If your day begins something like this
then how could you feel anything but bliss?
For the rain is clearing as the sun rises
to begin its journey ‘cross azure-painted skies,
and family and friends find time for you
because of a birthday for you know who.
And I am surely blessed for such a day
because of all those who took time to say
they wish the best for someone like me,
awed by the rainbow I was fortunate to see,
and by those whose love is alive in me,
so I may understand  the story we’ve been told
that life and love is the very real pot-of-gold.

The scent of open air grilling, frying,
and the mingle of hundreds just trying
for a bit of heritage, a taste of the past,
of flavors, and music which continue to last,
because it is beautiful, joyous and we long
for it, we hang on to it like a child’s song
ancestors long-ago would surely know
and sung with gusto we’ll rarely show
today in our staid button-down worlds
and they’d dance, with swinging and twirls
as a community of language, music and food
recapturing the feeling of a happier mood
and of times log ago, in lands so far away,
except for the fortunate, who still sway
in their hearts to the beat of ancient times
bringing them in touch with ancestral minds.

There are arid lands, with impossible
palm trees and rocks and lizards and
things which scurry and people build
growing farm lands and cities with
the water from below.

There are flat lands, with fields followed
by fields, where crows scour the earth
and mice run, and crops grow skyward
as people use great machines to plant,
harvest, raise cattle … here water is life.

There are cities, paved, with mountainous
buildings, and artificial light, and pigeons
scavenge and dogs and cats fight as people
live and work in industries never before imagined,
as water is piped and pumped.

There are forests, grand, evergreen,
stretching for miles and miles,
where deer frolic and play and bears
and raccoons seek easy meals from
people camping along bubbling brooks.

There are mountains rocky and purple
in the sun’s slanting glow where
goats and lions find their keep with
majestic eagles that people watch, as
they hike and ski on frozen waters.

There are coasts by the seas and great lakes,
where fish maybe found in huge numbers
and great and small vessels ply the waves
as seabirds twirl and dive and people live
watching daily the sun rising and setting on the water.

This is America, the majesty of our heritage,
millions and millions of acres of beauty
and diversity for us to enjoy, as We The People
of this great land celebrate and protect our
diversity washed in the blood of patriots and
the waters of our great fortune.

Is Consciousness Part of the Fabric of the Universe?https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/is-consciousness-part-of-the-fabric-of-the-universe1/

 “Somehow, we feel, the water of the physical brain is turned into the wine of consciousness.”  by Colin McGinn

—–

Connected

When we know each other’s mind
something science cannot define.

When the fairies all-about, alive and alit
on us, connected consciousness seem to fit.

And are we an embodiment of soul,
or are we imagining a universal pull?

Fitting us into this space and time
with resonance and perfect rhyme.

For when I feel you and you feel me
then the fairies between us are flying free.

For the sound of piping flutes do say
they are here always and plan to stay.

And all is well in God’s universal plan,
that we may never quite understand.

For we are all connected and share
the presence of these hosts of the air.

People still are putting us down,
because we continue to get around.
We don’t care if we seem awful cold
as we decided we just won’t get old.

We’re using up resources I say
and refusing to fade-away.
Now I don’t want to cause a big sensation,
Just being honest about my g-g-generation.

We are dredging up the past,
because we know it won’t last.
Where all the troubles lie,
and we won’t let them die.

Talking about my g-g-generation
without any wasted lamentation
for the climate we broke
and war-fires we stoke.

Not sure what others might say
but we are refusing to fade-away.
We don’t care if we seem awful cold
as we decided we just won’t get old.

But we’ll keep saying:
what’s this world coming to?
When deep down, we know…
It’s my g-g-generation.

Civilization must be an illusion
for it so easily falls apart
as we unleash the dogs
of war and terror.

Revenge, retribution are
more relevant than empathy,
which is ever elusive,
except when it comes to one’s
own tribe.

Compromise has no standing
when life is undervalued
leaving all solutions to be
devastating and tragic.

We are an all or nothing
species, thinly disguised 
as sentient and caring
about puppies and such.

But not so much for people
sharing our planet, if they salute
a different flag or kneel 
to a different god. 

It now appears, there are
no rules; for the illusion of
civilization is shattered, 
and we are who we are. 

Extremists think they are strong,
stubbornly they will fight because
everyone else is so terribly wrong.

If they find themselves without power
to enforce their strong-held beliefs
they turn to nihilism, to make us cower.

It is anathema for them to compromise
for they cannot reason their populist
leaders may not be all knowing and wise.

They obfuscate with smoke and mirrors
the truths they find inconvenient as they
elevate their favorite weapon, latent fears.

There is no reason, there is no quarter for them,
there is only the fight, until exhausted
and utterly deflated and defeated in the end.

This is a sad state of life, brought on
by ignorance and stubbornness cultivated
by populist leaders perpetuating a con.

So, mother’s don’t let your children
grow up to be extremists, for they
will be defeated and deflated in the end.

The ones who light the fire,
now seek praise and attention
for putting out the blaze.

What’s the drama in just doing
a job of service and governance?

When the bright-lights are shining
they seem the most fulfilled.

Without the cameras there’d
be no drama to share,  but there’d
also be no end to corruption.

As the proverb goes,
those playing with matches
will get burned.

Eventually we will replace fools
playing with fire with quiet
competence and leadership …

Or else, it will all burn down
and an even bigger fool will show
minting his gold medals.

The new king to rule over a mess,
as he fires simple fools, taking
his retribution, and ending elections.

Then it is we who”ll dearly wish
we’d taken their matches long ago,
and replaced the fire feeding fools.

The breeze hints at coming coolness
the evenings come suddenly sooner
as the squirrels burying stores and
the geese gather for a journey.

Adventures and summers come to
a close, in the way of life-cycles as
everything moves in circles toward
a future of one type or another.

We are all nomads and nesters
stability and passion
motion and sedentary and
we are all-in on the next thing.

Even if the next things are the
old things, even if the old-world
is new, and the new world is old.
Motion is life.

And we’ll put our memories
into their place, give our hopes
to our dreams, and love the
changing leaves of autumn.

Thoughts are fleeting,
ideas if they change a heart
in a moment may live on in
life after life … a legacy unattributed.

And yet secrets are held
in the art we gaze upon,
in poetry held in one’s hand
and in nature’s mysteries.

For true are the moments
if one is open to it and
allows the spirit to absorb
meaning in everything.

Yet nothingness exists
so everything will have
its meaning in these
moments and forever.

And we are nothing if not a
series of moments and truths
expressed, and the sum is our
meaning… a legacy attributed.