Babel
You alphabetize the U
and misplace the Y for C.
It takes the R in re-direction
T for two is no perfection.
The B cannot
Nor will the A
(No longer can we P)
You can Double every U
And none of us will ever
C the Y as B-ing true.
Orion
A soft voice
Illuminated the sky
Look, you should
See Orion. So
I looked.
It's beautiful I said.
We began to talk
Hushed, calm, lullaby.
Our woolen scarf
Holding us in wonder
You're beautiful we said.
Discovering our Orion
Another way
Inside the looking
Far away
A gentle voice
Buttered up sweet night in reply.
'Observable Universe'
The screaming man at the
Meeting said the universe we see
Was "Just a mistake."
That it was hydrogen
he said, this proved it wrong, then he
chuckled inwardly.
When you see it this way
Time and space he said
Cannot be taken for granted.
Just existence. The oneness
The wholeness, the totality
That's granted. Energy is.
But then he screamed, "You jerk"
Tried to demonstrate the profanity
of the model of the universe he projected it out on me
The 60's came to my mind
When he was screaming jerk on
on Carson and talking then about the circle
Winding up the wheel eternally
Sliding into the womb.
He was such a biter though and smoking his weeds.
Measuring the universe at edges recycling
You should be attacking me
For this he said, question it.
But little gray lambs looked up
Flock in this
Age of reason where time and space defined.
Power roars
I am
Anger spews
It's time.
Gamer
Move your piece
My mind moves mine
My stance is laden
Your ready defeat is time.
Unkind
If you take the
last cupcake.
That actually is divine
(I'll offer of course)
It's completely fine.
Later I'll find a way
To make myself
Another one from clay.
Profaner
Inside the beauty
of a flower
Your heart
Is wrapped by
Knowledge
We want to know
Tomorrow.
Bore
In taking the floor
It became yours
(So I sat down)
Watching you take yourself in arms
On ballroom floor
For the waltz of one.
Withholding
Has its merits.
In the ration
Saving for the "future"
Heightening desire
Control of the day
Share your secrets inside self.
Then to
Channel this into resenting.
The "others"
Those not in on "the plan"
See them fail
To find
The rationality of
Your mind.
A pretty thing I learned
One day while saving this
Time slipped away
I'd rationed freedom
It left my day
Like love it was no game to play.
Dreams
Flash of insight in a night
It held for you a power in flight
You walked in a hall
Glided in a glen
Went to the source and back again.
It could be visions from the hunt
Allude to fears and inner worth
Allow you a stuff to paste
Down things that often
Seem to drown you
Hound you.
Movement in our daily strife
When asleep you strive to come to life.
Da Dub
If 2 hearts can
Beat as one
What's that thumping
Why carry the gun
Mine is thumping in its fears
An early beat
Your running feet
No way
to live with rhythmic
dis-rhythmic
Combined count
I'm out.
Dice
Get rolled
to number six
What thing in life has this ever fixed?
Even if you number seven
Would the win be a lush slice of heaven?
What if you got a double?
Brother you're still
In some real trouble.
Toss them high
In worldly brilliant iridescent sky.
But it looks like your life work
Crap shoot a lie?
Then rolling assuredly we die.
Thief
Ah the back story is
My tummy hurts
Washing every single piece of life
A raccoon with her dinner
Bandit to this
Picnic living.
Scared
This thing you are doing
Is frightening. Scary
It makes you so ugly
Defines you as mean
Mocking in such extreme
Without your path
Of goodness, at my expense, this laugh.
Blowing others to bits
To get them from behind
A guerrilla tactic
You practicing saboteur
Built a wall of distrust
You were offered
A kiss and you
Morphed it into this.
Pandora Held It
Given a key
To unlock the mind
You opened a heart
Hope fled mankind.
Not me, it's you.
Showing posts with label universe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label universe. Show all posts
Friday, January 11, 2008
Friday, October 26, 2007
A Random Act of Poems
A Random Act of Poverty
There is a little one named Ismael
Lost in poverty in America USA
Randomly assigned to the desert with dirty shoes and no laces
He smells pretty raw on the best day
And he isn't very visible on the busy national agenda
Because he's not a warhead
Or a way to secure our "national interests."
He's just a little hungry boy that likes a popsickle
And has dirty grimy sweat pants he wears everyday
In an underperforming public school where
He reads fairly poorly too.
Cause he doesn't understand Zig Bug or A Pig in A Wig.
One Ismael gave seed to the nation we presently can only find a way to fight.
