A round of a pause

Magic elixir, quick fixer,

there is no cure.

It is fatal, even tragic,

there is no real magic

in metallurgy,

by standard,

gold gets warm to the touch, silver reflects

soft and such-

Just ignore

those that keep score with trinkets

As alchemists insist upon

what is made is nevermore

than before

enduring and manipulating

the use

while passing through,

by hand.

The philosophers’ stone

Mostly taken for granite.

Painting by Luis Ricardo Falero, Study of a Witch (19th century), [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Day dreams

The world is flat-after all.

From here on the ledge
of this precipice, crisp
ridges jut through hazy space.

Placed in perch, the pendulum,
humming in wide ether ebbs
across calm chasms float
ascending the abysmal
highs and neaps-
the watcher sleeps, while
I's skip across the surface-

It is good to know,
up-on deeper reflection,
if light were soft,
nightfall would not hurt-
so much as with onus-
we carry dreams, inklings
heavy enough for sinking stars.

In arches,
the moon bounces back,
putting herself away in phases
setting limits on the possibilities
of how far eyes can go in one day.




Photo By Jon Sullivan [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

A bird in the bushes

That sudden moment you realize

in full color,

Everything has changed

dramatically-

As though the view had become slightly altered

-say some trees missing over there-

the skyline is as good a place to start

against which the details are sharp-est

most vivid.

This was the moment

that would be marked

the point of divergence,

a terrain change

ahead.

All is

unforgiving in this light.

I said up and above, bellowing

over heals past keeping pace and you race

to keep flying

toward this shiny chromatic destiny as if it were all the same-

to you,

estranged.

This very moment remains

coveted yet-

unchanged by the bumps and bruises,

fallen limbs and

sin,

regardless

of it always being just

this way.

Image of artwork By Internet Archive Book Images [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons.

Carried on

It's all helicopters and electric guitars;

alarms and alerts-

this is more real now

than t ever was

flashback

With all the gears shifting and grinding

motors spew grease like spit

fire spreads like mad thoughts aloud.

It's all safe and sound and sun-shine

and it's not

lemonade stands and phone booths

nor Captain America or capes-

Now

some-where-else-one-mixed-up

present-past-back-again-remember…

Legends say

Silent nights

and nowhere fast and new,

howls deep and long and

carry on,

the rest

I cannot remember,

we’ve lost our hero.

Image credit: By Marshall, S. L. A. (Samuel Lyman Atwood), 1900-1977 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Imagination

Fractals, for example,

are the most simplified demonstration,

visually

of why we Science

and by social connectivity via

organic growth

by presenting pixelated predictability

and also string theory

we try to collect the dots.

Overlapping these

is closer to any

one point

in Reality

or limited by spatio-temporal 

relativity.

I agree, conceptually, anyway.

It is wise to fantasize

about things like

algorithmic altruism

and kosmic-karmic-knowing-ness.

                        Besides, it feels good to stretch

and probe those idle lobes

and reach with our soul, consider, ponder, wonder

and flex our potential realities

Into conceptual theories or infectious ideas

ad infinitum.

Wouldn’t you concur-

Nothing is better than momentum. 

Animation image by By Biajojo (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Circles of influence

As with Death and Being

(in love),

you only know it when it comes

close enough to smell-it gone.

This doesn't help us.

It is curious to wonder

why we still get dizzy

(in tight circles we spin)

when this has always been

the Prime Mover

of things that (are like) matter.

It is earthshaking to think all of us

know something

(is speaking directly to us)…

As with Kodiak bears and Great White sharks

act Bigger and be LOUD-pretend you are more than you are.

We don't dare admit

this is not enough.

Survival is still

just our luck.

Painting by Christoffer Wilhelm Eckersberg [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Title: Ulysses Fleeing the Cave of Polyphemus

“Eckersberg spent 1811 to 1812 in the studio of David, practicing life drawing and history painting. One of a series of subjects from the Odyssey, this is perhaps the most compelling. The giant Polyphe­mus in his cave looms over a sheep, searching for Ulysses and his companions, who blinded the one-eyed monster. The men have escaped beneath the bellies of the flock; Ulysses, at the end, prepares to join his companions. The Mediterranean light is dazzling. We viewers remain imprisoned in the tenebrous foreground as Ulysses slips away. Eckersberg’s study of the eloquent contours of Greek vase painting is put to good use here.”

Deaf, dumb and mute (me)

If you ask me Today
I'd undoubtedly admit
I was built this way,
it is my arch-i-texture
rehearsed.
If you ask the same Tonight-
I might not answer,
despite having something nice to say.

Either way, those questions get slightly worse
all the time
So I'd rather not ask, it is not my task,
I consider this a gift,
I try to listen louder
than anyone can Here.





Painting by Fernand Khnopff, Silence (1890), [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.