Showing posts with label proof. Show all posts
Showing posts with label proof. Show all posts

Thursday, October 26, 2017

Storm chasers

Pulled one over on our Mother
Nature-When we 'wise ones'
learned how to chart               and predict, guess and check
her moods                               and storms associated with wrath
and names,                              personalities,
alphabetically                          with indexes and eyes.

We behold
color coded paths
where weather may walk-
sirens and alerts follow us
In spite of-direction.

Now that is not good enough             -anymore.

Without footage,                     there-ness, like live streams
in microwaves, invisible proof for the eyes-


It never happened that way.





Painting by Karl Bryullov, 'View of Fort Picu on the island of Madeira' c. 1849-50, [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Thursday, June 8, 2017

Give & Take


The most random growth
strikes me as superfluous
Beauty.
Look around;
Light, colors, temperature, 
                        and patterns too ornate
to recreate by free hand. Living proof.
I take it in too deep, bury stars under dust
And as ugly as I try
a mote may hope
to grow out of it.


Illustration from Patrick Moore's Watcher of the Stars in 16th century[Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Saturday, April 25, 2015

The possibilities of a fractal


The way I see it-
art contains real magic.
Like blinking, or like an automaton,-always on.
Projecting its wizardry when no one’s there to see it.

A child is a miracle-
of busy blurred lines.
Making it difficult for others to focus on them directly,
blinded by their angelic buzz of innate electricity.

Art is the grandchild of God-
or whatever grand-father you Believe in.
It’s immaculate conception and delivery are born proof,
of a source, the straw that was pulled, the ignition point.

We are the ghosts of our grandchildren.
Now.
We have to pave the way, clearing our Karmic path
to Here.

Art arrests shape-
holds it captive-
to represent-
likeness-ness.

Our family tree,
rooted in our orchards of History,
bears ripe fruit of juicy inspiration,

tastes like sweet familiar childhood in the shape of a fractal.




Image By Randomness (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons, 'Fractal face of Beauty, 2008'.





And then...

  Change is like that strong smell of cut grass or chopped wood that stops you still. Patterns, a symbol can be an illegible sign,  at first...