I Wandered Into Poetry

I wandered into poetry
Since little else made sense;
For all the clots and retinues
Grew steadily more dense –

But here, in this reality,
I’ve found it to be true
That where our finest speech does naught,
The slightest touch
Might do
 


 

(“I Wandered Into Poetry” – 7-17-2015)

A Litany of Slightest Madness

I have no idea what I just wrote…

I’ve always seen what isn’t there,
And so, I’m under doctor’s care;
For through my window eyes I see
Far, far beyond reality

I see the workings of your heart,
How love leaks out in midnight drips;
And how you’d hide it, if you could –
But will and tongue have frequent slips

I’ve felt you kiss me in the night,
In circles all around my face;
But yet, we have not spoken yet,
I guess you need your breathing space

But yet I see the world set free,
And through stone portals, one lone tree,
A sky of blue, a field of green,
And no more bullies. No one mean.

The doctor says I’m very bright,
Her thoughts will be with me tonight;
I view them when she’s not around
You won’t believe what all I’ve found

Her fantasies are very great,
And sometimes, inappropriate;
She also sees what isn’t there,
So maybe my gift’s not so rare —

But you, blog reader, don’t you know
We all have been afflicted so?
We’re mental patients, all of us,
Who blog for therapy. Discuss.

But still, I see inside your head,
Where you would rather be, instead
Of glimpsing what now you full see:
My steadfast, bald insanity

But maybe that’s not there, as well.
With crazy folks, it’s hard to tell:
Tonight, what isn’t there I’ll see,
And aren’t you just a bit
Like me?


 

(“A Litany of Slightest Madness” – 8-7-2015)

Conversations – 1

“People are just people,” he said to me, “which means every bad thing you can imagine, plus some bad things I’m sure that you and I cannot imagine.”

“Doesn’t being human mean good things, too?”

“People are born, ” he said slowly. “Humans have to be raised.”

“If they are not?” I asked, looking into his tired old face, now half in shadow.

“You get inhumans,” he said.

 

Hallways : Modern Office Atrium

So what now, can they make of this place?
All is still to do;
Location’s good, they have the space,
No effort they’ll eschew

The dreams of those who try their hand,
Another, average day;
An empty room turned into something,
That’s
The human
Way

Equuleus

(Pronounced ᵻˈkwuːliəs)


Equuleus, that tiny horse of light,
Within an eye scan of Aquarius,
Is visible tonight from in this room
Amid its larger siblings in the sky.

I stand in wondrous silence at the sight,
And look for something poor, a kindred thing
To reconcile with how is that I,
So slight, have come to know how small I am.

The infinitely frigid stretch of space,
And time itself, which we don’t understand,
All congregating here, and through these panes
All our technology seems so much noise.

We pride ourselves, and preen ourselves to shine,
The dimmest flash in all these many lights —
We dine on hubris, feast on vanity,
And strut through mud and slime like royalty.

My friend, the tiny horse, you know my heart:
The small among the great, who’s always there,
And goes without the notice that attends
With having brilliance to the viewing eye —

Let me be one who knows what I don’t know,
May I bring kindness to this life, this ride –
And add my color to the chandelier
Of songs and lights and imperfections lived.

Tragedy Universal

Perfecting the means, having forgotten the ends.

We’re born needing and wanting things

As we grow, we seek the power to get those things

Eventually, we seek the power
Independent of the things it can get us

And in this way,
Money is power
Sexual control is power
Violence is power
And lies are power

And the sickness comes and spreads
Not from what we do to get what we want
But from what we do
After we’ve forgotten everything
We really wanted