Posts Tagged ‘poem’

Shifting Sands Sublime

November 3, 2018

Beneath the appearance of things

behind the wonder that contemplation brings

there lies a universe of joy and pain

entrained upon whatever relics still remain

of a world colored by some eternal stain;

and wherever that stain remains

things are not and will never be the same

provoking some to surmise it’s just a game

that they can play and then refrain

from any effort to name

or explain.

And yet,

so many live for what they can get;

they allow no time to pause and let

life just happen along the way

so they can soon look back and say

what a joy it is to pause and stay

in the lingering light of a well-lived day

while the world just turns on come what may.

Oh, history breaks on sands far away

while here we enter into the fray;

we laugh or cry along the way

tomorrow and today,

I say, I say:

If I could comprehend this troubled world

so creative, yet destructively unfurled

I’d grasp the mystery, so sublime

that slaps between the sands of time

on this ever-shifting, long shoreline—

this consciousness of mine,

maybe it’s in or out of line

and maybe with a little sip of wine,

yes, I’d dream up some silly little rhyme,

and whether it be sublime and fine

or not worth a dime,

it nevertheless is mine,

and yet it can be thine

if you take the time.

 

King of Soul

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How BabyRow Be Made

September 26, 2018

Up there in the maternity ward is where the babies come out. After they’re born, the Ob staff lays them in little cradles all in a row, where fathers, friends and relatives of mama can gawk at the newborn and ooh and ah.

There they are all in a row, behind the glass, experiencing life in this world for the first time, not that they’ll remember this moment or anything. But there they are all in a row.

In another ward nearby, expectant mothers wait to have ultrasound pics taken of their developing unborn babies. There they all are in a row—the expectant mamas, waiting to get baby’s first pic.

Back In the ultrasound room, the tech person dawbs some gooey stuff on an expectant mama’s bulging belly; then she presses the ultrasound device  to bare skin and moves it around.

Suddenly BabyRow appears on the screen.

BabyRow

Lo and behold, it appears that BabyRow is already making some progress in physical and cognitive development.

Squinting, the tech wonders: what is that child doing? BabyRow appears to be counting his fingers!

Ultrasound Tech Barbie exclaims unexpectedly, “What in the world are you doing in there, BabyRow?”

Meanwhile, up in the stratosphere, something unusual is happening. From 93 million miles away, a Sonspot has just arrived at planet Earth. The wave of rogue  energy penetrates stratospheric earth.  Suddenly, without explanation, a phase change/spectrum reversal interchange  warps our planet’s delicately balanced spectrum of electromagnetic razzmatazz . . .

And sound morphs into light

while light moves into sound,

exposing presence of a planetary fight.

Perpetually in world it goes round by round.

While BabyRow counts on fingers

suddenly his musing ultrasound  lingers;

As Ultra forms image now of BabyRow

inexplicably his musing’s heard, roe by row.

Tech Barbie and Mama hear him, half-amazed

as BabyRow’s recitation changes phase:

“Eeenie meenie mynie moe,

  catch a fetus by the toe.

  Believe Brett and maybe I’ll come out alive.

  But believing Blasey I’ll surely take a dive.

  Don’t believe everything you hear on internet.

  I’d surely appreciate a chance at life to get.

  If judges abort the roe v wade,

  maybe then will BabyRow be made.”

  

Glass Chimera

A day in the Life

August 11, 2018

There we were, all in one place,

a generation lost in space.

Now here we are a half-century after

a life with all our pain and and laughter—

almost exactly fifty years to the day

since Sargent Pipper taught the band to play,

and though they been goin’ in and outa style

we are  gathered here to crack a smile.

So may I introduce to you?

–the one and only googled shears,

by which the great gargantuan engine hath snipped

every profound idle idol idyll mobile-friendly byte ever quipped:

HusPrague

I heard the news today, oh boy:

four trillion holes in tiny shiny mobile screens;

and though the holes were rather small

they had to rank them all.

Now they know how many holes it takes to fill

the mobile-friendly Mall

I’d love to turn your phone on . . . .

   King of Soul

Them two old trees

July 17, 2018

‘’Then Jacob was left alone, and . . . wrestled with him until daybreak.’’

From the smallest  of the small

through quarks at the bottom of it all

to the farthest galactic star,

through galaxies spun afar,

we wander in a maze;

we wonder at its ways:

Surely all this stuff did arise from the Creator!

Or maybe it evolved through Nature?

