The sound of light

What do you want from me?

                                                                                               I want to ask-

                                                                                               but don't want to hear

                                                                                               a reply

This is my friend bearing gifts-

                                                                                               she won't stop offering,

I cannot accept-                                                                      is she senile?

Is it the same thing over and over again?

                                                                                                That would be nagging.

No, I don't know where you're from

and cannot tell by your accent                                                If I could guess,

                                                                                                I'd say Light-

I'd be a slight right.

In the dark you're so loud!

                                                                                                There's more room to stretch,

                                                                                                 and stand out.

Will it ever stop?                                                                     Brightly, 

                                                                                                                I hope not.

Image By Love Krittaya (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

What's the Matter

I am an unstable lepton seeking opposition.

I had a chance to be an undiscovered pentaquark.

And, like you, I prefer symmetry in my fractals.

And am particularly attracted to magnets.

What's the matter then?

Gravity bums me out.

It’s constantly micromanaging, like Time itself-

read on the face, I've seen the circle of life,

but I prefer triangles.

I think wealth should be calculated

by Karmic Score divided by Faith.

The way it looks,

I will get to watch

two Haley's comets pass, elapse

(in my little blinking life).

I used to live at the seashore,

where there are 1,440 waves

that break every single day.

And even though I move around,

(often in circles)

and am not there to see the crash,

I know those waves are still

breaking

(without me).

Nobody can remember what it is to be an American anymore.

America isn't even 500.

Didn’t we manufacture ancient history (yet)?

Monsters make earthquakes.

Geologists think about flatware.

Their i's bigger than their plates-

the I in inertia, that is.

And anthropologists are making strides,

measuring footprints in lieu of the gait.

I never want to grow out of my imagination,

I'm waiting for flood pants to be back in style.

I've accepted my death is nothing personal.

I am not sorry,

(anymore).

May I ask a Haiku or two?

I

The month of May is

politely asking you to

wear your Summer Blues

II

May wants nothing more

than to sweat out Spring Fever

hallucinating summer

Image by Peder Severin Krøyer, c. 1892 Summer evening [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons 

Botanical blasphemy

Perhaps someone knowledgeable could assist me
as to the origins of some common names in Botany?

Some terms now seem offensive-
so I shall tread rather pensive.

Did miner's really desire a salad to eat
on the golden trail, seeking mini lettuce under feet?

What about the poor mother in law
who gifts sharp tongues out of her barrel cactus maw?

Did anyone talk to the Jew who was wandering-
who was maybe not lost, just walking and pondering?

I'd like to think the Indians could not live without Art,
and chose paintbrushes of flowers, or anything with a pretty part.

Or that the Japanese would build little boxes-
from the stalk of little shrubs, even using bonsai axes.

Perhaps Pliny picked a pepper,
his ghost seed carried a la zephyr.

There are some names I'm sure my family just made up
banana succulent, kangaroo paw, elephants foot, the Scarlet cup

I like those names that are easy to say
as opposed to the other twisted Latin way

which are often coded insults to lower species
all of which happen to thrive in feces

In my observation, the plants I've given a common name
have a special glow not like their anonymous or Latin same

Have you tried this too?
I was just wondering if you knew...



Image of Miners Lettuce By glmory (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

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'.

River rocks

The strangest thing about change

is You

who won't move.

Rivers start from a spring-

a need to move

Onward.

Convinced in mossy stoicism,

the rocks jump in

to gather ground.

Bubbling in the hustle,

eddying around,

resisting the rush-

You are the smooth stone.

Let it go.

Image By Rhodington (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Throwing Moth Balls and Catching Fly's

Why it was just the other day, I was staring at the ground, my mind astray,

and along comes a troop of Armadillidillidae.

Now I know this may sound silly-nilly,

But Nay!'Tis 'bout those Roly Polies and Bug Boy Billy.

Who doesn't love pill bugs when young-

'Cept did you know they eat dung?

Shoot 'em like marbles, baby bug balls-

Shoot-more fun than playing with dolls!

'Cuz things that are wild and that wiggle,

Always make children wonder and giggle.

So back to Bug Boy Billy, who likes his bikes;

had a Make Believe Shop where he'd fix trikes,

(Since even the most handiest of boys,

 use special tools that are really just toys)

And just the other day, as I already said,

A line appeared on the ground, a gray thread-

But it 'twas those same very Armadillidillidae,

crawling and millipeding in their buggy way,

Itching to make a pit stop

at Billy's infamous Trike Shop.

Billy told me they were in great despair-

For they had no bikes or trikes for repair.

This was precisely their pill bug problem,

they pleaded with him to make some-quite solemn...

Lo' they had no candy or gum they could pay -

but promised some privy perks anyway.

So Billy happily went right to work-

and he did so with a slight smirk.

When asked what he was doing-he shrugged and said, "Oh you know-

I'm just lettin' these roly polies help git my imagination back rollin’."

Image By Lewis Hine, 1874-1940, photographer. [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.