The art of going nowhere
and returning gracefully.
The joy of wind and sail
and waves, for the sake of same.
The birds, the dolphins,
they play along in harmony.
Like children wandering
in the woods, inventing
fantastic adventures
we blissfully imagine
exploring the everywhere
of the worlds great oceans.
The mind wants to see
horrors in black and white.
War as newsreel abstractness,
not in clarity of bright light.
Not in color of death’s blue
nails of translucent hands
and bloods brown red hue.
Fires bright orange and golds
exploding on our stage
as the bitter fight unfolds.
Chasing the shadows of pain
on the faces of survivors
showing wars ugly scar and stain.
Impossible to believe this is live
and not some apocalyptic movie
scene which we may forget and forgive.
But it is real, it is who we really are
and have always been, even though
we think we’ve advanced so far
Ice melts cool on the tongue
but is no cure for fever within.
The mind races ever faster
but fails finding godspeed.
The time of ages does not reverse,
but memories, live on in aging time.
And yet this fog of the past,
inspires clarity of present
and winged hopes for the future.
In ten easy steps:
A sign said Retail Space
and I thought of, selling space?
But then who built space?
And decided this space,
could be bought or sold,
which is in-between something
and another in order to be retailed-space.
While open-space can be found
right between nothing and nothing.
Then there’s luxury-space,
which must be somehow
more comfortable than living-space,
maybe less so or more is inner-space,
which is vast if we remove walls,
and outer-space which
seemingly empty is massive,
and yet is a destination for some,
where there is a space-station,
with space inside, protecting
from so much space outside.
Space is remarkably versatile,
which reminds me of flex-space,
which maybe more useful, if
I could bend space and time.
And possibly find the words
and thoughts which rid us of
useless space between us.
I ask my watch
who won the game last night?
…….. “UNC beat Duke, eighty-one to seventy-seven”
I ask my watch
what the temperature will be at noon?
…….. “Seventy-three and cloudy ”
I ask my watch
where are my shoes?
……. “I don’t understand… check your feet, idiot”
(I made the last part up)
I ask my watch
what is the meaning of life?
……. “No one knows for sure, but there is no harm in extra love.
For family, your friends, and most importantly, for yourself. ”
Smart watch!
Keep stress outside the wall
do not answer, no matter
its mindful mournful call.
Call the archers to the fight,
light all the fires you must and
bring light to the darkest night.
Never tire defending, for the stone
laid in your castle walls are strong
and look and see you’re not alone.
If it breaches, it fights eviction,
like an unwelcome tenant
challenging your conviction.
And if it’s already thru the door,
and it is howling at you, then
you must wrestle it to the floor.
For you can and will surely win
you have weapons and help,
so never give up or give in.
If you had one wish
what would it be,
something to do with you
or something for the world?
Would it involve something new
or something old you remember
but would like to change?
Would it be money to buy
happiness, which it isn’t for sale
or happiness, which has a
mind and time of its own?
Or rather be about health
and long life, but what if there is
forever, without happiness?
Or maybe something clever,
like enumerated more wishes
to avoid dreaded choices?
There are many wishes
we all seem to imagine, but
no one said they’d be granted.
Wishing, and doing for others
and self is our path and nature.
Lyrics once were
to tell a story
of heroes and great deeds.
To entertain with stories of great
conquest and fools failures.
Or to impart moral lessons
of great import and value.
Or to soothe babes with
lullabies and inspire wonder.
Tell of great causes and
rally thought and hope.
Reaching for imagination
reaching for the stars.
Or to woo a young
woman to love.
Lyrics were song
with a melody and
rhythm that all who
might hear could sing along.
But today so many are
of deeds of madmen,
gangsters are the monsters,
drugs are in the streets,
the rap is poetry with
vulgarity as stock shock,
For whom will it inspire,
for whom will it soothe,
for whom will it woo,
and bring solace or love?
I looked at the clock this morning
happy I had slept until 7:30
to start my morning ritual,
then realizing that it was body 6:30…
being it is what it is,
I still got up. for the morning
must be as prescribed
or would it be morning at all?
But today, disappointed I didn’t sleep in
as I had hoped. And instead of knowing
it is what it is.
I consider the absurdity of
human games with clocks.
What point is daylight savings time,
to confuse us with mind tricks on a body
that shrugs its shoulders at amateurish magic?
I hear the marsh bird singing its lonely song
as I do every morning at this time,
no clock change will change the song
or the ritual of singing it at this time.
Four notes, pause, same four notes,
it is what it is.
No one answers that bird.
I imagine I’m the only creature
that ever notices this lonely song.
The magic of time change
is as lost to the bird as it is to my body.
It is what it is.
Stupid humans think that we can
jump an hour into the future.
It is is what it is.