2 Eyes 4 Beginners

I have known for a while
but feared looking
at the solid words
etched already,
I feel with my fingers,
it has already been years
since we lived
looking
together.




Image by Philip Hermogenes Calderon (1881) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Stuffed Turkeys

Our tradition, silly, yummy and lame-

we perform annually just the same.

Our ears and bellies full,

our cups all overflowing,

spilling out as it were,

endless, lest we forget-

we will eat again.

Forgive us for our acceptance 

of more, when we need less.

We will answer the temptations

with cranberry jubilee, 

high on sparkly, 

giddy in our gluttony.

For ours is a land of adopted fables

and on this one we fill our dining tables. 

With dopey peopled sated smiles,

a quiet table with mouths stuffed,

 corked and gorging, all thankfully mute

knowing nothing more need be said

except perhaps, Please pass the bread.

Image By Steffano Francis Webb [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, circa 1915.

What Nots and What Have Yous

A-lone
which is not by It-self
we are not
hungry for hollow bread
Satisfied
we are not
as they are.

Ex-posed
to the elements,
sheltered from the cold-
blooded nature of time,
we are not
afraid to gather together.

No-body
taking a place
at an empty table
we are not
waiting any-more
for second(s),
when years will only do.

Rich with excess
Starved to impress
reminiscing to regress
we are not
In-stead of wishing and wanting
we are blessing and yawning
making new batches of Progress
and wiping up spilt regrets.

With indebtedness to our grand Hostess
Here, we take the left-overs
for tomorrows
grand children.
Today
we whet
our appetites
craving nothing more
than what we are not
indulging all the more.



Image of painting by Cornelis Bisschop, circa 1664 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

A soul on a stroll

Along the Path
we must go alone.
Yet things catch our eye,
glisten just so in the sun.
Sometimes we stop to linger
a little, thinking about beauty...
But we move on
when the light changes.

Along the path,
we must go alone.
We meet many others, new faces
walking and join company
for some paces, for a time-
until their path goes another way,
to a place that is not our own
destination.

Along the path
we must go alone.
Milestones remind us to push
ahead, rest before it gets steep,
and don't chance a glance back.
Footprints fall behind,
markers of the past,
so we don't go in circles
if we are aware
of our surroundings.

Along the path,
monsters lurk in the dark shoulders,
watching the moon guide your steps,
unable to penetrate your light.
You may have to change direction,
many times, but you will know
where you are,
you have seen-This before.
When you arrive There
remember, you will know
Why, Then
we must go alone.




Image by Allen Butler Talcott [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, Path through the woods.

4:14 (am James)

The darkness amplifies
any tiny tears in the thick screen
It is only i
that stirs the silence,
shuffle and peck.

A chime moves to hear itself,
setting a key
for Saint Ana to use today.

Behind the black, wind which is not,
the freeway tunnel blows and gasps,
cats eyes and downshifts, wind it is not
drops in the back, picks up strings.

The cats purr follows the rhythm
of his breath, reviving vigor on exhale.

The fountain trickles for effect
gurgling fools gold in the desert garden.

The birds all still abed in boughs,
have yet to set the tone.

The stars sparkle and wink wearily
in bursts that were sent
long away and far ago,

For this day-
whose silence
sounds
promising.

“Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while then vanishes away.” -James 4:14

1st Image of painting By Wilmer Dewing, Before Sunrise c. 1895 (http://elle-belle10.livejournal.com/1795371.html) [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Cat Sunrise Image By edited by Mary Mapes Dodge [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, c. 1884.

Strum Duck (Haiku)

Are you not afraid

that the more you learn, the less

you'll have to say? Yes.

Blunting the News

(November 13th, 2015) Paris, France, along with the entire world watching, was violently terrorized by radicals. After recently reading an essay by George Orwell titled, "Politics and the English Language", originally published in 1946, I noticed Orwell was on to something. The author notes in his essay the abundance of cliched, trite, jargon and excessive emotive vocabulary particularly found in political writings, news pieces infiltrating the mainstream media's messages. Linked here in its entirety, it is a thought-provoking read 70 years later. Powerful, meaningful language does not lose potency (poignancy) with time.
The following poem was composed by using the text of a CNN article and omitting all excessive, (what could be construed as) vague, or frivolous, emotive words. Those eliminated, discarded words (sometimes strings) are presented in order here, in the form of a poem.


Blunting the News

The prevailing emotion is now fear.

Fear that anywhere and anyone could be a target.

A sudden noise, the air is thick with sirens.

Controlled suspect terror

took the lives.

The French capital is in a somber mood.

Dozens, tripling France’s ability to bomb,

sweeping powers were

rallied with massive demonstrations.

A celebration of diversity,

a coming together of faiths and ethnicities,

most cultural, but fractious.

A dozen leapt.

The landscape has changed.

Tens of thousands

of would be abandoned,

blighted by conflict, trekked.

Vast and also shown ever greater

ambitions beyond.

Now sounds much more menacing,

Erosion of trust.

Quiet, some in tears, queued

A subdued, eloquent, leading, loose, inflicted, sophisticated

and presumably financed and infiltrated.

Shocking display, young, wage, more disturbing still

at least four plots this year alone.

Candid about the security situation,

clear, have chastened.

Palpable episodes will follow

promised after months later.

Anxiety has been heightened the by comments,

according to United States officials, equipped concern,

exploiting products, reforms of intelligence, bear fruit.

The threat is immediate.

External borders, deflecting blame,

criticizing the border controls of others,

senses an opportunity, will bring terrorism.

Hoping to benefit mentality regional

sense of siege, perhaps best demonstrated by the declaration

passed almost unanimously, gives, allows,

invariably in the blighted banlieues that ring many towns.

Especially the young, divorced and disowned by society,

inhabit a world, become radicalized, shabby

neighborhood, placed whole, an hour’s drive away

looks down on the world’s media.

Holds surrounded, representing liberty, equality and fraternity.

The second time this year flowers are being laid-

perhaps ideals.

“…modern writing at its worst does not consist in picking out words for the sake of their meaning and inventing images in order to make the meaning clearer. It consists in gumming together long strips of words which have already been set in order by someone else, and making the results presentable by sheer humbug.” 

-George Orwell

Image of painting by Édouard Manet [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, At the Cafe, circa 1879.