Thoughts
They may be yours
They may be mine
They may come
Or they may go
They may be stolen
They might have been inspired
They may be desired
They may be trivial
They may be grand
They may be dark
They may be light
They may be deep
They may be simple
They may be complex
They are often fleeting
And thus forgotten
If so, did they ever exist?
… Now what was I thinking?
We Must Choose
We are born without memories
We are potential
We are not good nor bad
We are an empty jar
Of our own color, size, and shape
To be filled with experience
From the first breath with sounds
And sights, that we cannot comprehend
We are given the gift of love
Of understanding, of free will
And so we begin to choose
What to listen to, what memories
To remember, what to forget
What are the war cries of our tribe
What are the sorrows of our history
What is it that gives us identity
We choose to embrace or to adapt
We choose from the words we hear
What to believe, what not to believe
We choose to be aware or not
We choose to hear the pain and sorrow of others
We choose to not hear the war cries of agitators
We choose to be a force of good
We choose to replace anger with forgiveness
We choose to seek justice not revenge
We choose to vote for those who share the love of justice
We choose to understand that what we have in common is greater than what separates us…
Or we watch the world burn!
Time Travel
If you could travel time
Would you be here now
Would you find another era
Would you fix what was broken
Would you relive glory days
Would you go to the future just to see what would be
Just to answer life’s mysterious fate
Or to the past to understand life’s mysterious origin
Or maybe to ask the question why?
We Need Heroes
Each morning is the same
Everything is possible
Time travel is available
So history can be changed
False heroes and villains abound
Artificial volcanos erupt
Flobsters, like a virus attacks
But Doctor Greene explains
Anti-matter and temporal stations
In a twilight world of science
Technology and cultural idiosyncrasies
Bias away from what we could know
Towards appeals to our base instincts
But here in fantasy, miracles of Heroes
Provide the solution
If only Optimus Prime, Heatwave and Bumblebee were here
To save the day, then we too
Might just believe In each other and
Be heroes for each other
Modern Day Alchemist
In the days of old
Everyone valued gold
But it was costly to mine
So with magic potions they played
Hoping to hit it rich some lucky day
Rather than the labor and time
Of smelting ore from a mine
No matter what the scientists said
They sought magic solution instead
Like today’s quick cures being sold
To the gullible, as if it is pure gold
Allowing the virus to all to go away
Because the economy must hold sway
As the doctors grimace in the back
The Alchemist sounds like a quack
Selling a cure to get others to buy
That the economy will surely fly
For the vaccine we must not wait
We’ll trust a potion for our fate
You’ll see, and surely you be pleased
Just don’t test, or look at the numbers
In this way you won’t be displeased.
On The Voice a contestant sang a song I had not heard in a while, that is just a great song, and amazing poetry… and right now seemed just so appropriate to the times. So I thought I’d post it here. It was released by Louis Armstrong and the writers were George Weiss & Bob Thiele
“What A Wonderful World”
I see skies of blue
And clouds of white
The bright blessed day
The dark sacred night
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world
The colors of the rainbow
So pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces
Of people going by
I see friends shaking hands
Saying, “How do you do?”
They’re really saying
“I love you”
I hear babies cry
I watch them grow
They’ll learn much more
Than I’ll never know
And I think to myself
What a wonderful world
Yes, I think to myself
What a wonderful world
Oh yeah
Rain on the Pond
I stood in the rain today, pond gazing
Watching drops bouncing off of the water…
Small drops, small bounces in perfect mirror of a rain drop
Imagined, as I do not see the drop speeding to its terminus
I just see the reaction…
Producing perfect little circles that spread quick
To intersect other circles, building and interfering
Creating a disturbance, that’s disturbing other disturbances
As if it is a world unto itself, that cares not if we watch
While it has its peacefulness shattered
With each and every drop, like tears that disturb
The peacefulness of this world and all that care
About it, and all that live within its boundaries
And suffer the disturbance of millions of drops
In a world that cannot recover it’s peace
Because it just keeps raining
While we watch
About this: Some have said that the deaths from the pandemic don’t matter much as they are mostly old people and those with pre-existing conditions, “they may have died sometime soon anyway, so it’s a tragedy but not the catastrophe that people are claiming”. People die, it is true, but who are we to see this pandemic as something political? I see every unneeded death is a catastrophe, and a disturbance to the peace of a family, a disturbance to the peace of the world, as every life intersects so many others, and it just keeps raining…. while we watch
Star Gazing
I remember the thought of knowing the sky
Being a Scout, trying for an Astronomy badge
Discovering what noble Indians know of the night
The constellations, I wanted to be able to show
To all that would listen, I would tell of Leo
I would announce Aquarius and Orion
I would point to the North with confidence
If I ever needed to help navigate in the dead of night
So I studied in the library, those glossy books
Pictures that were perfect and thought I knew
What I’d see if I could only see, but the clouds
Never parted and the city lights obscured
So that I was thwarted because only
In those glossy books could I know the stars
And now those lessons are lost on me
And when I gaze and when I can see,
The stars, they don’t quite speak to me
As those stick figures connecting the dots
In the days of my youth, when I longed to know
What the noble Indians would surely know
They are now just twinkling dots of light
And I’m pleased to enjoy their beauty
As I understand how light has traveled time
To present something wonderful for eye to see
Even if I may never quite hear them speak to me
I sort of woke with an idea for a poem/blog at 4 this morning…. I was reexamining the math and slope of rumor, theory, supposition, opinion, fact, and truth, and then the higher unassailable, essential truths. Things that are called facts if not supported by statistics, as well as testable suppositions and assumptions are not facts, but merely opinions…. some of those are not much more than rumors. I heard from people, meaning I have no statistics, and it’s unverifiable. I’ve heard that two out of three people believe this… did you ask three people, not much veracity, but if you sampled 50,000 people and 67% believe this, then two out of three is something to pay attention to… but this is not a truth, it is a fact about opinions, shaped by how the questions are asked and the assumptions represented. Truth is something that can be proven (even if it’s difficult) to be true all the time, i.e. if A=B, and B=C, then A=C is a theory that can be analyzed and with some difficulty proven to be a truth that is immutable. But essential truths are more valuable, for they are caused by the examination of our “essence” as in we are human, and thereby not infallible. This cannot be proven except by a history of existence and examination of our souls, or for that matter our soles… you didn’t think this was going to be totally serious did you?
I’ve listened to too many lies, and distorted facts, some may not like this, but I write what I feel and what comes to me….
Trump Lies
If the truth would suffice
He doesn’t even think twice
He’d firmly embrace a lie
Even if he knows it can’t fly
Because the lie sounds better
He’ll allow imagination unfetter
By the peskiness of inconvenient facts
Or the annoyance of uncomfortable acts
For once he embraced the joy of the lie
There’s no legends his mind cannot deny
Of greatness for self once again
And absolution of any possible sin
For in his scattered, tattered mind
America’s great again, and everything’s fine