Poems by Adam Librot
~ Read Lauron's Poems ~

Only The Postman Walks

There’s a car down the street, its blue lights go,
And the man in the dark says it’s odd to know
That the town is dead but the winds always blow,
Then it rains all day just to change to snow
After the water steals your life in its undertow;
And cigarette smoke becomes the only memento
Of a long day wading through the overflow.

And do you know what it’s all about,
Tell me why each good game turns into a rout;
It makes me want to turn around and shout,
“Be careful, be quick, don’t get lost in your doubt:
The man in the distance is seeking you out.”
And after the rain there’ll soon be a drought,
But like weeds, your problems will continue to sprout.

And can you say what it’s all meant,
Why the torments of Sam I Am you cannot prevent,
Then while figuring out where Major Major went
The darkness shadows your accomplishment?
And after your energies have all been spent
Remember that you run each day with the same intent,
But only the postman walks and still gets the letters sent.

~BACK TO TOP~

Night

Looking for a bundle
That’s how he spends his time
Walking down the isle
But there’s something on his mind

Drives his car up to the door
At the margin he will find
That there’s nothing that he wants to get
He can’t find the right kind

Doesn’t know how he got there
And he can’t use anymore
The utilities are worthless
Cause no one’s knocking on his door

They’re coming in on boats
Sent from all around the world
But they won’t bring back the picture
Of a pretty girl

The money in his pocket
Doesn’t mean that much — he sees
That if there’s no one left to spend it on
Might as well be leaves on trees

It’s just some sort of comfort
So he knows that he’s alive
I stand there in the middle
And we talk away the night

I sometimes stop to wonder
What it’s like to live a life that way
But really I should know
Cause in a sense we’re both the same
Looking for a bundle
To give us peace of mind
Though we see the clock is moving
We never feel it changing time

Home

I get a rise out of coming home
In a place that is my very own
Never stumbling without vision
In the wilderness where I roam

So throw me a line and show me your plan
Promise you’ll be there, then I’ll reach out my hand
Penetrate all the walls put up in our path
Resurrect all the feelings we had in the past

Because I don’t want the anxieties of a race
The glare of the scoreboard must be erased
So there’s no one around who I need to out-pace
Then the photo finishes can all be replaced
By the ease of your motions and your carefree face
In a world where there’s no trace of disgrace
I can finally say, “This is my home; the place I embrace.”

Prize

It’s just a piece of paper that I keep in a folder
And I see them accumulate as I get older

Someone found a reason to personally congratulate
Me in some randomly distant and detached way

You may say it’s cynical, but it’s true
Think of the awards they have given to you

Passing the tests or meeting the requirements
Made up to preserve a name in obscure excellence

It’s of no use to be cheered by committee
Or some dean who doesn’t know you from me

They say all the things that I already know
Sitting high under false pretense; just a glorified gigolo

Simply because they pointed out what was easy to see
Feeling righteous by ripping off the best by decree

There’s an ulterior motive in most everything they do
Two meanings belong to all pronouncements that come through

So many creations are blatant self-promotions
Spawned by the T.V. or JCP; parasites of misguided notions

Even the purest intentions cannot be assumed inviolate
Still we’re blinded by the words and wiles they escapade

So just wait, cause one day they’ll come for you
Opening the doors when they like what you do

But retracting the invitations upon your fall from the list
Out of sight, out of mind, so you’ll never be missed