This little Ismael if given voice could well germinate into solutions.
Or, perhaps, be re-armed with our hatred.
A Random Act of Dreaming
Since my last vivid and memorable dream was of a sports arena and fire in a California city, of a glass elevator and tons of children's entertainment, as hell blazed in, and now San Diego has burned and everyone is in Qualcom stadium and the TV is full of the clowns and jugglers for the kids there and I recognized the terrarium, my husband has tentatively restored my title of scary prophet dreamer woman publicly declaring it.
He rather liked to believe it was a "gone" talent, but of course the nightmares I had, which he awoke to and experienced in his mind (as we both told each other of the vicious black dog attack or the retreat in the woods) this convinced him early on I had another kind foresight. His words.
It's not like a made for tv drama, it's more just a running observance of time when
I seem to snatch a piece of it out of thin air or possibly visualize a piece of it
with another set of "eyes". But all the same it's unnerving I suppose, I haven't questioned it, I'll let someone with training do that.
(Or get on Penn and Teller and they can say f*** a lot and debunk me.)
This time I saw you.
A Random Act of Coughing
If you spend five months coughing
The jars seem rather like something to endure
You don't think about your love notes
Or your decorating lines
Your long plans for tomorrows
Because your choking in the here minute
Gasping to find some hopes to put together.
A Random Act of Sheparding
Gather me in
Herd me
Show me
Just take my wool.
A Random Act of Stargazing
Oh yeah we sat on that hill
Overlooking my starry town lights
In the warm humid air and watched the lights twinkle
Up above and down below and hugged
Just a little and talked about
Your dreams and your places
Your childhood fun and your tricks
All the memories of your growing, the kids
While I hid my truths and hoped
I wouldn't find myself in a lie about it to save the moment
And not go into my stories, hopelessness
Because I always had the stars and that night
Up on my own Tank Hill
We held my stars in your hands
And I shared the promise of the night sky.
A Random Act of Astrology
In my chart the father sits like an eternal damnation
While the mother moon symbol is in the T Square, like the finger on the draw
When the planets pull the trigger, by way of their transits
The point it explodes to hit is naturally called "My Point of Fortune"
Think of it this way, all my planets, those of love, action, desire, work, family
Sit in a spot that is at the boot of Dad's heel
Triggered to kick up into my heart by a maternal tinder
And endlessly designed to rekindle. Stars burn me.
I know people don't believe in it. A magic.
I can't afford to "believe" in my chart, I'm aligned
Like a bullet in that chamber.
Pieces rising.
A Random Act of Love
I watched someone awhile
They were repeatedly giving themselves a little chit mark
To say "good work" for a piece of writing
A Random Act of Insignificance
That they shared to a universe of vibrating particles.
So I watched them
And started giving them a little chit mark
To say "good work" for a piece of
Randomly Significant Saying
(because, of course, my watching changed it all)
And so shared a bit of this universe with the vibrating particles.
And then they watched me, watching them
And started giving a different kind of little chit mark
To say " good work" for a piece
Of Significantly Random Insignificant saying
(because of course their watching the watcher changed it all)
And the particles in the vibrating universe were shared a bit.
A Random Act of Hosiery
You can turn the old ones into the faces of dolls
(But get the batting at the craft store to stuff inside)
Then stitch in a circle and draw the thread up tight
And you get a knotted witchy nose.
Beads can be eyes and the mouth a drawn thread line in red.
With hair sewn on in twisty curly yarn.
A much better time than the itchy
Nylon creeping away from your crotch.
A Random Act of Fun Film
We got this dippy fun film at the crafty boutique as kids
Twisting wires into flower power petals with loopy loops
And dipping them in the stuff that smelled
Through the floor boards from the garage, overwhelming you briefly.
And it emerged a plastic filled magenta or fuchsia, chartreuse flora.
I dipped enough of them to arrange into centerpieces
For our table and stuck the wire stems into that green floral moss.
It was groovy and you knew it.
Flower Power.
A Random Act of Coin Collecting
If we check our pennies
And never, ever forget to look
It will never compare to the day a student
Handed me a handful of coins
To pay for school pictures
In a fieldtown in the Salinas Valley
And they were all silver.
Sitting in a picture order envelope marked Set A
I noticed it because they tore through.
So I looked at them and paid for the pictures
With my last ten dollars.
And held onto the beauties until conferences
Which were around the corner
And returned them to a teary grandpa
Who had collected them in the 30's when
His first trips to America
Had put them in his hands
For weeks of work harvesting the sugar beets.
