The sky has fallen –
Chicken Little has been
Reported dead,
And the boy who cried ‘Wolf’
Is being digested
In a large intestine.
Fortitude is lost in these
Bowels, but it is too late
To apologize,
To say:
“I was mistaken!”,
That this time it is true
And that It Doesn’t Matter
Doesn’t Matter
Anymore.
Waves crash, marking their rebellion
Of the land they diminish, they
Strive to destroy that which is not them –
Leveling, time is only an impediment
In the creation of sediment.
The stones stand stoically,
They fear not time,
They fear not the waves
Or the fact that they are shrinking
And soon to the bottom sinking.
They stay the course, just as the waves
They stand because they have no choice
They are here until they are gone
Knowing this, they stay where they are
And wear as badges every scar.
We are all waves, we are all stones
And we are all diminished with time
Yet when we are rocks we yearn to be waves
When we are waves we yearn to be rocks.
Stay the course.
Short haired girls,
Long haired boys,
Raspberry blended cappuccinos,
Simple ideas of Art procreate –
Taking each other to new levels,
They mature with each other –
Subjective good with
Subjective bad –
Mix with the passionate artist’s
Paints and voice as he
Describes his work to all,
All that will listen.
A freely leased soapbox
Leaves the walls.
His art cannot stand alone.
Late at night I think of blue green water
Just beyond the breakers on a
White, sandy beach
With the taste of coconut water and
Saltwater mingled in my mouth
And the ripple of currents
Subtle and strong
That pull out away from land,
That pull away from the island
That pull away from the world
That let me sit outside
And look in
As though over the reef
On a glass bottom boat.
Group dynamics and energy transfers
Discussions turn into argument disasters
Passion and passion with
Intellectual black and blue,
There are no concessions
In the egotistical lawsuit.
The rhetoric flies and the words are spat –
Caffeine filled people do caffeine filled acts,
The observer puts distance between them and eye
The viewpoint shifts, discussion becomes benign
Voices fade, body language viewed –
Animals constrained to coffee table zoo.
Cigarettes are lit after voices are raised
Coffee is ordered in a bloodshot daze.
The voices lower, agree to disagree
Situation defused, the anger abates
Discussion now gently speaks of debate,
And that’s the part people really hate.
Grasping on the handlebars
Of a grotesque yesterday
I careen through this space
I bounce through this time
Trying to build something that
Defies even the architect
And I’ve never been so alone
And I knew that.
Fifteen years ago I walked away
Running from the yard
Returning to fifteen years of
Weeds
Crab Grass
And small insects that sting
And looking back
I knew that.
So here I am, the only things changed
The challenge increased
And I hope my abilities have
And I sit and stare at an empty yard
Pondering the thoughts that I repent
Thinking of the ways to clean
Trying to clear things, and…
I knew that.
Re-reading this in 2023, it brought me back to that day as I went to the house where my father died. I did, indeed, know that. And I did clear things.
Some say compromise is noble
But “not at the cost of betrayal”
Remains unsaid…
Lost to those captive in books.
The water compromises, seeking
Paths of least resistance –
Yet it never betrays itself.
To be water is to be understood.
People compromise, seeking
Paths of least resistance
And betray themselves –
To be human is to be misunderstood.
The cradle robs
The hand that rocks it,
The essence runs through them
Like water…
Dashing through,
Hitting the floor,
It splashes,
Then
Drips.
It forms a pool
Reflecting the hands
That once held it.
They said that I was leaving them alone,
Yet this was the way I found them –
Alone, unattended in my perspective,
Their behavior unchecked,
Their resignation
Creating my own.
Some celebrate my leaving as spring cleaning –
Dead leaves dancing in the wind,
They forget that they cannot dance without it,
The stillness marks my passing now, the dead limbs
Remain.
They will fall eventually.
Some mourn my leaving as if I were ever there
Thinking that I am tangible, when
They will just miss my effect on them.
I know this as I know myself,
I know myself as I know the wind,
I am the wind.
Some have mistaken me for the tumbleweed
Rolling, independent it would seem,
Yet this is not so.
I am the wind, and the rolling you see
Simply marks my passing.
I was here. I was there.
I am gone.
I wrote this in 1996. I recall the day, re-reading this in 2023.
Sounds of movement in a silent room
Rustles of wind in a still mill,
That feeling of impending doom
When you can’t keep your breath still…
As we relive the lives we lived
We die in each moment,
We live in each second…
We live through the second.
We survive each second as it happens again
In a fraction of a second
That lasts forever.