Forecasting rain in inches

Step 1) Observe

The atmosphere thick,

we could feel the rain,

almost hear it coming...

While waiting it was only fair

to summarize the bottom line

for the accountant that doesn't

count fiction, the paperbackless

bookkeeper-maths read or black

not grey matters.

He is given by charitable donation, 

two whole words he's never reconciled

to the penny, namely Time and Memory.

Step 2) Hypothesize

Balancing Proust, with pi and infinity,

he admires my interest in chaos theory

from afar

thunder marches up the mountains,

finches scatter in the meadow below,

this feels like dark matter I imagine

filling in corners, spackle, sealing gaps-

clearly, this thinning and spreading

cannot be considered conservation...

Step 3) Test

The moon inches away,

Orion loosens his belt,

in this Age, the ewer overflows its rim-

we notice displacement-

forgetting about the rain and rising water

all around us.

Step 1) Observe

 

The mind may be mysterious 

most simply because we do not have time 

to solve definitively for X.

Some sentences add up facts, like Faulkner

in august, Proust in jest, all the rest in pieces

to be recalled, summoned as messages

for the neuroscientists

who seek the spark of dendrites in lights,

detonations via regional locations,

wondering why we memory...

Step 2) Hypothesize

It is Situational Awareness.

This is a problem for space

and here I stand pinned 

on this arrowless ray, today

marking my words

for later...

Step 4) Conclude

Those slippery days, segments of totality

some times get away.

We are irrational and grateful

gravity is given without question.  

Photo credit By NASA on The Commons (Barbara Askins, Chemist) [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons.

"(1978) NASA hired Barbara S. Askins, a chemist at NASA's Marshall Space Flight Center, Huntsville, Alabama, in 1975 to find a better way to develop astronomical and geological pictures. In 1978, the Association for Advancement of Inventions and Innovations named her the National Inventor of the Year for her invention of a process that restored detail to underexposed negatives that would otherwise be useless. In 1978, Barbara Askins patented a method of enhancing the pictures using radioactive materials. The process was so successful that its uses were expanded beyond NASA researchers to improvements in X-ray technology and in the restoration of old pictures"

Chit for chat

Who are you talking to? or what are you talking about?

Nobody. Everything.

If 'Nobody', then aren't you communicating to no one about Nothing? 

Why waste your precious time? 

It occupies-my (precious) mind-some-times.

Who has Time for all that? reading? writing? listening? to 'Nobody'...

What else is time for?

Work. Some Thing. 

So, writing, and reading and listening-these are all                leisurely-un-activities

-easy would you say? not Work.

Yes. Of course. Everyone knows this. No.

How does Everyone know? Did somebody tell you this?

No, Nobody. I just heard it somewhere. Everything productive is work. Work is a productive thing.

That works...for some...productions or some things. I read that nobody listens anymore,

you have proven everybody wrong. Unless I am wrong.

You are right. 

Painting by Károly Ferenczy, Engaged in a conversation (1912) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The Humble Home

Sow and germinate our Pride,

stretching our will and want to cover

what we made need-later. 

Iniquity, I admire this perfect little life 

I have made

to dwell in and upon,

check in and out as I please...

What it seems-better to me-is my reality

I forget...why did I come here, compelled-

so I step away, hide things from myself,

to discover If 

I like those memories,

Truthfully.

Like you, before me,

I see anew at half way through-

though it was forced upon me 

by reflection,

Virgil left a note saying 

the rest is up to self sufficiency

Trust me

in finite, it is not complete.

Not for me.

So proud I am, but ineffective.

Standing here before you,

not knowing why, unable to convey

all the answers in art, the way I see it-

it pleases me enough to persist, as though

amour-proper was more than acceptable. 

Painting by Sanford Robinson Gifford [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

In questionable fashion

Who told you how to live?

Let me begin by acknowledging our equal need for oxygen,

and then amend, 

nitrogen is what we primarily take in,

albeit we all agree to say 

it is only Oh-two that is our necessity-

in stability and in security.

Really?

Is this all you need? The rest must be greed...
              Upon a star watch all wishes come true.

Did you get the images from the made for reality tv

program, project runaway

fed by pity luck, out of stock-on back-order-by-

perceptive-demand-controls-levers
and catapults.

How can you just stand by, casually 

wanting the same not enough to go around?

You're losing it,  ground you never gained, receding

by the grains of sand you planned your foundations 

upon return to all unfull-filled wishes and keep 

coming back to what looks better but never is

Yours Truly
Wanted.

Silly sap, you don't need all that crap

to distract your focus, diffuse your feelings,

numb your neurons, echo those morons

and blend in to grey-scale wet ware

you won't want to wear

fashionably

later-or For Ever

enough stuff 

holds you back

by gross weight.

It seems all other dreams

end well...but how would you know...

sleeping like they do

makes it better for you

by breath or in death, 
                gasping for argon
until it is all gone.

Image By Fox Film Corporation (Heritage Auction Gallery) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Truce in Puce

I remember tiny patches

of every day.

One

little lyrical line to savour

one 

poetic phrase to ponder,

a vague quote to consider,

a few hundred pieces 

of art that evokes awe, or something

equally confusing.

And too, one or two 

new matters of fact 

to digest as my own

information source

and all is in total

speculation.

I sought likeness in disparaging items

and was most often wrong

all along

I should have been a skeptic.

I need more 

random memory,

and a more efficient CPU

Of course, you are needy too...

I have finally made my way over

terminal money 
        and time circles.

Statistically, 

all that on the line, waves,

vibrations, striations, 

I thought were mine to keep,

I cannot fit any more 

in my baggage

so I leave poems everywhere

it is only fair

for Them. 

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

Biting the breeze back

That wicked wintry wind
sere-cut through
blew ants inside
made windows whine
slammed doors
and cause cupboards to swell
cold as-

Ruffles-too nice
a term to use for what it does
to the leaves and hips of trees-
raucous a more apropos word
in a nutshell...

Nothing gets done
and it liberally spreads crumbs
for anxiety to expound and nibble upon
and dwell on and on it seems-

I have not slept in years
I have no fears
I can spell.

And there is the calendar
-blowing me off
in the distance;
this instance the breeze takes all
the breathable air,
despite the futile grasps
at straw structures
-Nothing-comes
together in this weather
I yell.



Painting by John Everett Millais, 'Blow, blow thou winter wind' (1892) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The rise of casuality

Because we are the effects, not the primes

as in Primates,

we are moved,

as in affected.

Because we breed

maladies and machinations

we create

as in Creatures

more than was there before Us, 

as in BC (Blind Carbon).

We infer our differences 

in grand designs and poor planning

or preferences and likenesses

as reflections of self-expression

and omit the other view

to simplify.

Why do we need to know

Why

as though living without question

helps with this affliction of mortality

or enlightens eternity...

Shall we give up and let it go, as though

we influence more than our mind 

-do not answer that-

Instead, let's suppose 

the conclusion 

need only a new name 

or learned skill for our adaptable

immutable

Fin de siècle

or inability to sit

still...

We move On

and are moved ever more,

for even though in an odd way

the Word made it the first 

to day. 

Image credit By Strobridge Litho. Co., Cincinnati & New York [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.