2, maybe 3 poems, depending on how you see the first two, which are maybe one. The last (I say ‘last’ so I don’t have to get into a 2 v. 3 controversy) just (I word I’m currently fond of) fell onto the keyboard when I was actually hoping to go in another direction altogether. Right now that other direction escapes me.
Should you enjoy these, please let me know. If you don’t, I’m ready to hear that too.
Be well!
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POEMS 8/10/07
Workday’s End
Biking home
across the narrow, pedestrian bridge path
through slow, dense, honking traffic
up and down a hill to the bike path along the river–
this cool, quiet place
right now beyond time.
**************************
Bobbie–
Pedaling home along the river
The rush and substance of my day’s work
dissolve into the warm breeze and thoughts of you.
*****************************************
Last night, waking periodically
from the irregular agonies
climbing up and down a pain column
extending from jaw to solar plexus
yet reassured
by a reputable authority
after scientifically verifiable testing
that my heart was not at all involved,
this occurred to me with a crystal clarity so rare as to be truly noteworthy:
(Hear me now!) The Difference (note the perhaps extravagant use of the capital D!) is really simple and for that matter bipolar:
that the things of this material world pass more quickly as they are used more frequently. They wear down. They wear out. They are, in two words, used up.
The things of this idea world, however gain strength with use. The more often we think them the stronger they become.
But now, in the gray, overcast quiet light of midday,
(meditation over, email checked, Bobbie out at a movie, the cats both littered and fed) I’m not so sure. The stronger an idea becomes through repetition the more– and I hesitate (but not really) to use this word–
the more real it becomes.
And the more it’s repeated into acceptability
[Trusting authorities was once a novel idea]
the more susceptible to challenge,
to attack, to diminishment,
to dumbing down, acceptance
and–yes–disappearance.
Beyond even make-believe
All the way back to non-existence.
Although, it occurs to me just now
Non-existence may only be
where things hang out
waiting to be discovered…
. . .
. . .
. . .
(25 years ago I had to smoke reefer
to think this way.)