Showing posts with label future. Show all posts
Showing posts with label future. Show all posts

Saturday, November 13, 2021

F8




Theoretically

if someone showed me

the Future

and said This or That

We both know we'd go with

less pain

We go on

without knowing which is which

The will 

yours-

the will see-after

which was worse.

This way

we suffer the same fate. 


Painting by Pietro della Vecchia, 'Fortune teller reading the palm of a soldier c. 1626-1678 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Wednesday, June 10, 2020

Amy never finished her wine


It was in the dregs,
like literal coffee grounds
where the future could be red
and read
as follows;

Two sides
are always connected
somewhere in between
heads and tails,
his and hers,
love and hate
and living and dying
is your Prophecy.

When picking sides
it is safe to presume
that both are sharp enough
to draw blood

and switchblades
thrust open
hearts of flesh and palms
close into fist balls
tossed at those within arms reach.

A residue that stains,
the names of things,
the unswallowable future,
the absence of anything
consumable, the thirst
for pain is a craving
for love and hate.

Desire
of our own destruction
is still desire,
making it
Big
never makes anything smaller.
Having it all
is the same as not imagining
more.

It all becomes the same
sharp point,
*"this is how you switch the blade,
you always hurt the ones you love,"
perhaps passion points us
toward the pain
of never knowing
when we are finished.

*Lyric written by Amy Winehouse

Painting by Jan Davidsz. de Heem (1606-1683), 'Still life with fruit and wine' c. 1642 in Public domain.

Friday, April 17, 2020

Long-view


It gets worse,
or gets better.

Both
chaos and entropy
like cause and reaction
entwined for grounding
the current state.

There is no potential spark
where nothing is conductive.

This way,
we are all safe,
they say this is the only way
to survive
to sacrifice
our freedoms for fear.

What if...
the same question
was posed
If what...?

Layers of complexity are added for mystery;
Gloves, face masks, hats, sunglasses, shaggy hair, alcohol cologne, we have all become suspect(s).
To Be
Watched, traced, recorded, counted, slotted, allotted 1 per person, our fair shares tanked, our borrowed time was revoked, to be copied, pasted and erased.
Mankind does one through five:
Social Divorce, Marital sentences, home tutoring, web meeting, happy hours at home, time ambles a long dark path out of the woods, there are stones to throw and rocks to kick down the road.


Painting by Edward Mitchell Banister (1828-1901), 'Woman walking down path' c. 1882 in Public Domain.

Wednesday, February 5, 2020

Should've asked first...


We were connected
to each others gaze
and more
deeply, once
we wished would last for-
ever.

Remember
with me
conversations, deeply
endless opportunity
being
together only-
beginnings.

I know
that was then,
but I do not know
when this
is-
more endings.

True, I only speak
most
honestly in poetry.
Saying more
than I could other-
wise.

I only ask
now, how we changed
focus-frequently
away...

Don't answer,
I won't repeat.

The blue-lit face,
red cheeks, empty windows
and presence-
elsewhere, I try to focus
on something
as intangible and
deeply infinite,
as sky only to resist
the falling atmosphere.

It is my fault.
I should've asked
you if you think
we get what we deserve
always?



Painting by Philip Hermogenes Calderon (1833-1898), 'Her eyes are with her heart' c. 1881, in Pubic Domain. 

Thursday, October 17, 2019

D-cision (times)


When a person says “hanging by a thread”
Do they feel where the tether is connected?

Mostly suspended and trying to reconcile
Borrowed time,
Time itself stood firmly in front of me

While I was waiting to be told
how and where to move,
pretending I did not care.

How long each second seems when counting days…
I anticipated,
Am anticipating, I await a yellow box. Maybe today.
Already sent. To be
Here soon. Some of us can picture it
In transit.

I wonder if Schrodinger’s box can change colors,
Mid-ship-ment-
inside the dark mail bin-
People were praying,
And I did not know the words, so I thought
About the power of thoughts and how we change
Across our journeys
Those new destinations dangle the
Yellow fleece
But still, here we are,
Standing atop pins and needles
remaining tied to a place.






Painting by John Singer Sargent, 'Marionettes, Behind the curtain' c. 1903 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.



Friday, September 13, 2019

May I borrow your skill-set?


She still looks at me
that way,
One day...

Take it in while you can.
I have always felt this
slipping away...

Passive-aggressive is oxymoronic,
aren't we all
both (hyphenated)?

Having the Midas Touch is not
the same as Pyrokinesis
but ignites a similar spark.

We never have any-
thing for long
enough to use the words;
Forever, Eternal, Always...

Things come and go
and its lightening to know
it has all
been done
before.

She still tries
to change
her outcome
by crossing lines
and parting ways.

No effort is wasted
judging
by the time it takes
to reach a point
of no return.



Painting by William Moore Davis [Public domain].

Sunday, March 17, 2019

Draw out


It must have been
one of those crossroads
that Dante found too dark
to penetrate
and I find myself
sinking
to the depths
of Tarot,
whereby a spark may be
cast,
only one strike,
like sipping one toe into the
Inferno
and you know
I drew;
The Emporer, The Hermit, The Lovers,
The Devil
and Strength.

There is something
strait-forward about
a cross, a sword, empty cups,
perhaps
the pathway, and a Virgil,
that may say
directions,
like selections
when lain, like steps
a hand
is dealt and there lies
choice,
namely,
to forget
The Fool.



