No switch to flip nor wire nor plug Rays of brightest white Like clockworks made precise and sure each day o'rcomes the night
Category: Poetry
Lame attempts at poetry, generally written to please myself or as a form of self-prescribed therapy.
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Daylight
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Quiet
Inventions to enrich our lives, fill every corner, nook, and crack, Screens that glow and flash and shift, compute, process, display and track. Hush the screaming lights and sounds, seek refuge in some quiet place, Loose the chains that tie the mind, Take on a calmer slower pace.
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Not Under a Rhyming Star
The rhyming star is a fickle friend, With mystic rays that shimmer and bend, Around and past the would be poet, With fullest heart though none may know it. Visions of beauty and scenes in his mind, Are trapped without outlet and won't be defined, 'Till lamely he finds a flavorless phrase, Lost in a labyrinthian linguistic maze. "I was not born under a rhyming star", He howls in despair to the silence afar, An echo returns with taunting and spite, So he sets down his pen and calls it a night.
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Burden
The truth will set you free they say, Give you strength and show the way. Help you stand when threats come strong, Make clear the route to carry on. Sometimes it's true that truth is kind, Healing hands and heart and mind. But all too oft it carries weight, Truths that grind, and crush, and grate. A knowledge of a harsher sort, Breaks through to light, a sharp retort. The darkened hearts that plot and plan, To hurt, oppress, and exploit man. Patterns followed o'er again, Truth and right now labeled sin. Done before, the outcome's clear, But boldly on, the crash comes near. On every side distinctive signs, describe the flaxen cords that bind. Yet no one stirs to shake them off, Some warn, entreat, but yet they scoff. To see the truth through sophistry, An ancient path of catastrophe, Makes knowledge a burden heavy and grave, No freedom here... I am truth's slave.
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Company Man
While much of the poetry that I write is deeply personal, this one stems from an experience I had helping a friend and colleague through the collapse and beginnings of reconstructing his marriage.
Twenty years he towed the line, In the lead or just behind, Purpose bent to meet his task, Ever solid, firm, steadfast. Many nights would find him still, At his work for hours 'till, Exhaustion bid him pause a while, Then homeward trudge without a smile. Daybreak bids him e'er again, Drawn as moth to candle's flame, Weary eyes in a care-worn face, Search for meaning in this place. He comfort seeks in a future distant, When the work will all be done, Yet each day the tasks insistent, Bid him stay 'till time is gone. While in his poor neglected home, His life's companion sits alone, Grieving over memories dear, Of promised changes ever near. All alone in thought and deed, Her guard let down, she feels a need, Then knocking at her lonely door, Ancient friends entice her more. Hardening with cold neglect, Losing e'en her self respect, She wanders off the beaten path, a one-way road - no turning back. One halt step to test the road, And swiftly others more profound, 'Till shucking off her heavy load, Faith shatters on unholy ground. Youth now entangled by the fray, Their children know not how to pray, Or whom to ask for lighter loads, Ne'er taught to seek in His abodes. The promise made of finer things, A house of playing cards now seems, They never wanted more than time, To share their thoughts and speak their mind. They see the strain in mothers face, Her tender heart with ice replaced, Withdrawn and secret, pained and sore, She loves their father now no more. Pulled and yanked at every joint, they wish for what will never be, Voices shout and fingers point, A shattered future now they see. In days gone by 'midst hope and joy, He'd scheme for idler times employ, Speak of happy things he'd do, When the work was truly through. Yet every time he'd start anew, Some labor kind, or service do, In habits set, he quick returned, To toil in his profession learned. Seeking joy where never found, Dashing hopes on stony ground, Accolades and praise received, Clearly had him then deceived. Now too late begins to dawn, Through misty eyes and broken heart, How changes made so early on, Can stop the pain before its start.
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Monumental
Large even from an airplane window seen, sixty miles away. Built to send people where nobody's been, the vacuum of space. Buses could park on the stripes of the flag, if it laid down. A symbol of pride, a nation's great brag, look what we did. Here they built monsters of metal and flame, they tore at the air. Hyperbole claimed we would conquer and tame, the vastness of space. Pushing man and machine to limits then past, They risked all to explore. Lionized pilots who flew fearless and fast, some died on the way. The men are gone - the structure stands still, shelved to history. A monument to engineering, cunning and will, empty and mute.
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Fireants
Countless small sparks in a maze of maneuver Like flickering flames buried deep in the dark Shimmering, shifting, and boiling below Less venomous than fire ants I've known; At least from a distance. Much prettier too; From a distance.
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Warnings
We must be warned that coffee's hot, that smoking hurts the lung. Knives are sharp and spoons are not, and sunscreen blocks the sun. We must not eat the non-food pack, that freshens packaged foods. Know calories might make us fat, and sleep might make us drool. Labels warn that water's wet, and bullets might go bang. Signs to warn of dangers met, adorn each mundane thing. We used to use our eyes and think, to see, assess, then act. Replaced with warnings bold in ink, a talisman of words and fact.
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Heavy
A million years of sand and rain made me who I am Built up, compressed, washed clean and worn down. Rusty red, sandy blond, and streaked with black. I defy the elements openly as an acrobat would For Newton pulls heavy on my ancient spine. Yet I arch high overhead triumphant and grand Shade from a withering sun for strangers below.
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Speculation
If only people understood how un-cool secret stuff really is… Scott Adams came close in this strip:
The super secret squirrels convened Their meeting in the vault Each day at noon they gathered there Discussing who knows what The watchers all looked in from out As blind and dumb and deaf As though they had no mouth or ears To use for baited breath Whispers swirled from left to right Then back around again Tales of conquests in the works Cabals of greed and sin Murmurings of secret tech Sensors, planes, and tools Laser guns and mind control Oh man... it sounded cool While all along the secret squirrels Sat bored and languid then And hour by hour discussed at length The font for slide one-ten