Obscurities

Dense fog rolls across the chiseled terrace
steps from West to East.
Downtrodden and quite oblivious
of Man's conventions, this mocking
mist, as in a gathering of ground clouds,
shrouds the serial sequence of events,
entrances and exits undefined and occupy
our focus, hazily
we get stuck
when we cannot see
ahead.
Shadowless spaces between,
scoff at the series we expected,
anticipated
of Inventions and Evolutions
and Apocalypse.
We've tried to rise and plunge
gradually
to adapt
in this solid state.

We seem to seek the End as if it were
the top.
Admiring an ascent out of view
despite our narrow window
to appear or seek
escape and opportunity
everywhere but specifically
over there.
Such low lying obscurities like
grey matter gathered in this way
concealed the landing
so we may walk across the clouds
making us feel mist
the most, despite always Being
invisible at certain angles.






Artwork by F. Childe Hassam, 'The Spanish Stairs' c. 1897 in  Los Angeles County Museum of Art [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Green copper pot

When a woman has
One child and makes
Zero investment makes no
sacrifice(s), contributes
None,
the yield on this bond
does not depreciate
into negatives-no
this product multiplied
Itself,
condensed and compensated itself
entirely with exposure to the elementary,
the obvious and raw goods,
thereby taking its own shape
by directed collisions
with steel objects,
only adding
character and patina
values molded with age.



Painting by Martin Dichtl, 'Still Life with copper pots' circa 1639 (Public domain), via Wikimedia Commons. 

kindling

Maybe the best way

to keep love alive

between two

is to

always start

but never end

with a Maybe. 

Artwork credited by Charles Jacque, c. 19th century in the Metropolitan Museum of Art [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Blind i

Losing one's eyesight is the prelude to
insanity,
indirectly.
The words lie there, lined and
blocked,
and the Brain knows what to do,
but can no longer sharpen
the peripheral
imagery with ease.
Poor lighting perhaps
not more than denial
that it was all a blur.

My grandfather had Alzheimer's,
I used to think it was called 'Old Timers'.
My grandmother got glaucoma,
we don't know when it started,
nevertheless
we never saw each other's point of view.
Makes me wonder which is worse...
I think up and makeup
for fading memories, visions,
and finally, recall, I remember
what I came here to say-I now see
Time erases All



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

Mis(s)worded

Since
I couldn't
no-wouldn't
stand the voice
No-noise,
the incessant barrage
of worded white noise,
I wrote poetry
(for constraint).

What does happen when
2 pennies are rubbed together,
a spark
of sense?

The sound that silence plays
while filling in the gaps
has become louder the older
I get, as if I get
something.

Who is the I
that claims to Be not I-
the poet

The words with an alibi
from elsewhere
saw how small and narrow
the mark Itself made, and made
more width and depth
to shroud the naked nouns.

When I went
quiet
you covered your ears.
My two eyes narrowed
even more,

the poem burst and dissipated
in front of us, like memory
maligned
for lack of metaphor
or something nice
to be noted.






Image credited by Edgar Degas [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. 
Title: Louise Halévy Reading to Degas, c.1895

Time's up

The two women acted tough,
forgetting their lady-like roles,
trying to win a popularity contest
without a prize,
and as petty little ladies often do,
they threw a-round the word "Best"
like a dodgeball.
But women can jump in heels,
can see behind and see through
costumes.
Make-up is removable.
****************************

The gentleman was gifted but
he knew the charges were coming,
soon. He would owe more than he had.
Hands on the trigger.
His desk is packed up in a box
that sits dutifully like a dog
by his dull loafers. Emails erased,
trash emptied, a final scan a-round
a corner window office
formerly occupied by a-round peg
seeming to be a dull square. Any body
could hold his chair. Professional,
calculating and an all a-round good guy
with a giant fear of the female,
her articulation, his worst case
just dis-missed due to conflicting
interests in gender roles and their
unjust entitlement or oppression-
he wouldn't say.
*************************

The young boss man is full of vim,
vigor, rigor and righteousness.
Bless his greedy hands clutching the reins
of his tall steed. He tramples the herd,
whipping them into his desired geometry.
Only now he found,
there was nobody a-round to
blame for missed fortunes, for the gaping
holes, balls rolling, for getting in his way.
Elders eyed another path,
an alternate pace, a safe place to
participate without giving away
experience.
*******************

The company decided to set the price
as high as the bar
could be raised,
so the product always hovered
just out of reach.
The company did not discount
the value of free advertising,
disregarding all costs.
****************

The free world leader
traded his hefty income
for a chance to control
the immeasurable,
to push the ethereal agenda,
to take a title already under copy-
right, to hear himself proclaim,
denounce, hear his own voice
and believe the words
were enough to fill empty bellies
not just heads.
The leader chases his tail
and demands we follow a-long
the lines
what comes a-round
goes on to repeat itself,
itself, the same as
his 'huge' following.
***********

Insurance, like promises
does not provide tangible compensation
unless a claim has been made
on total losses.
We must be living
to learn.
The finest print
excludes all the
preceding liabilities.
******

A reaction is a result,
the equivalent of
a resolution.
***

The movement
already occurred.
**

We just witnessed-
A passive act.
*

In-dividuality

These few
need to be near me.
Draw themselves into the fold in-
creasing the density of space it-
self-personal bubble, but
flat out refuse to be
touched
There. Too in-
timate to be considered
delicately. Anywhere
these bubbles abut,
list and lean in-
to one another, there is
a bursting of the seams.



Painting by Peder Severin Krøyer, c. 1881 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.