Sense making

Some-things 
Stirring
But you cannot see It.
Less than wind
must be
that other
Dimension You
Feel but cannot
Touch.

Tension
and tingling, and tummy flips
Come from
There. You can smell
Rain
can't you?
Never-mind,
I think
I have asked before...

Painting by Alexander Helwig Wyant, 'Wind Clouds' c. 1927 via Wikimedia Commons in Public Domain.

Blue earth, Red sun

Earth will end on a Sunday.

The sun will have had its best days behind...

The moon, long retired, makes wax figurines.

So we are all stars.

Nothing disappears without direction,

even inside itself.

Concentrate.

The ethereal essence is growing without us.

Earth, like a sponge, porous

we take it all in until full

dripping with light.

And just like deja vu, we knew

Earth will end on a Sunday.

Drawing (pen, ink, graphite) by William Blake [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. The great red dragon and the woman clothed with the sun.

Pequeño Sueño

Like waking...
When the material world
flashes its things, solid as snapshots;
clock, window, truck, cat, plumbing,
stretch toes, sigh deeply, lay, sheets,
sweat, stir. It comes. Solid. Heavy and Material.
You've fallen awake. In the thick of It.
Exit bed, feet float, glide along, smooth tile
and enter your dream…world.
The motions-you move through-
seeking any signs of a new day.
Yes, this is all too familiar.
Here you are again.
And then you realize, rationalize;
a dream is to pretend. I pretend
Practicing the motions
with a lingering notion
nothing you do is new.
All that you think and say
was there before you.
This is no nightmare, but awakening
is scary. It is your secret
when you weep-while you smile.
Playing your part, stage set,
cast into type, lost into words
you've memorized
but have no idea
how they got there
and seem suddenly, today

something new,
or just acted out

by the other 

dreaming You...

Composed 12/3/15
Image of painting by József Borsos, The Artists Dream (The Little Painter), 1851 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Kinesthetic revival

Born out of our inertia state
while silently
our senses
are sewing
our patchwork genes,
to Be
delivered, redeemed, undone
the blank slate begins,
to write it all off
a pattern to follow
blindly, numbly, not for us.
Not able to notice earth's busy spin
its constancy keeps us safe
centrifugal, reactive, unresponsive
never the less, we regress...

What's more, Those, they
(such as We) that feel
First-
and make sense later.
We don't walk into webs,
our antennas always on high alert.
Hyper-sensitive, ultra-receptive,
gut feelings or (not)
knowing and acting
instinct and intuition
dreams become reality
-we enjoy-
coded messages
defying gravity
while carrying burdens
throwing our weight
testing our substance
hoping to make an impression
in the sand, on the sky
shooting for the stars,
hovering in a black hole
gravity swallowed whole
floating in Nirvana
and residing there
easing into eternity
for never and sway.


Image by I, Luc Viatour [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html), CC-BY-SA-3.0 via Wikimedia Commons. Water on web. 

Haven't I seen you somewhere before

The soul divided
Twice undone
to the power of one
made whole by reflection

The moment of the shortest light
Good and Evil ebbs and flows
in the Noon and Midnight glows
your shadow hides, refusing to pose

You are still the same You
even as you grow and change
recognizing your old self as strange

A reunion of sorts
to meet in the middle
of life, like solving a riddle
reminding one of deja vu a little

Don't be afraid to peer deeply
past the pane, into the windows of the soul
while reciting the rote lines of your role
Acting like still life takes its mindless toll

Notice the view as you climb
Up, or don't and stay the same
but you cannot blame
your over elevated aim

Running into yourself
after all these years
no longer judged by your peers
or motivated by fears

Easily spooked, a sketchy outline
of who you really are
now grown older and traveled afar
mapped and trapped by your own falling star.



Image By Harrison Weir (1824-1906) "Reflection" [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.