When in Still(ness)...

They also called it an Empire,

and it was empirical by nature, 

such vast open space.

Larger than life, holier than thou, cliché ridden and

doctrine infested-martyred and named Rome.

But what else could they do

but try to live most-ly

in the little time they lived,

in their little worlds they called homes

making cities, breeding atrocities, too close to comfort

any one or another.

Some chose other-wise;

the exile, the recluse, the slave

those submitting to suicide,

and Then death was revered, a danse macabre.  

Otherwise, it all seems similar-ly

tied to one another by Now and Then.

A full revolution must be given time

to come full circle. Whose to say we could see it move

around so little.

Anyway, it could happen again.

And it could be that we, lately,

have been simply spinning much faster

From the top

All looks still…

There-

The people were all in tumultuous states

of vertigo-

But none said a thing to one another.

Watch they way they talk-

It was all in circles;

Copernicus to Dante, Socrates and the wheel,

and assorted likewise misappropriated

little narratives.

Later on, we read about the fall of Rome,

too easily condemning this ignorance

of inertia, or how our standing under

the weight of air, held us down

to inevitable endings with variable speeds.

It is hard to hear the words Here

with all the rubble in between the teeth

and wind inside the ears,

or see how much time can change so little.

Here we are,hoping the All’s wishing well has an end

in good being, every thing-

although at times

it feels as though we were falling

a little faster

but we could not know

having never felt vertigo.  

Painting by Josephus Laurentius Dyckmans (1845) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Enigmatic Einstein

After theoretically 'successfully' wrapping my head around

some semblance of cohesive understanding of relativity,

the Einstein kind, not just for arguments sake,

the soul relationship between mind over matter,

starts with a succession of power.

Taking all we can from one man, utility wise,

ah, needless to say, does it work?

Coming upon its inertial state, approachable this way,

it was easy to trip over that paradox that must have fallen

right off the shelf, under discovery of the missing item.

Newton would know what we should try.

Perhaps there are too many of these to count

individually. All bits and bites stored within the 

conceptually hard drive.

It was our fault for putting the poison away.

It has become so cluttered in boxes marked Unsolved History

it is now sagging our spacetime beds,

instead, this white head called it the ‘spooky thing’, so we move

away from being scared of what we cannot see.

What ever happened to Alice and Bob and their rocket trip?

Should they care they are always being observed

or the considered the being the observing party, as in-

aide, a party to the equation, without favors.

The measured sentence finds balance, busy, busy, busy

wWe real it all in and call it conservation work.

that was then.

Now we know rain can occur in reverse,

it has been shocking us

ever since

then we found spin has no velocity or zip code.

It is by close relation nomadic and

conceptually centrifugal without further observation

of just the box.

The ghost in the grey long-sleeved sweatshirt

with his ordinary pen which clamps onto the collar

by some sort of hook on the tip, 

the hugs the edge. to make it secure,

or so he thought.

And I better understanding why I dreamt that Einstein,

the apparition, a face of dreams,a symbol himself, 

reached around his neck,

grasping at air, pounding his chest for

what was suddenly not there

and had trouble

finding the words 

to mean what he said.

Some dreams are puzzling-

this is why there should always be a pen
with in relative reach.

Image credit by Ferdinand Schmutzer, Einstein in Vienna (1921) in [Public domain, Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Two sides

It is common to accuse the right or left lobe

for your logical or creative stumble,

when, in reality, these two dimensions of self,

the brain divided, may be called Past & Future,

or memory and planning.

People still get stuck.

The human skull does not seal the two sides

as one mind, until around age thirty.

Conveniently, it is also easy to divide

All people into two types;

Those that arrive early and those that are chronically late.

I will wait

until now comes

together.

♠

The frigate and dolphin sleep

one lobe at a time as they both traverse across

mirroring vast expanses of blue. 

‘Biologists’, we call them,

all conclude that They, the bird and the aquatic mammal

do not communicate in the same way,

Exactly.

Have you ever thought about someone you knew,

historically, and then

seen them somewhere

presently,

out of nowhere?

