+Advice

Meanwhile,

all your work was not wasted.

See,

you wouldn't have understood me

before.

What's more,

you already knew these things,

such as; simple sayings, adage, axioms
and cliches, articles of accessory

seemed so gaudy, and yet
tried. 

Unlike any new advice such as

subtle suggestions, elbows 
and a nudge,
not this way, we learn as we
make progress. 
You

have this one life, one chance, one

You

must do what you love

Now.

Ask.

Ask not for permission, 
don't wait for approval 
don't doubt
empty pockets have holes.

Ask without question what is
Best. One foot at a

Time, time

is watching you
while you have an eye on it.

This time 
is yours, borrowed.

Counting the friendly hour,

you

count on hands

and wonder what it all

amounts to.

Like wilting exclamation marks,

on a petrified Dali branch,
there was always the expression 
and what it meant
to you. 

Image of painting by Honoré Daumier [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, Advice to a Young Artist (1865-68).
Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot [1796-1875], Paris; (his estate sale, Hôtel Drouot, Paris, part III, 7-9 June 1875, no. 665); purchased by Arthur Stevens.[1] Guillotin, Paris, by 1901. Adolphe A. Tavernier, Paris, by 1901.[2] [Ernest?] Cronier, by 1904. Goerg [or Georg], Reims, by 1905. A. Bergeaud, Paris, in 1910.[3] (Alex Reid & Lefèvre, Ltd., Glasgow and London), by 1927; sold to D.W.T. Cargill [1872-1939], Glasgow. (M. Knoedler & Co., New York), by 1928.[4] (Galerie Étienne Bignou, New York); sold 1941 to Duncan Phillips [1886-1966], Washington, D.C.; gift 1941 to NGA.

A-round A-gain

It was only natural,

the moon mattered more &

the stars too trivial to twinkle.

It was as expected,

as time unfolds memory,ensues, 

enframes and borders the view.

It was

more than the medium

or the membrane, the skin sheds and mind

stretches     out for much       more.

It  matters,

Even when it is all the same-

when forever ended time and again, a perfect moment

stolen in a last sunrise-

for Good.

It was only natural

light, reaches the furthest corners and bounces

back.

On a curve,  

photons careen in corners,

where

          sovereign circles can spin spirals…

Dross traces of dark matter will devour all the same,

sanding the edges

              smooth

for the first Time. 

Painting by Wassily Kandinsky, Heavy Circles 1927 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

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.