Like Comfortable Lions in the Sun

We are and have always been family
So many years now and here we are still
With nothing about which to disagree
Closer than ever yet closer we will
Be and the question is answer to me
That yes you and I will be together
Because we are now and always will be
And never mind how long when or whether
Some things just are like the moon in the sky
A simple inevitability
We simply enjoy without knowing why

It may lack drama it may lack suspense
Does not unfold operatically
But makes us happy and makes its own sense
Like comfortable lions in the sun
Of an afternoon lie contentedly
Next to each other two happy as one
We rest in natural affinity
Sunrise sunset unending unbegun
Such is our mellow mutuality
That which just is does not just come undone
We are and will always be family

+Steven Curtis Lance



Copyright MMVI

g`day cousin, a place in the sun, a place to live and love, an excellent verse, your spirit is flying dear steve as is the poetry forum, indeed your spring seems to have bought a re birth, a renaissance full of new ideas and new members. thank you for being our guiding light and thank you for your poetry, and also i thank you for your comments on my humble work, your encouragement is greatly appreciated keep well dear cousin, respect and love greg.

Oh, Cousin Greg, you fine fellow you; I am truly touched by your kindness and generosity! Thank you with all my heart.

I'm so glad you're here; you're a wonderful poet, as anyone can see as soon as they read you. I'm proud to be your cousin and your friend.

I did have an especially nice day today, with my daughter Maria, who is all of twenty-two now. She hosed down my front porch and did all sorts of complicated shenanigans here at the old haunted house; no wonder I used to call her Hurricane Maria when she was a little girl, it is no less true of her today. We had a very nice Cuban dinner, coffees, good conversation for a good long time, and a general ruckus of exquisite harmony. So I feel pretty good here in the wee small hours where I am. Oh, I should also add that the kids at Starbucks and the grocery store were wonderful to me; they are poetry fans, actually, and many of them poets themselves. I think I will just be everybody's father; I like that.

And then of course there is someone special for whom this poem was written, who makes me very happy and who began the day on a high and happy note (thank you!).

I think everything is working out now with my old haunted house and my staying in it; it looks like I might just still be The Lucky Little Bastard after all.

Cheers and g'day, dear Cousin and mate,

+Stevie

wise willful words, warmly welcomed. but seriously, your words seem very profound to me. Maybe it's due to the quality of the connects, or maybe it's something on a higher plane.

Yes, actually, my friend, this is a pretty serious poem; I know what you mean, and you are reading it correctly. My good-natured badinage with my cousin in the wee smalls might make it sound less serious than it is. That's what I think I love best about you, that you always see the deeper meaning, and that all my poems are terribly, existentially serious, no matter how they might seem on the surface. I hate to talk about poetry, especially my own, because one can only say the wrong thing; the right thing is that which is said in the poem itself; this is a conundrum.

Well, thanks and love, and I'm glad you pointed out that a higher meaning lurks inside this poem of mine, as always. But the only way I can say it is in the poem itself, nor can it otherwise ever be explained; the conundrum continues, but so does poetry.

Love,

+Stevie

you must have spent a considerable amount of time on this. at any rate, i enjoyed it completely
misty

Thanks, Misty!

I spent a lot of thought on it, but not a lot of time... I think maybe these poems grow in my head for a day or two before I start writing; I think there is that unconscious element to the process, then all the pieces start coming together like a puzzle. There is doubtless some poem growing within me right now, although I have no idea what it is. But it will start to come together all at once later, beginning as it always does with two lines, then expanding to four, and so on by twos.

This poem was the main event of my Wednesday writing, with the one about Death coming together very quickly as the bonus poem, as sometimes happens. So, after that, I slacked off and watched that TV show Criminal Minds, and then CSI: New York. I can't believe I watch those things! What the hell has happened to me? Oh well... they were pretty good (and, hey, I was on CBS myself when I was a little kid; I even have a gold CBS lapel pin... I should wear that on my old denim jacket), and, besides, the cat was on me; I didn't want to disturb him.

Along about now I always wonder if I will ever write another poem, yet I always do; it happens to me like some sort of biological process.

I hope you will forgive the self-analysis of my methodology; I only share it in the hope that it might somehow be useful to compare notes on the creative process. I hope others will share how poetry happens to them as well.

Thanks and love,

+Stevie