These are yours, I think
I said holding out a fortune in metal
(Like I've seen in a box in my Dad's house)
And, at first, this guardian of two kids
Having lost a daughter to breast cancer just looked.
And then held out a worn hand and took them up.
Getting up he kissed my cheek
And called me his little chica.
There is a little one named Ismael
Lost in poverty in America USA
Randomly assigned to the desert with dirty shoes and no laces
He smells pretty raw on the best day
And he isn't very visible on the busy national agenda
Because he's not a warhead
Or a way to secure our "national interests."
He's just a little hungry boy that likes a popsickle
And has dirty grimy sweat pants he wears everyday
In an underperforming public school where
He reads fairly poorly too.
Cause he doesn't understand Zig Bug or A Pig in A Wig.
One Ismael gave seed to the nation we presently can only find a way to fight.
This little Ismael if given voice could well germinate into solutions.
Or, perhaps, be re-armed with our hatred.
A Random Act of Dreaming
Since my last vivid and memorable dream was of a sports arena and fire in a California city, of a glass elevator and tons of children's entertainment, as hell blazed in, and now San Diego has burned and everyone is in Qualcom stadium and the TV is full of the clowns and jugglers for the kids there and I recognized the terrarium, my husband has tentatively restored my title of scary prophet dreamer woman publicly declaring it.
He rather liked to believe it was a "gone" talent, but of course the nightmares I had, which he awoke to and experienced in his mind (as we both told each other of the vicious black dog attack or the retreat in the woods) this convinced him early on I had another kind foresight. His words.
It's not like a made for tv drama, it's more just a running observance of time when
I seem to snatch a piece of it out of thin air or possibly visualize a piece of it
with another set of "eyes". But all the same it's unnerving I suppose, I haven't questioned it, I'll let someone with training do that.
(Or get on Penn and Teller and they can say f*** a lot and debunk me.)
This time I saw you.
A Random Act of Coughing
If you spend five months coughing
The jars seem rather like something to endure
You don't think about your love notes
Or your decorating lines
Your long plans for tomorrows
Because your choking in the here minute
Gasping to find some hopes to put together.
A Random Act of Sheparding
Gather me in
Herd me
Show me
Just take my wool.
A Random Act of Stargazing
Oh yeah we sat on that hill
Overlooking my starry town lights
In the warm humid air and watched the lights twinkle
Up above and down below and hugged
Just a little and talked about
Your dreams and your places
Your childhood fun and your tricks
All the memories of your growing, the kids
While I hid my truths and hoped
I wouldn't find myself in a lie about it to save the moment
And not go into my stories, hopelessness
Because I always had the stars and that night
Up on my own Tank Hill
We held my stars in your hands
And I shared the promise of the night sky.
A Random Act of Astrology
In my chart the father sits like an eternal damnation
While the mother moon symbol is in the T Square, like the finger on the draw
When the planets pull the trigger, by way of their transits
The point it explodes to hit is naturally called "My Point of Fortune"
Think of it this way, all my planets, those of love, action, desire, work, family
Sit in a spot that is at the boot of Dad's heel
Triggered to kick up into my heart by a maternal tinder
And endlessly designed to rekindle. Stars burn me.
I know people don't believe in it. A magic.
I can't afford to "believe" in my chart, I'm aligned
Like a bullet in that chamber.
Pieces rising.
A Random Act of Love
I watched someone awhile
They were repeatedly giving themselves a little chit mark
To say "good work" for a piece of writing
A Random Act of Insignificance
That they shared to a universe of vibrating particles.
So I watched them
And started giving them a little chit mark
To say "good work" for a piece of
Randomly Significant Saying
(because, of course, my watching changed it all)
And so shared a bit of this universe with the vibrating particles.
And then they watched me, watching them
And started giving a different kind of little chit mark
To say " good work" for a piece
Of Significantly Random Insignificant saying
(because of course their watching the watcher changed it all)
And the particles in the vibrating universe were shared a bit.
A Random Act of Hosiery
You can turn the old ones into the faces of dolls
(But get the batting at the craft store to stuff inside)
Then stitch in a circle and draw the thread up tight
And you get a knotted witchy nose.
Beads can be eyes and the mouth a drawn thread line in red.
With hair sewn on in twisty curly yarn.
A much better time than the itchy
Nylon creeping away from your crotch.
A Random Act of Fun Film
We got this dippy fun film at the crafty boutique as kids
Twisting wires into flower power petals with loopy loops
And dipping them in the stuff that smelled
Through the floor boards from the garage, overwhelming you briefly.
