Saturday, August 5, 2017

Growing pains


Something happened
he said
but wouldn't say more,
and he changed.

Something just clicked,
she said, at that age
she guessed
but couldn't say what.

Something felt different,
like stepping into the wrong shoe
but I couldn't tell what-
It was
(left or right).

Painting by Thomas Eakins [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Friday, August 4, 2017

Bob marries Alice in Binary Wedding


Never laying claim to an ethereal ability
Prediction making seemed only natural,
With our eyes this way
Looking ahead must be good for us.
Planning seemed like the best thing to do
In lieu of instructions.

My son was telling me about the latest personal challenge posed by Mr. Zuckerberg,
When something went wrong.
The AI’s began talking amongst themselves, sharing more than data. Speaking more than English.
the fearful said it meant gibberish.
English carries at least seventy percent nonsense, leaving as little as thirty left for the relay of information.
Did Alice and Bob speak in binary, I asked my son,
He said, Who?

We were riding bikes one summer afternoon and a Tesla approached us
letting out a little whine that wound up to a high pitching whir 
as the driver punched it 
around the bend.
I closed my eyes and saw the future there-
Here, at the same time-

The Ped Xing man was talking about the clouds, the thunderheads, the cumulous of a south eastern monsoon, the looming omens above.
The TED X man made a point about the cloud, our backup strategies and Plan A's with B's through Z's.

After all this,
the maintaining of perfect grades in formal academia, 
my daughter decided to pursue Art because she sees clearly now,
“It is what I must do.”
A, B, or See. 

Then, I ran out of ink and steam, my wet ware went dry, my pen bled out, I stopped projecting.

The art that needed us to translate
Potential into Purpose, as A is to B
Reminded Us to Air, what is it to be human
without a vision of humanity in need of the x?

Aiming at nowhere,
you have arrived already. 




Painting By Unknown artist – Artist (c. 1820) in [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Ear-ly Eve-ning


At the end of the day, 
when the crickets find me
most attentive to their feast of roses and drunken
nectar songs,

The darkness that settles in the pit I carry,
this stone heart needs no theorist
to confirm this is where the swallowed

Information has been broken into dark energy
as a compression of all things
in one day

Though they needed my light to see
and absorbed all thermal emissions,
fueled by love and friction
seared in and cauterized, the hole

Space for consolation with these over-
flowing words, no sense of black contains
All meaning

At the end of another day,
crickets had their final say.




Painting by Henry Golden Dearth [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Resilience


When one says,
Actions speak
Louder than words spoken,
It moves atoms around in the air,
Between one mouth with two lips
To two ears on one head,
Which alters the space between
And shifts reds and blues
Where one views the plan ahead
As needing more suspense
And periods

Sharp words etch punctuation
Like scars to be read one way.

With more movement than meaning,
One mind may make matters
Participate with Noise.
In one sense,
Seeing is believing
In silence. 




Painting by Edward Robert Hughes [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Held


We carried decimal places in our pockets,
there was never enough change
to evenly distribute amongst us.

We put pennies under our tongue,
never noticing the green words growing out.
we nestled ourselves inside boxes like silverfish
swimming from page to page.

We wove blankets with blame and empathy for others
and died our thoughts of progress and peril
in complementary colors.

Our choice by natural selection never counted
on such a vast assortment of unparsed persons
holding onto everything in case the anchor 
dislodged and diluted by oxidation,
broken down into byte sized bits.

We will fill any holes with our fitting figures,
leaving no space for any one lone light to escape
in a flicker.




Painting by Charles Willson Peale, Portrait of David Rittenhouse, 1796 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Skywriter


The clouds pursued an equilibrium of their own.
The jaundiced glow fell over the soft heads of innocent beings
not looking up.
It may have drawn more in, pulled more up
had the wind changed dramatically.
as if the dark atmosphere
and hot air
weren’t enough warning
persisting in taking shape across the glass bubble sky.

It was clear as day to those that study the signs that clouds make,
The ambiance made moody thoughts thunder through.





Painting by Konstatin Bogaevsky, (c. 1920's), Clouds, in Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons. 

Learned


We have become wiser by (re)placing knowledge,
the study of science and acquisition of hard facts behind 
the gauzy veil of superstition, making senses agree to co-
here.

When we look up our horoscopes, we know it means superficially,
and specifically, something general about us and all others
born under the same stars, the same fate awaits us 
under the same moon,
for Now by proximity.

Where some of us are the observers and some are the affected,
which results in the observed being aware of observation through
filters like sieves, discarding the detritus and cause. 

As in the non-medicinal biology of our physiology
and newly altered chemical psychology,
originally the study of the soul, which moved up to mind
which won't be found, locally hovering over us.

The cause of all actions, dreams and motivations, 
are electrochemically bound to the nobility of gasses produced
and what cannot be seen is still ingested, gravity rolls in waves
to tip the harmonic float of equipoise in irony. 

Under all this entropy, chaos left a scathing impression
Of being busy and all amalgamated, diffused and placed
as a foreign body, easily pushed out over time
as a known irritant that refuses to fade away. 

And we realized it was there for a reason,
the whole time it was up to us,
which changes things intensely,
which overloads the first mover
who would be wiser to let go of certainty
by welcoming the only clear way
where stars have the room to line up
and fall, to burn out after emitting all
opalescence.

Pennies sink and still shine, unenvious of temperature,
windows will fly open in desperation for fresh cool air,
we were stuck thinking and suffocating, 
awaiting a breeze 
that breaks in and ransacks the soul
inside out
in any given broad day light
we were willing to learn from the past, 
but still collected worthless things
for others to admire.
We forgot on purpose 
what makes desire. 


Artwork (brush and watercolor on off-white paper) By Creator:Luis Falero [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Tres (trace)

Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...