Little big things add up

You count the ants,
I will count the stars
The sheeple will graze in between.

The sun will highlight
optical illusions,
as color-wheel real.
The moon casts shadows
on our little delusions,
fear reigns supreme
in dream.

Our being
Here
while pointing to a view
too minute to see audibly
too vast for me
to grasp without the imaginary,
makes dreams with my reality.




Image credit Popular Science Monthly V. 29 (1886), thru telescope image via Wikimedia Commons.

DaVinci DeCoded

My mind froze-muscle stuck
on the sleek he-lo cruising low
along the coast-line,
just over my head
instead
of interrupting-
cutting in
with bladed arms,
it was a welcome drum-roll.

And I could clearly see in-
side, which is precisely when
you can begin
to see its very ideas-drive
thoughts and
over-all direction-
lob-(oto)-bing
(me) atop up there
as I stare at it

With every intention
of taking me a-long...
Suspended, I was,
with my head
up in the clouds,
thinking a sinking feeling-
the theory is as true
as the sky is blue-
and we are all
just weighting.



Image via Wikimedia Commons, Leonardo Da Vinci-Helicopter. 

The value of a thoughtful penny

One.
Few to none will tell me
the ultimate futility
of poetry
although
I already know
how few
understand
(me).

Many people prefer a pretty penny
over poverty, and honestly, I see
and I confess, I do too-possess
a weakness for copper-colored
tokens of superfluous luck.

Wasting her life, living away-
not even a wife-
she has nothing to say
what is writing worth-anyway?

Stark raving mad
I was with an out-of-shape-will
ill-fit to my unforgiving form,
with my soul squeezing out
the loosely knit seams-
suicidal skill without
a word threaded to-gether

And whether given a choice
when you've known
what should you do
I ask this task
of justice too...

Two.
Just know it means nothing
of value
if one values no-thing
without copper coated
currency.


Image By Daniel Schwen (Own work) [Public domain or CC BY-SA 2.5 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5)], via Wikimedia Commons.

Deadheads

  

   W   D            V       T     S     T     E       N    E           B    O

      I E                  A S             A   L              S  S              O O  -who-who

       D                     D                D                  D                 D

       I                       I                  I                    I                  I

       A                     A                A                   A                 A

       S                      S                 S                    S                  S

  EMILY          Baudelaire     ELIOT      (cummings)      POE

♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ 

Neruda questions

Paz professes

Rilke imagines

HD colors

Stein figured

Shelley ran

Wordsworth worked

Thoreau thought

Emerson opined

Whitman boasts

Frost argued

Longfellow leisured

Blake preached

Byron proposed

Shelley ran

______________________________________

O’Hara: Played

Cage: instrument

Ginsberg yowled ♪♪♪

______________________________________

William Williams Pictured Pictures

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

Millay maybe musing

                    Dante day dreamt

Shakespeare-Oh Deare!

Anonymous says the Truth

You & I=We Listen

Image By Julie Geiger [CC0 or CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Fifty-five shades of cadet gray

It was the thick piled blanket of gray
that made the metaphor more simile today.

Cumulative as a collector of dew
indulges in a spendthrift rain of blue.

Cowering behind high pressure,
it may have been up in the air,

but it lay down on all in between,
nestled in nature.

Birds under-cover, the grass
fast asleep,

And audibly thick sound
envelopes
from gravity's position
I fathom
to scream
inside-it does not carry
you out

I doubt it was definitely only one
up there-
clapping-
cutting, stomping, sucking, sputtering,
interrupting frontal intersections

Slicing with a mallet, tendering with blades
heart beating to ear drums

a-long the gray highway
in-complete-dis-guys

two-way mirrors like
our eyes,
the other side of sound
surround

don't bother to look-
it was only one-
a passing Chinook
in the stealth of May.




Image of painting by James Ward, Sky Study [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Missed the train

Pistons pop up and pump
left-right-left-in-even-time
while in passing
they debate the state of
why and wheretofore-
Two for-what?
to four? two ate? a double-date?
Wait-it went-two-four-eight
Not too for, but eight
is enough
Past two, past four, not from
Four to eight
four
two
8
or not
via
loco-
motive
One walks
once in a while
by two, by two.



Image by unknown author, c. 1879, [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The Art of Being Neighbors

My neighbor from upstairs
stepped out onto his balcony
at six-fifteen on Wednesday
evening
looking
like he never got up
for Wednesday-he was
up-stairs, as I said
while I, in the garden
down bellow dirt level
watering and weeding
while he, squints
in critique at his canvas
tilting it and his head-
waved with two fingers
disheveled hair
and a puffy face
at me squatting
I may (as well) be making
mud-pies-
I told him
Happy (late) Birthday!
he shrugged it off and
stammered about-
surprises, bottles and friends,
his cheeks match my
roses.
May I see-asked I,
knowing he needed an eye.
He obliged-
and it was
*magnificent*
and so-the guilty party
was forgiven.




Image of painting By Carl Geist, 1906 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.