And it emerged a plastic filled magenta or fuchsia, chartreuse flora.
I dipped enough of them to arrange into centerpieces
For our table and stuck the wire stems into that green floral moss.
It was groovy and you knew it.
Flower Power.
A Random Act of Coin Collecting
If we check our pennies
And never, ever forget to look
It will never compare to the day a student
Handed me a handful of coins
To pay for school pictures
In a fieldtown in the Salinas Valley
And they were all silver.
Sitting in a picture order envelope marked Set A
I noticed it because they tore through.
So I looked at them and paid for the pictures
With my last ten dollars.
And held onto the beauties until conferences
Which were around the corner
And returned them to a teary grandpa
Who had collected them in the 30's when
His first trips to America
Had put them in his hands
For weeks of work harvesting the sugar beets.
These are yours, I think
I said holding out a fortune in metal
(Like I've seen in a box in my Dad's house)
And, at first, this guardian of two kids
Having lost a daughter to breast cancer just looked.
And then held out a worn hand and took them up.
Getting up he kissed my cheek
And called me his little chica.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Friday, September 7, 2007
A Day In the Life of a Shetland Pony
(title from a very amused daughter in response to "give me a title for a poem")
"Lord Whetland" was considering the deeply important
Was the King of France still bald and how would one know for certainty?
(the reflection commonly considered glowing from his piebald dome a favored sign),
And where to find the absolute proof, ah his depth of "mind",
When Penelope demanded his immediate attention,
"The Shetland pony is not in the stable
Nor has anyone responded to my summons to find him."
"Good God, " he responded aghast and followed this with,
"I promise you that this will be dealt with."
This from a man with no dangling participles,
Ringing for Dabney, Cook appeared with the most egregious of expression.
"Sir, it would be most opportune if you could lift yourself up and
Outside as the Shetland and Dabney are embroiled once again
In the rhododendron hedges debating as we speak.
"This distresses me at a time the truth of the hair sprouting reached critical mass."
Gazing, he girded himself for distraction and resolved, his way now clear.
"You say," he gasped moving as ever quickly to the call,
King contemplation left neither here nor there.
Penelope was following wondering aloud if they needed Laddie D after all,
His noxious odor so off putting, and the tendency to droop.
...........................................and at that point several dozen children slipped off firmly to sleep.
(One really must recall when reading such stuff in the evening to
Prop open the adult eyelids with a couple of toothpicks if consciousness is desired.
The story today reading aloud was " Life as a Shetland Pony"
We were entertaining Chapter Seven
"A Day in The Life of a Very Brazen Shetland Pony and a Logical Scientist"
Was the King of France still bald and how would one know for certainty?
(the reflection commonly considered glowing from his piebald dome a favored sign),
And where to find the absolute proof, ah his depth of "mind",
When Penelope demanded his immediate attention,
"The Shetland pony is not in the stable
Nor has anyone responded to my summons to find him."
"Good God, " he responded aghast and followed this with,
"I promise you that this will be dealt with."
This from a man with no dangling participles,
Ringing for Dabney, Cook appeared with the most egregious of expression.
"Sir, it would be most opportune if you could lift yourself up and
Outside as the Shetland and Dabney are embroiled once again
In the rhododendron hedges debating as we speak.
"This distresses me at a time the truth of the hair sprouting reached critical mass."
Gazing, he girded himself for distraction and resolved, his way now clear.
"You say," he gasped moving as ever quickly to the call,
King contemplation left neither here nor there.
Penelope was following wondering aloud if they needed Laddie D after all,
His noxious odor so off putting, and the tendency to droop.
...........................................and at that point several dozen children slipped off firmly to sleep.
(One really must recall when reading such stuff in the evening to
Prop open the adult eyelids with a couple of toothpicks if consciousness is desired.
The story today reading aloud was " Life as a Shetland Pony"
We were entertaining Chapter Seven
"A Day in The Life of a Very Brazen Shetland Pony and a Logical Scientist"
Commonly called
"I wonder if maybe Bertrand Russell really
Could find the answer to the missing King's hairpiece
Before or after he has to marry the newest governess
(Or the secretary) and get his hearty Shetland pony penned
Himself tied in yet another tangled matrimonial knot?"
But of course it was only an allusion.To mental traps
Not metaphor this piece.Just gunk in the mind.
The conclusion to the proof what really mattered,
And hearing France moved into social democracy
He was said to have stated, "God is now officially dead,
And the hairpiece a device to obscure the truth of it."
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