Syndication

Saturday, February 27, 2016

I Got You a Gift for My Birthday

My bro, My sister
I saved time in a bottle for you

First I sketched out a small painting of one
Then slowly poured in time.  Crude I know.
It wasn't exactly as easy as making coffee,
But about as much fun.

This is a little un-nerving for me,
Watching people uncork it and use it.
My Dad found just a little bit of one,
And now he's rushing off into storms unabated.
Thank God the weather has been mild when he drives through.

It's really not all that complicated
And in fact probably quite commonplace
So-much-so we taught machines and robots the trick
Though they eternally leach the product.
Let us not give A.I. credit-cards I tell you!
They might poach our mercenaries... or...

Each painting I make, each crafty thing created
Is my time in a bottle, useful for many things, not all
Some has to be given up in the process
And in that process, that delineation, that ism, that schism Affixes

Attaches to the Attache' a label of diplomacy... directions, price-tag, form-factors
But there is no sale-by-date, thankfully.
It will probably make someone really wealthy sometime, not me.
My bottles just pile up in portfolio
withering like day old pizza under a heat lamp in digital pizzarias.

Sunday, February 7, 2016

The Boat to Australia

How are gravity waves formed?
By talking to one's therapist, or...
Sharing a secret with friend?
It seems with intent we fritter away energy
Changing our angle, shedding our clothes
But what creates that wave, merely a pulse,
Where an excess creates a lack in a low?
And what's changed besides our mass index clinical diagnosis
Perhaps it's that and those around us that do the changing, I suppose.
Because I might feel lighter and smaller
Or I might feel big and tall
Often I imagine letting go of all, only for it to come crashing down
Back into my world to figure out what to do with once again, after all.

Maybe that's where I'm sheared
A taking off of imagination, plodding to pier
Where someday with phone I'm sitting on the dock after dark
And friend says we missed the boat, It's never coming back, I fear to myself.
And I see it floating off slowly to the really un-real in the land of nod.
Happened years ago, and everyone still worries I'll find a ride.
It's all gotta be low-key don't it Tricky, don't it hyde...

And maybe that gravity wave is only now hitting you
But you cannot see them and never will
However things are different now, you can tell
Instead of my dock, it's a cliff or walk or garden to grow
Or maybe a pile of wood that's grown moldy for all I know
Or it's a kayak never bought, or maybe a fishing trip with dear old Pop.
Or maybe the loss of a Mom, or maybe some clay lying in lot.
And like sand with gravel in it, there's big and small
But it's all been weathered and kept away from me far.
The sea is gone the smoke put out
I've been left to rot, and been left out.
Someone stole a piece, and now they're gone.
I've been ignored and taught in off-hand attendance.
But the truth is I've been neglected, again and again.

I think one day everyone will remember me, but have no boat to fetch.
And in remembrance will definitely say, "we screwed up leaving him" Yet,
Why? I don't know perhaps it's this shiny phone that powers up God!
Though I've yet to get it to work much for anyone else.
Maybe because it's a secret as big as one gravity wave,
Something we can't see, but believe you me, it's Gold with circuitry...

Monday, February 1, 2016

Born This Way

I've earned my insurance
I can feel good about this

Why?  Because I can type
On my worst days all I can do is click a mouse, true
Why?  Because I can answer a phone
On my worst days I let the phone ring as long till voicemail
Why?  Because I can relax
On my worst days everything is an omen of dread

Why?  Because my computer works
On my worst days I'm reinstalling software or deleting programs
Why?  Because my house is warm
On my worst days I forget I turned off the thermostat, radio what-have-you

Why?  Because my life has work and love
On my worst days I can't find or create meaning and purpose
Why?  Because I'm listening to music
On my worst days I can't hear anything but whining overtones of electronics or light ballasts
Why?  Because I have a fine picture frame
On my worst days I am tempted to throw everything out because it has no place to go

Why?  Because my fish entertain me healthily
On my worst days they're trial and error and sometimes have to be flushed
Why?  Because my lamp is off healthily
On my worst days the whole house is off because I threw the breakers
Why?  Because I have food in the fridge healthily
On my worst days there's no fridge, no food, no house

Why?  Because I have bright colored paint on the walls healthily
On my worst days I'm living somewhere I can't paint the walls
Why?  Because my worn rug keeps my feet warm healthily
On my worst days I haven't vacuumed and I get splinters
Why?  Because I can list things I'm thankful for healthily
On my worst days I forget I can even write with a pencil

Why?  Because I am breathing easier for my ventilator healthily thankful
On my worst days I choke wheeze spit and cough from lung congestion
Why?  Because I worked at getting someplace that I could live with healthfully and thankful.
On my worst days I am ill and die thousands of times
The problem you have issue with is one- of a -hundred that I deal with!


Why can I feel good about this health and thanks?
Because it is mine, God is good, and I'm good to give thanks!

The Paints of Soliloquy

The painting lowly clings to the wall
Gripping tightly it holds the all
One world, in miniature, an instance
One can dream in

And in that world you can hold your breath
One could float and drift away from the really unreal
And the mundane crap one deals with whether dishes,
Or the perpetual problems arising from chaos
A sweet song will carry you away from stress

That sweet song, that caress of soul relieving...
Could be made from the bones of the world
Like this poem   Simple in reflection but tied to real worlds
Like a visual vignette portraying fantasy perhaps
With reds of the sunset splaying and dripping up into sky
And blues of deep waters floating mountains rising
And greens of people playing in fields of barely seen haystacks
Blurry, textured, transmitting to you all their realness

But in that paint is power unseen
The cadmium can reside in Livers for years
The lithium could buoy up dreams of living
The rose madder could speed up metabolisms
     like the brown from st. Johns wort certainly does
All if eaten and consumed
     Poisonous in consumption
           From the Cobalt waters to the shining sea

           This thing that freed your life from misery
              Could totally end it so dangerously
           By the very thing that took master to create
              In a tube of leaded metal

Isn't that existence