This is not called ‘coincidence',
It is pronounced eloquence. 

Photo of 'Bottlenose' By claudia14 [CC0 or CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Roost her

Wake up, it said, Wake up, sharply

it snapped,

and it was still not in focus.

Rap, rap, rap, tapping, with the tip of the finger

slapping the face of the stoic timepiece.

Do you see-it pointed. I know-all I could muster out

by feeble lungs and tight lipped projections.

Don’t say I did not tell you so-it did not say

this time.

What have you been doing-the prod grew hotter-

All this time

On the other hand, a second time,

I remember planning.

That is not doing.

It is undoing and a voiding and be

holden-Too long, it melts or turns bad.

You never told me that, I told it.

You cannot let go so soon-
if you give up the only thing

that is yours, what will you be left with, 

it asks of me.

Generous, life has given and taken.
Will there be enough time to finish?

No. That was not the point of it all.

Didn’t you notice that endings are all the same,

it mused from the other side. 

It noticed the out lines, the greys, the bones and shade, similarly,

How can you sleep at such a time when dreams are dying off

at such a rapid rate like honey bees and polar bears.

How can you hide your head in plain daylight?

It was too bright and distracting to look up around,

garish and nightmarish, blinding.

Are they all zombies?

It is terrifying.

It is the same direction, to a point

out of focus
until it has been heard from inside. 

Artwork By Kalki (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Finger prints

Fingers fly across the keys as wings would

cut through cloud space,

wishing everyone was watching

this dialectical mastery in the dicing

of an apple pip up, cubed,

without drawing a drop

of blood.

Beads swell and dangle daunting disconnection

of liquid self, wrung inside out.

Friction finds itself most magnetic

just under the tips

tapped dry.

The raised ink stains the held note.

Painting by Giovanni Battista Naldini (c. 1563-65) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Magnetic fields

The air holds warmth in sealed packets

and ships them to living bodies

whom linger idyllically,

overdressed in gaudy allure,

pink jasmine sprays its lusty plumes

overhead the woven flower wreath

making this crown Joyous.

The mustard yellow fields are lit.

Local poppies have all stuck their spindly necks

out tall, above the scruff and common

gullible daisies.

Petals spark fields of amber glow, 

strong in orange and

merely mocking 

the white weak sun.

There was green hope all over the hills

-After All-

Winter wouldn’t stay fixated on grey

forever. Tasted the difference between 

yellow earth and blue sky-together

And It was good, 

And it was all green

left by the sugary dew

drawn to each other

in the new Spring atmosphere. 

Painting by Granville Redmond, Coastal wildflowers (1912), in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Electra en route

The skydiver sits with legs dangling

over some hazy sepia city, where white boulders

are really single-family houses.

The words in the sky-

The only open space-

mention the management of

Trust and Risk.

From the profile

I recognize the Roman nose and swollen lower jaw,

puffed up bottom lip.

The head is tucked in a leather helmet or bonnet

and thick black gloves meant for big jobs such as 

holding on. The figure is slumped over, looks down.

I note how long it has been yet despite the gap 

easily identified as the Pioneer Amelia Earhart;

whose good fortune in men and time

required no planning of retirement,

whose fate turned ill at forty-one,

whose security was not welded to stocks or

bonded to breed,

whose figure seems compatible

in that alien atmosphere,

who was never buried

whose sealed lips, stony gaze,

Pause one to wonder what she sees

in the shadowtrees painted below,

does this sky have depth perception,

or recognize

the Miss Appropriation, the mixed media,

the teetering between jump and fall,

I tear out

the full page newspaper advertisement

and fold it back into a paper plane. 

"You haven't seen a tree until you have seen its shadow from the sky."-Amelia Earhart

Amelia Mary Earhart was born on July 24th in 1897, she disappeared in her plane Electra and was declared dead on January 5th, 1939. 

1st photo of Amelia and her husband George Putnam taken 1931, By International News Photos (eBay front back) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

2nd photo By San Diego Air & Space Museum Archives [No restrictions or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.