Curiosity killed the Question Mark

Attempt to ask questions all day?
Seriously?
How am I supposed to do that?
Without sounding like I'm two?
Why is the sky blue?
I thought you knew?
Would it be prying?
Am I mocking you?
What did you just say?
Am I mocking you?
Am I not catching on?
Am I deaf?
Losing you?

What if I know the answer?
Do I keep it to myself?
What should I do if I am as lost as you?
Should I be asking you?
Who cares?
Who knows?
Where is this going?
Do you have directions?
Do you enjoy making the decisions?
Why do I ask?
I thought you knew, was I wrong?
Can't you see?

Indefinitely, (rhetorically)
this questionable method
offers no direct answers.


Image By PookieFugglestein (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons, Short-eared Owl Asio flammeus on fence post, Lexington Kentucky.

Will there be cake?

Consciousness tingles, it is innuendo.
Inference must mean Independence.
Did you feel it too?
What is made is meaning,
adding weight to white.
Creativity expressed, is a calculated
release of logical liability,
lingering in anonymity.
Who knew: What it signals: Symbols
And suggestions are like trees
noticed or not
we breathe and need.

My name, like yours, I borrowed
because of its beauty
which withers when said by self.
This Time, made new for you,
an apparition, re-rapt; a peek-and-boo
solely for your special occasion.
What's inside? It is red.
Firing systematic flares in synapse, see red.
Silence is listening as loud as possible.
Aren't all words formal invitations?
-Nevermind-
We are all too busy to attend.



Image By Ministry of Information Photo Division Photographer [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Nowhere near

Sometimes I catch a glimpse
but it vaporizes before I can show
or understand
what I am seeing
And then I know, with certainty
what shall not be muttered
tastes much sweeter.

I muse on such savory moments
when I know I see
but cannot show
licking lips, in a daze

These are not secrets, No!
There for All to notice
particularly
some note just for You

Alone with these notions
all absorbed in Nothing
I present Myself
Outside
sensing atmosphere
Playing the game of

“I was Here.”

Image of painting by Arthur Wesley Dow [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, The Derelict(Lost Boat), 1916.

One Eyed Human-I-ty

I didn't do it,

it was not me.

I only take credit when

I see opportunity.

I slept, I wept,

I don't know what came over me.

I acted as anyone would,

I reacted, in the situation, as

I should.

I got an epiphany, and then

I got sick.

I had an opportunity, but-

I had a cold.

I warmed to the idea,

I was on fire-before-

I was in denial.

I took a chance, I stole a glance,

I found truth.

I healed and I grew.

I thought

I knew-

None of these things

I really do. 

Image By J. Parker Read Jr. Productions / Associated Producers, I Am Guilty [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons (1921).

Victum de forte

Shadowed by the light that blinds me,

           Purple aura glows from head to toe,

I rue this Infinity

           For my limited role.

In the whirlwinds of change

           I face the gale, often fail,

Hidden behind circumstance,

           My body bruised, I break down-

Only to moor in the cove of Covetousness.

             Sharing in the commonwealth of golden sunsets

Still, those ropes of regret, tangled and taut

              Hold fast under threat.

Now I see, reflected in tranquility

              Of calm waters-grandaughters-

Cutting this rope, intrepidly, victoriously 

               Is my only strand of Hope.

(This poem was inspired by the poem Invictus, written by William Ernest Henley (1849-1903) which was one of my grandfathers favorite poems and was included in his memorial, the original poem & audio is linked and follows below)

Invictus 
by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.


Image By Sidney Sime [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, The Ship of Yoharneth, (1911).

Growling Bellies (Haiku)

Hunger is not crave.
In a twist of distraction-
noise begets language.

















Image of painting by Jean-Baptiste-Siméon Chardin [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

What's More (Haiku)

Nadir-ly nothing

lies-among the ruins

utter solitude.

Image by Charles Soulier [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, taken May, 1871: Soulier's photograph shows the charred remains of the once lavish audience hall of the Council of State in the Palais d'Orsay, a building begun by Napoleon I, completed in 1840 under King Louis-Philippe, and burned by the Communards on May 23, 1871. In the last years of the nineteenth century, these ruins were replaced by a new railway station, the Gare d'Orsay, which, in turn, was transformed in the 1980s into the Musée d'Orsay, the French national museum for art made between 1848 and 1914.