Artwork by Dante Gabriel Rossetti [Public domain].

Wednesday, October 10, 2018

Latently


Just yesterday I noticed
somewhere else
the present moment, and all the past
for that matter,
always held the future
simultaneously
rolling it in palm
and under tongue.

These multiverses,
Baoding balls,
hum like crystal lips
and harmony comes out
making the individual notes
indivisible.

Presently,
today, Wednesday,
all rolls along in a blur,
small talk keeps time
separated from the thing itself
and it can only be tasted or felt
one side at a time
just like listening.

Today,
I read a little poem
about transformation
or metamorphosis,
it seems we have always known
these things take time.

Then again, I half expected it
to move too fast.
Sometimes shapeshifts
were mere projections
of light.




Painting by Nelson A. Primus (1842-1916) 'The Fortune Teller' c. 1898 SCAD Museum of Art [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Wednesday, November 8, 2017

Direction


The pod pulls past
super slow

And in one way
the future is seen
in a second

Under notions of nightsky temerity
when moon rises and shines
and stars fall and flame out

The past twinkles
inset overhead

A fine line
between the living
and the dying
dissipates

when we look too long...



Image credit By C.R. O'Dell (Vanderbilt University) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Friday, August 4, 2017

Bob marries Alice in Binary Wedding


Never laying claim to an ethereal ability
Prediction making seemed only natural,
With our eyes this way
Looking ahead must be good for us.
Planning seemed like the best thing to do
In lieu of instructions.

My son was telling me about the latest personal challenge posed by Mr. Zuckerberg,
When something went wrong.
The AI’s began talking amongst themselves, sharing more than data. Speaking more than English.
the fearful said it meant gibberish.
English carries at least seventy percent nonsense, leaving as little as thirty left for the relay of information.
Did Alice and Bob speak in binary, I asked my son,
He said, Who?

We were riding bikes one summer afternoon and a Tesla approached us
letting out a little whine that wound up to a high pitching whir 
as the driver punched it 
around the bend.
I closed my eyes and saw the future there-
Here, at the same time-

The Ped Xing man was talking about the clouds, the thunderheads, the cumulous of a south eastern monsoon, the looming omens above.
The TED X man made a point about the cloud, our backup strategies and Plan A's with B's through Z's.

After all this,
the maintaining of perfect grades in formal academia, 
my daughter decided to pursue Art because she sees clearly now,
“It is what I must do.”
A, B, or See. 

Then, I ran out of ink and steam, my wet ware went dry, my pen bled out, I stopped projecting.

The art that needed us to translate
Potential into Purpose, as A is to B
Reminded Us to Air, what is it to be human
without a vision of humanity in need of the x?

Aiming at nowhere,
you have arrived already. 




Painting By Unknown artist – Artist (c. 1820) in [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Wednesday, June 21, 2017

Gaseous bubbles


It has become customary
to throw up ones' arms
and say ‘CRAZY’ as though
that could be
the end of
the ‘DILEMMA’, not much more than
ennui & effortless cooling
occurring naturally,
after the initial explosion.
The human being,
irregardless of the (in)humanity,
hovers with the curiosity of before’s and after’s,
and our re-action was our only second chance.
Predictions are prepositional
‘PLANS’.
Any body could conclude

All bubbles burst.





Image credit By NASA, Voyager, a child in bubble 2011 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Friday, May 6, 2016

Momentous


There is a fleeting sense
I wish to trap it here-
or is it better to say-
bleed it out
to see it in red
so I can relive
a better way to say
write the past,
in the wrong tense
to feel the heal happen.
If I could make it warm
to softly relay innocence
it would become welcome,
doors could open...
But just then-that is when,
I knew in passing,
there's only so much
words may do.






Image of painting by Attributed to Valentin de Boulogne [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. 

Wednesday, February 24, 2016

Times tourniquet


Last week
I had it all
under control.

Last month
I was excited
about the Future.

Last year
I couldn't wait
to be where I am
Today
yet
I cannot say
it right.

Tomorrow will Be
too much
all over again
and then
another
Year
I fear
of ending up
right
Here.





Image of painting by Hans Holbein the Younger (1497/1498–1543) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Friday, August 21, 2015

The early bird on the horizon line


A line
           is thrown out...there
A line is
           connection of the dots
           summarized by stretching spheres
lined up
like ducks
cluck clucking
in a row
Row,
row your boat by
                            parallel plotter
                                                   navigating the stream
                                                 
Tow the line
                    holding by a lifeline
                                                    hiking the EKG
Wait
        in line
wait for it
               carried down the line
               a vibration
               a sensation
                                 The Ripple-
                                    -r-i-p-p-l-e-
                                         effect
a lure lingers on the line
                                  barbed edges await
                                                                 an inevitable lineal fate
a direction
                 to take
                 to make
out side the lines
                            a circle of infinity
keeps out
               traps in, depending on where you begin
a snap is shot,
                     tracing the trajectory
                                                     tightening the arrow
in array
A line
          a single point of origin
                                              genetically tangled
entwined in limpid lineage
by dates and fates
                             times arrow
                                               on a string
A line we follow to the T
A line we cannot see
A line we fall for
hook
line
and
sinker
The line is cast
we are the worm.



Image by William Blake [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, from Jerusalem-Plate 78.
                                 

Half-dozen Mud cakes

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