Purposeless motion is chaos That ends right where it began Wasting both time and effort When expended without any plan Planning gives sense of direction Providing a goal to achieve Setting a clear objective And something in which to believe But plans have a transient nature That shift with the altering tides Changing the traveled direction Till my plans and future collide And the end point I had longed for Falls victim to what must be So sadly I concede defeat And forcefully subjugate me
I knew it all when I was eighteen At thirty I had some doubts Now middle-aged with teenage kids The doubts are all that remain
Clear and open my mind I'm told
But nature abhors a vacuum
It refills faster than I can empty
Flitting from thought to thought
As I banish them one by one
Grab a meditative thought
A gurgling stream to fill the void
But it won't remain without effort
So I fill in the cracks and crevices
With thoughts that defeat the purpose
Meditation is deliberate boredom
I don't know how to do that...
I seemingly never really can
Shut my mind to constant work
Without falling asleep
At twenty-one my limber legs
Could run without complaint,
My creaking back was years away
I was never tired or faint.
But years of active vibrant use
Have slowly robbed me blind,
Of these mortal strengths and gifts
Leaving memories behind.
Single threads placed one at a time
Contrasting in color and tone
When viewed from the weavers stance
Seem random and jumbled - meaningless
Laid in over time and with great effort
It asks us to wait, then step away
To discover the grander design
You say I block you from success,
That my needs cannot be met,
Without sacrificing what you need.
You have not listened to understand,
Nor given me time to teach,
What and why or discuss alternatives.
There is space in the ground between,
What you need and want aren't one,
Step back and then meet me in there.
We can do what needs doing together,
We can both find some room to withdraw,
And then forward together much stronger.
It’s supposed to be fun, I return exhausted
To a pile of work not done
And no extra time to do it
With a wallet that’s empty
And experiences I could live without.
I had a verse inside my head,
But left without a pen,
It floated there a fleeting moment,
And now it’s lost and dead.
A twittering echos through the air Singing the music of spring As a new generation steps to embark On the journey of all living things
Stop, I'm told, and smell a rose. Pause and take a break. So I comply. The smell offends my nose. Why don't you do what others do? I'm asked without words. But I'm not them. Must I pretend to be like you? What's wrong with loving work? Both the process and results? Rest is wearying. But labor refreshes and refuels.