff.

But if I were a gun,

I'd stay silent and hidden,

So no one could ever find me.

Oh, but only if...

________________________________

NATURE'S CALLING

Marvel,

If you will,

At the show of Nature,

And find pleasure

In the gifts

That she gives.

For one is deprived

In the muddle

Of modernity,

Wherein gadgetry

Holds sway.

There lies the rub

Of those who trust 

The mighty machinery.

But they who pursue 

The less traveled way,

As Frost would say,

Will surely be nourished

By the sound of a lark,

Or the sight of a deer,

Or the smell of fresh air,

Or the touch of a breeze,

Or the taste of honey.

And by doing so,

Know that such affairs

Are there for the taking,

And with enrichment of self,

Cherished still more.

________________________________

WINTER'S LESSON

Winter

Came upon me

Like a surprise visit

From an old foe.

And unready for

His unwelcomed arrival,

I quickly gave way

To his grip,

A darkness as paralyzing

To my being

As Kryptonite to Kent.

And just as the last

Breath of life

Had all but been breathed,

A ray of sunlight

Came into view,

And Hope sprang eternal

Yet once again.

Then Winter exited,

Though not as swiftly

As he had entered,

Leaving behind

An arcane reminder…

That the bitter change of seasons

Is essential

To every soul

That yearns to grow.

________________________________

TYPING LESSON

Back when I cared not a hoot nor a hang,
Typing was a class with ease I took.
And there was a line I was quick to bang,
Though never giving a second look.

I practiced and practiced it every day
To prove my celerity at work.
While my teacher awarded me an A,
Its meaning would continue to lurk.

Many years later, I typed it again,
To test if my fingers were as fast.
But instead I discerned, then as a man,
A much greater lesson that would last.

“It is right for a man to know that he knows”
Were the words I once typed as a hare.
And the moral might one ask, now as I close?
Take a turtle’s pace through Life’s affair. 

________________________________

UNREQUITED

Like the burden of Sisyphus,

I feel an urge to wail and cuss.

Alas, just as I think the boulder,

While fully trusting the beholder,

Has reached the peak of my heart,

It rolls back down to the start

In my recurring nightmare.

For her love in return is bare

Of any passion that one needs

To sustain a life that bleeds

Desire from head to toe

And from go to stop to go.

Over and over again.

Oh, what pain!

________________________________

Scott Zentner