Gary Diamond Poems

People admire a good storyteller, even if they can themselves.
Everyone loves your favourite drunken story.
The fighting naked in the street brandishing traffic cones
And so on.
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Oh no matter what, the price of progress marches on
Ironically to help our lives
Simultaneously making it a worse place to live.
The illusion of freedom
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A ritual burning of the past in petrol-soaked rags
Rags that now cannot turn to riches
In any way other than distruction
Of personal property.
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Poetry and optimism are contrary to the human spirit.
The forced-upon thrust-upon festivals merely sap it.
The best forces are the simple, primal lines of nature
Who comes on scene and sense with no furore
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I had lived in the past
I had let ruin spread like cancer
I had allowed regret to make me
One dimensional
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you are a set of unique experiences
they make you what you are.
take one away and watch the others fall to earth.
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i am one quarter of your average deck
i am a social and emotional wreck
on the line; always my neck
as i endure another rubber cheque
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I often feel I say too many bad things
About a planet
That in truth isn't as evil
As my mind's veiled eye seeks to make it.
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I like to think of the cynic as the person who once was optimistic.
And was so optimistic and so let down by it
That it turned around on the fly.
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Those who aren't afraid to die
Those that might welcome it
Aren't quite so lucky.
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