Gravity speaks of distribution

While putting away the dishes

in my tiny kitchen,

I recalled over-hearing 

the man say to the girl

'Your eyes were bigger than your plate'

And now I was stacking the plates,

sorting large and small,

thinking how they were all made the same

Each one designed to hold only so much

And the inevitability

Of each one taking a turn

At the bottom,

bearing the weight 

Of all 

The others 

And never cracking.

With the dishes put away,

I look through the glasses

Thinking of the right size

for my eyes

Hearing the tiny echoes

Of gravity 

And thirsting for more. 

Painting by Joannes de Cordua (1630-1702), 'Still life with copper dishes' in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Basket case

What comes

After all?

So much

stacked

unbeknownst

we carry on

Or perhaps

Was it

Grace?

And then-

How much a

handbasket

Will hold

over so many 

seasons,

weather worn

by hand. 

Painting by Winslow Homer 'Girl Carrying a Basket' c. 1882 in National Gallery of Art, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons.

I am-phibian

A line in the sky
caught my eye

the barbed hook
of crescent moon

took no time
pulling my chin up

and out
of my element

and taking my breath
outside
the warm body

weightless
I can only wait
for lightness
to break

through
a comforting zone

at terminal velocity
relevant
only to the speed of
dreams and nightmares

piercing through
this illusion

of you
waking up
or falling down
but always catching

a peek
under the surface.



Painting by Lionel Walden, 'Twilight, Evening Star and Crescent Moon' c. 1925 in Public domain.

316 million tons: Our weight on the world

Deadweight
Feels heavier
Without a light source

Emitting and casting off more than
Darkness which regenerates
On itself
Like a quiet tumor
Reaching

Look at Atlas,
His flexed muscles
Atop his torso
Showing his amassed
Strength and Dilemmas,
Symbolic

The woman is rounded
Into fetal position
Cradling her empty
Gut, where lead linings
Rust

She must endure
the pulseless womb
Internally,
Empty

He will never feel this weight
Carried
in her pit, shriveling up
Potential
Against will

She will take on more

Despite this moment
Wedged under a
Ticking clock

Like counting down
Our rock planet teeters
Without her brace

It would be wise of man to
Expect the Fall.



Painting by Adolph von Menzel (1815-1905), 'Sister Emily sleeping' c. 1848 in Public Domain. 

Body

When composed
I have been most like a
lightly punctuated piece of prose.

I recently noticed this
when asked about tendencies
and putting ourselves into forms
or shapes.

When tasked
under grammatical conditions
we need not justify
why we do
to be understood through all the
various transitive verbiage.

Assembly was always required
of us
but never easy.
Only a certain grace found in
a harmless poem
could reflect lightly
a likeness of Others.

Our bodies of work
lie
in the white spaces
where there is room for the shadows
cast by the words beheld
and there are more than enough
glimpses of more
meaning
to be caught-

in mid-air-
afloat where we see
more than the sun setting in
(a day).


Image of writing by Joseph Carstairs, penned c. 1820 in [Public domain].

Whyte light

Lean out,
breathe in.
Step off,
take it in.
You will fly
they praise.
My wings must be wet.

Whyte, white light
from acme to abyss
this mountainous
poet dragon
echoed across
my blood river valleys

and Up
I aimed a gaze.
My eyes-directing
my eyes where I wished-

Like the flower
happy to bloom,
in bloom
noticing the ever-changing
view.

Left with these notions

what must come down?
Come down
what must,
what must...



Painting by Thomas Moran, 'Mountain of the Holy Cross', c. 1890 in [Public domain].

Formicidae

In moments that require us to stay
put,
against or free will,
tortiously, we may see some relief
in the focus
on a leaf or insects, say
the way
ants seem so purposeful
about their busyness since
distraction eases the
due process-

But then
it doesn't take long for us to
jump in,
and kill it,
this one
Stopped
his trailblazing,
his dead friend lie underfoot,
for a moment
he wondered why,
I could see it-

Anyway, I am moved
by this
and he proceeds to collect
his dead
taking him somewhere

I wonder why
it matters so much,
this weight to bear
the same as when I carried
mine
into their graves,

one realizes in
tense moments
the weight is the same
and ending in a tie
or twist of genes,
neither of us will
come out alive.


Image credited by Lubbock, John [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Ebb tide

Tragic are those lingering losses,
comic are the erratic gains
all rippled with guilt
as if others saw
perception seemed worth its weight
to carry with us
all life, blending together in summation,
sometimes synchrony, although
in our exclusion
atonement is a single strike,
a note that takes its sound
along with others,
once more
the chorus comes-
laughter snaps like light limbs
which dam up
the tear ducts
for a time,
like ours when passage
was most important
and our structures remain
sound against the wait of all things
pushed to sea.


Painting by James Whitelaw Hamilton c. 1896 housed in the Yale Center for British Art [Public domain].

Bulbous

The earth slows down
just enough to focus on a handle
as if made for us,
made for touching and gauging
the sum of all things
with the unbearable lightness of possessing nothing
earnestly.
Time flies, hope levitates, spines flex in-
tensely repulsing gravity
just to keep up-
right
after the fact, I heard back home
the mighty oaks had toppled on perfect-
ly calm days,
the redwoods, however, stood their ground.
Meanwhile,
down here, the passiflora
already swallowed the fence
and now nibbles away at the eave.
On this evening
the colors come too quick to name.
It was
the tulips
we were expecting
to Spring,
the wait was too much to hold still.
Over centuries,
it has been discovered
our heads have become rounder.
When I look harder
it seems like
Venus' belt is shrinking.




Painting by Franz Werner Tamm [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Galileo's Hearts

The hours carrying over one heart beat
                                to the next
which only make echoes of now and forever.
                                This crude hammer-
ceaseless-does not heal but molds to fit
soundness through all narrow passages
                                pushing breath aside.

This welcome breeze washes over
hot cheeks
with smile,
injecting light
where darkness filled up silence with stories.

There was once a time
when it was easier said than done.

Flutters and leap seconds could be folded
and kept muffled
in between a steady place
and were bound by revolutions
mistaken for revelations.

Now, as predicted
none looked further than necessary
and overall, it was universally agreed,
                                          inevitably
the shifting weight
would crush us completely
while the drum rolls on.


Painting by Arthur Hughes [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
                                        

                                         

Bide and bide

Patience was a problem
he was working on
And so: Nothing Doing about it
All's well that ends in a day.

Around the bend danger awaits,
there was no other way out.

Asking about contents and swatches
make a myriad of answers juxtapose and
work without reason.

I still stand-awaiting your reply.

His hyper heart, the others tainted blood, the ill-tuned organs, the laced food, the zombie pills, the (mixed) media/ (missed) messages, the dumb distractions, the deafening volume, the vast emptiness, the toxic air, the yellow water, the rush, the summit, the plummet-----
Do it NOW!
That is-jump-the wait is too great to hold onto for longer than patience holds peace.
Later-it will be too late to learn of love
and its heroic acts that fail to think
before giving up
the weight
was over.


Painting By Gordon Coutts (1869 - 1937) – creator Born in Glasgow, Scotland. Dead in San Francisco, California, United States of America [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

community pool (Haiku)

The hungry hippo

does not roar but weights a round
edges to blend in.

Photo credit By Don Juan, Comte de Montizón (1822 - 1887) Details of artist on Google Art Project [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The Fall (Haiku)

Inevitable

the onus of gravity

facing Truth and Time




Image By Kusakabe Kimbei [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.