A city called Home

If I were blind the first question would be
Where,
then Am I?
If I were to listen I could not tell our places
apart
Your city sounds no different than my home.

When I close my eyes
                to turn up the volume,
when I strain to listen in
               the sounds become deafening.

I can hear your train
               passing through.
I can hear the rushing waters,
through my fountain
                or your pipes.
I can hear conversations
                not for me,
laughter, underlapping rise and
fall
of voice-
a plane passes also
                not for me.

I can smell the cafes, the local fare,
I can smell the clothes and bodies,
I can smell the trash and perfume spent
for no good reason.

The pots and pans,
footsteps, traffic, coming and goings
of whims from my window
it tastes exhilarating.

Smiles, and dings, rings,
jewels, tones, excuse me's
and gotta go's
seem exhausting.

Everything
I could ever need,
under one roof,
safely knowing each footstep
                      to the door, down the hall
                      to get the mail
                      to get back inside
                      (where I hide)
called my place,
or your City
Where
        I am right at home
taking in
the blind view.

Hyperborean

Under the shield
of summer and satire
It is cold inside.

They are all as lost as we are
so don't follow Those-
taken outdoors to witness
the sky
holding up,
while others grasp for air.
What can we learn from horizons...

At night,
desist does not do
enough
to take the edges off.

There is color coded warmth
coming from a flaming star-
it sinks in Riga Mortis
drawing a line
from my moment
to an eon
in some dynamic way.

Thus, an impression remains
obsidian and reflective,
oblivious of fixed polarities
as cinereal origins.

A sense of exposure manifests
at-most-fear,
in a moment of raw awareness.
Just-like this-cold air-
I shudder
to think
of a point
taken too far.



Photo credit By NASA [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. 
Astronaut Scott Kelly posted this photo of the Perseid meteor shower taken from the International Space Station on Instagram with the caption, "Space weather forecast from @ISS: Moonless with a chance of Perseid meteors! YearInSpace space spacestation wx weather meteors meteorshower constellation astronomy nasa".

Scratch and sniff

We rose                        Sun hid
I have smelt                  falling stars
pungent peopled          drapery for day
leaning up                    steadfast
petals out                      rooted repetition
for dew                        digs deep
                   Sinks in

                   (either way).






Painting by Winslow Homer, Woman with a Rose (1879), in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Mirrors without reflection

Easy acceptance is a mirror
some more flattering than others
framed and hung
for anyone.

I avoid telling and tip-toe around showing
despite being told
do not believe simply
what you see...

It should be said, instead,
Believe in everything you cannot see
clearly.

The best way to tell the truth is gently.

Does anyone discuss a passing breeze?
But oh how they know about that last tornado!

You too,
have felt time jump and stretch,
but can you feel yourself slipping
on the surface-
if you catch the continental drift-
you know-
Archetypes and Adaptations are Alive.
The same story with new lines,
reflecting the ages
for anyone
that does not appear
in natural light.

A mirror is no
window.



Painting by Vilhelm Hammershøi, Interior with a mirror (1907) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Sob Sonata

The rumbles around sound-
roars that surround--
no discernable locale---
indivisibly missing
musicality, pressing

pieces like piano keys
vibrations strung out
taut us to feel
the re-percussions
in our bones, marrowly
on tune.

Aural artistry struck dumb
by letting too many high notes
float
off the grid.
This is how it sounds
when tears chime in.

Unlocking grooved records
teetering on a clef and
caught in a cosmic web
solidified as steam,
in thin air,
the words will find you
on the treble
if you feel deeper
than the brute beating
of unsound bodies.




Painting by Thomas Eakins, Elizabeth at the Piano c. 1875 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Canvassing the scene

Perhaps it is only when we paint
that we can taste each dash of color
on our palette.
Like when we listen
to silence
and find none.
And where we see
almighty vistas
and are awed in a splendor,
agape at the sheer place
of our infinitesimalness.

If you close your eyes and exhale-
notice, the black dissipates...
The volume condenses
to more than a sense
of some thing.
And when you look again,
it is evermore,
 the first time you've seen
this way.
That is
a work of art.




Painting by Henri-Jean Guillaume Martin [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

A Broad Cast: Carbon Copies

This is a test,
this is only a test.
If this were a real catastrophe,
instructions would follow.
This test is a measure to decrease alertness,
required by the Prevention Committee to spark
vigilance and fear, consistently in support of
Public Welfare. Watch the ticker
for more minute details about your
nether region and up dates.
Consider fleeing with your family,
as if this were a true tragedy,
remain orderly in fashion
ably late-
If then
run for your Life,
but you must stop
copying the answers
and putting your name on it.



Image By Partridge, Rondal, 1917-, Photographer (NARA record: 8464464) (U.S. National Archives and Records Administration) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.