In a quest to discover,
turning over boats to
find which will float,
suitable for a journey.

Chasing streams of
consciousness, as
ideas float or sink
along a narrow brook.

Finding white water
of turbulence, with its
boulders of challenging
upending ideas.

Bouncing and bumping
toward an open sea
imagining control of
the uncontrollable.

Into an estuary, life
and thought slows,
imagining just maybe,
finally, life is settled.

But still there is an
open sea to come,
with an eternity
of flowing dreams.

We live in an era of the great
devaluation of decency and responsibility.

Truth is malleable to fit the moment,
and deflection covers accountability.

Power trump’s values and cult-like
faith excuses logic and reasoning.

For we apparently have lost our footing,
slipped into an abyss which echos irrational thought.

As it steals the rights of other for the disowning
of liberty as was once our fervent national quest.

This is not the “our-time” I would have wished for
with such a dearth of compassion and thoughtfulness.

I wish for Christian values in an unholy time
and for Socratic reasoning in a chaotic rhyme.

And wish and hope for the next generation
to rediscover faith, logic, reason and compromise.

Does it mean incredible
or incredulous?

Expressed because of scarce event
or is it scarcely expressed?

Is it to say tell me more,
or there’s no more to say?

If you have this figured out,
then all I can say is Wow!

It has a two in it, never a one
following the start of a week
without the fun of hump day
penultimate to Thursday in obscurity
without the respect of pay-day
nor the fun of a weekend day of golf
fishing, or other activity, and there
is no worship or football set-aside.

Never has a holiday… Thursday refuses to
give up Thanksgiving… maybe once in awhile
a Christmas or New Years shall fall, but
it is always with reluctance a day of fun
should prevail, before being sent back to
obscurity for years to come….
even birthdays are put-off until the
a Saturday or Sunday celebration.

Nope Tuesday is the working day, the
sad, so-far-off-the-weekend, the Monday
hangover gone, might as well just buckle
down, for workday productivity,
but never fun, not even the downhill run.
Tuesday is a day for seriousness,
or at least it seems, but one never knows
what might be hiding in the heart of
Tuesday, maybe, just maybe a vacation day?

Somebody, long ago named today Tuesday,
and so it remains, someone owns such a legacy,
for it had to have a name,
it couldn’t just be named Thomas,
or something like an ordinary random name,
and we must name things,
and then the world revolves around such things.

What made Tuesday different from Monday? or Wednesday?
… and how do we know we’ve kept track correctly
since the beginning of calendar-week time-keeping?
Could this really be Thursday as it was intended, and somewhere along the way someone slept through some random two days?Maybe not in a row but over a millenia, is this not possible?

Well if we can agree to call this Tuesday, then why is it so hard to agree to so many other things in this crazy world?
We are a strange race of semi-intelligent creatures,
it is good we have something like naming to provide
order to the chaos of our time.

…. I know the day is Sunday I’m publishing this…. or is it really??

For the grace of routine
gives our minds a rest
providing life momentum.

Without it life would be
overrun by everything,
everywhere all at once.

Further it allows us to be
astonished, when touched
by something beautiful and new.

And for a moment we may
stop momentum, and breath in
the extraordinary.

I thought I’d ask an AI application to write a poem about playing catch… Chat GP.T..  this is what it came up with in 20 seconds… freaking amazing:

Playing Catch

Two hands outstretched, a ball between
The thrill of playing catch, a timeless scene
A game of back and forth, a simple pleasure
In the midst of life’s hustle and bustle, a moment of leisure

The sound of the ball hitting leather
The wind in your hair, feeling freer and better
The joy in your heart as you make a perfect catch
A moment of triumph, nothing can match

The rhythm of the game, a dance of sorts
A language unspoken, but understood in all sports
A bond between players, a shared connection
A moment of unity, a moment of perfection

And as the sun sets and the game comes to an end
The memories made will forever transcend
For in playing catch, we learn about life
The ups and downs, the joy and strife

So take a ball, find a friend
And play catch until the very end
For in this game, we find so much more
Than just throwing and catching, it’s the memories we adore.

A dolphin swimming along side
turning to look at us curiously
as we are looking back, within each
other’s world and beyond each
other’s world.

Understanding intelligence as
we witness it, in the way we look
at one another, the way we consider
the other’s world and yet we fail
understanding one another’s world.

And so we look at each other
across a great divide we’ve built
across our world, a wall of
indifference built by ignorance,
fear and for the benefit of those
who benefit in the divide.

We lack the simple curiosity
to wonder what it must be like
to live in a world more evenly
shared in love and respect
of each other’s needs and
for the benefit of all.

Like birds flying together
one ahead, one behind
then they switch in perfect
cooperation and easy
coordination.

Going somewhere, maybe
or just going nowhere,
it doesn’t matter.
There’s grace and joy
learned or practiced?

Catch a game with no
winner, just cooperation.
Learned as parent plays
with child, fumbling through
to the joy of achievement.

Through the years, an
extended handshake as
toss and catch of ball
or disc is a game of
skill and cooperation.

Playing catch with grace,
forever as friends, as
extension of social
contracts and simple joy
of something done well.

Everyone a winner!

I woke at the usual time
I’m very regular this way.
But the clock said it was
later.  For some reason,
us humans have to tell
nature what time it is.

To be sure, the concept is
vital in rendezvouses
of two or more to a place,
for trains, and planes,
or the theater or school’s
start and joyful end.

It is brilliant actually,
for we are a social
species, and yet so
to are herds, flocks, pods,
and tribes and troops,
cooperating as they must.

But just to prove our human
cleverness, we adjust time
to reflect our planet’s tilt
during its journey around
the Sun, for afterall, we are
stunningly anal this way…

While fooling only ourselves.