Heft

Balance may never be explained
in a constant way.
Sentences have periods,
stories are many series of scenes
that never end.

When we insist on showing someone else,
the way it is, the way we see it
changes inevitably
somewhere between pointing and looking.

There is always more to see.
Obviously,
there is no way to stay
in equilibrium for an eternity.

At least we both must hold on
to something
that seems worth
mentioning.


Artwork by Édouard Vuillard (1868-1940) in the [Public domain].

And then...

Been dying to tell you the secret-
just like it is
Everything is in fractals-not by structure
but in grid-in-side-grid-space holders,
a map of anywhere on parchment.
Pores perhaps provide a relief-map.

Fractal as a symptom of a laser aimed at
a prism, facet or side-effect, escaping only where it burrows out from
hazy photons penetrating angles,
becoming-White. There.
Be coming color-full.
Describe what violet looks like to you?
Is it between two shades?
Tell me how to do the steps for the
choreography of light,
or memorize algorithmic sets
without giving away the Bigger picture
as fractals demonstrate, inevitably infinite.

They have kept me quiet long-
enough to forget what was wrong
to begin with.
They asked, finally, what I see-
They didn't-
know the origin of the light.

It is on.
Won't you come in-
(secret)
I have seen the missing pieces

between us-the dates do not align.

Painting By Sigmund Klempner (1867–1941) (Christie's) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Round and Sound

To find a new center
we can focus on balance,
sides and equilibrium,

Although atrophy never lasts
-nothing to sphere-

Diametrically, we weigh shape,
as if a perfect circle was the ideal
to show the ray.

Light bends, travels,
precedes, tints, radiates,
shape-shifts, falls and lies.

Some angles are smoother
than others,
shorter like radii
Such is life.
Piece of unfinished pi
and I-colored-out-side
seek only to penetrate

Inside the lines

of poetry.

Painting by Vassily Kandinsky, 'Circles in a circle' (1923) in Public Domain via Wikipedia Commons. 

ROI

He looks forward to
a cold beer
after balancing the books
all day.

She looks after
the home and kids
before they fall apart
again today.

He questions
if she has done enough,
She answers,
Dirty laundry is never done.

His job is Important.
Her role is Obscure.

His time is well compensated.
Her life becomes poorly defined.

The tension to stretch
makes them both
recoil
at the thought of
broke(n).

She asks him about his day
now that he is relaxing,
he tells her about the stress.
No wonder
He does not
ask her
the same.

Eventually, he passes out
cold.
She checks in warmly,
to see if he needs anything
more.
He spends the night
breathing heavily.
She treads lightly
earning her commissions
in Time.

He will be right where
she left him.




Painting (still life) by Gerret Willemsz Heda, c. 1642 in [Public domain].

Homo-stasis

Let me be beautiful-
but not so much so that it makes me
ugly to others.

Let me know more
than everyone else,
but not so much
that I am to blame
(for everything).

Let me be plugged in
but not all the time,
because it weakens the
battery.

Let me love water
but not so much
I drown myself
for want of it.

Let me take in all
the air,
more than enough
to hold inside.

Let me read every word
that means something
to someone,
let me hear
all the wisdom
that may be
profound.

Let me love.
Let me live.
Let me love life
but not so much
I fear death
for the love of
wanting it.


Painting by Matthias Stom [CC0], 'Old Woman Praying' c. 1630's-40's in Public Domain.

Like Life

Life is only understood in reverse order,
philosophically,
we trust the disasters and miracles
as necessary catastrophic shifts
and dramatic scene changes
the curtain drops
the Act is up.

When the world as we knew it
once hovered in equipoise-
disintegrated and crumbled before
our thin-soled shoes,
we thought of tides
and how they rip the earth
from undertow,
and leave us
to balance
less.

As chaos is to entropy,
we stand our ground despite the speed
of orbits and bullets
hoping to break the spell
of wait.

Pen and ink drawing by Henry Fuseli (1741-1845) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Clean sheets

The poem stared back
at the two pleading eyes

saying nothing
about white or black

nor was any indication given
as to where a poet

should set up thoughts
for the night

with rigging and taut lines
for a reader to traverse across

in high winds
and find their own

-balance-

if the stanza is strong enough
to support mass tourism

and photography.

If you look long enough
or blur your eyes

an Image develops,
what comes through

was over-exposed, covered
with a starch of pareidolia

it was still safe enough
to be considered
shelter.






Painting by Désiré François Laugée [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Her yin

The woman saves babies.
I have seen her catch one
in midair with one hand
as it was falling out of
a walmart cart.

The woman I have seen
juggles jobs, hats, dishes,
bills and priorities,
shifting her wide hip weight
when necessary.

The woman stands in front
of her own children, taking bullets
and returning aim, she puts her arm out
when they are driving
still
and says it is reflexive.

The woman always worries,
I have seen her furrowed brow
she has origami secrets folded
up in there,
she uses up more than she has with nothing
left
of self

The woman knows her cliches and expectations,
she recites them easily if you ask,
and somehow
day to day words assemble easily for her,
she may manipulate these into weaponry,
unless she sees
some innocence,
she proposes poisons leaving bodies
awake.

Painting by Bronzino (1540) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Positively pessimistic

Is it easier to accept all good things
must reach their end
than the bad times
that meet this same demise
because we repel
what its worth,
reject positives,
deflect compliments,
to maintain our polarity
or sense of balance
diametrically positioned
in the middle of the mundane
generally relative
to the negative subjective
circles we spin,
where we begin
pessimism is always possible.



Photo By OSU Special Collections & Archives : 1949  (first day of school),[No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons.

Finding a fulcrum of neutrons

Moderation
as in
All Things
is the wrong way to say (it).

-Balance-
is better.

Resistance & Effervescence
finding some concordant way...

This eliminates Fate
in the individual
(in)divisible
fields of knowledge like poppies
heads-
against an aqua sky.

The pendulum works this way
and that
we know we are going
away
even pinned in place.

In semi-sleep-statis
there is a cosmic atomic trace
of needlessness (n.)
Yes.
This is the best way
for All Things
moderately
imbalanced.




Photo By Daderot, Foucault pendulum (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

The Earth in equipoise

Home,
the word hums
and soothes in smooth repose,
perpetually proves, be-
longing, to know hospitable
conditions are predictable.

We hold these truths
in suspension,
taut in timely tension,
grounded in granite,
equating gravity
with magnanimous motive.

She spins out
like a top
to a point
where sound and light
are white
in stasis
harm-ony
equate-or
aligned in orbital
epi-phany.
Home.


Image taken By NASA/Scott Kelly from ISS 7/19/2015, Moon, Venus, Jupiter, Earth [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.