Contemplating incredible predetermined complexity,

yet astounded by so much intricate simplicity—

We find two data sources to uncover,

as if there are two original outgrowths to discover.

Now perched on a precipice of nihilistic trauma,

we recall an ancient hand-me-down, historic drama:

Two multi-branched entities with o’erhanging claims to maintain us:

Two historic flora-fauna, purporting to sustain us.

One provokes a quandary chasing endless  knowledge;

it arises from, like, stuff we learn in college;

the other, an affirmation, provides purpose for our strife:

we simply harvest belief from an ancient tree of life..

These two trees we see

manifested in humanity.

The smart ones manage to survive

Tree

while the faithful eternally revive . . .

Pinktree

‘. . . and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.”

King of Soul 

Sand Beach

June 13, 2018

(With appreciation of Matthew Arnold’s poem, Dover Beach)

The Ocean is strong  today.

The waves roll in; the sun is bright

upon the Pacific. In this island surf the light

sparkles and tumbles; the rocky shores stand,

steadfast and vast, under a friendly sun.

Let’s do the beach; this afternoon’s energy is vigorous.

But hey! from this long splash of spray,

where sea meets the sun-kiss’d land—

Sand1

Listen! we hear the pounding roar

of sand grains which the waves draw back, and fling,

forever, upon this high strand.

Beginning and ceasing, and then beginning again,

with a forceful rhythm it perseveres, to roll

The eternal resonance of wonder in.

Dear Matthew, back in the day,

heard this on the North Sea, and it brought

into his mind the ponderous ebb and flow

of our melancholy brood; we

hear it still the same; yet with that lamenting we discern

a reverberating of relentless purpose

in this pounding Pacific shore.

Oh sea of faith!

Persistent and unrelenting, all ‘round our earth’s shore—

you flap forever like folds of a bright banner unfurled.

Although I also feel

that ancient melancholy, the long, withdrawing roar,

retreating, in the breath

of the evening wind, laden with our roiling refugees

and the uncared-for masses of the world.

Oh, people, let us be true

To one another! For the world, which seems

to boil before us like a pot of strife—

so disjointed, so distraught, so stubbornly the same,

really has somewhere some joy, love, and even flashes of benevolence,

some certainty— here and there a little peace— even some easing of the pain,

while we here on this fragg’ed globe

get swept with fake news and tweeting dweebs who incite us,

as ill-informed combatants clash with their devices.

Glass Chimera

To Do or Not to Do

May 19, 2018

 That is the question, and so here spurts forth the contemporary quandary, purloine’d from the great classic tragic drama,  Hambiskit, by Mr. William Shakyerbootilere:

Herein we heareth the soliloquy of yonder young prince Hambiskit, being uttered in the midst of his worst internetual crisis:

To do or not to do: Is that the question?

Whether ’tis nober in this world to suffer

the slings and arrows of superfluous wwweb buffoonery,

or to sling comments against a viral flood of manipulators

and by opposing outsmart them.

To o’ercome, or to consume more and more?

and by consuming then regurgitate

the spewings of those faceless data-freaks

that the Web is heir to: ’tis a comment

boldly to be keyed.

Just sayin’.

To excel, or to consume?

to consume—perchance to daydream: aye, there’s the flub!

For in that slumber of couch-potato’d mess, what dreams may come?

when we have sluffed off the ancient laborious toil

that flesh was heir to!

Just sayin’.

Yeah, such pathoggery will surely add us pounds; there’s the rub:

there’s the lethergy

that makes such heavy weight of this long life.

For who, tell me who? will now bear the quips and scorns of time—

the hackers’ throng, the elites’ manipul’ry,

the publicized pangs of transgended sex, the laws’ demise,

the insolence of leftists and the the lumps of alt-right grumps.

 Our attention to such useless compost daily piles up

while we ourselves with regularity do our deposits drop

from every bare bottom?

Pshaw!

Who, I ask you, who would such far-fetched feces bear?

—to groan and complain in this our cushy couchist pod

until the dread of whatever the hell’s after death—

that unsolicited’d app from whose click no traveller returns—

it wipes our will

and makes us  bear those charmin’ ills we have,

rather than fly to other charms we know not of.

Thus, consciousness makes cowards of us all, y’all,

and so the human hue of resolution

is slicked o’er with the clown’ed cast of infotainment.

Hambiskit

Then enterprises of great pith and content,

by mere wasting of time, our  essential issues get sucked away,

and so we so thoughtlessly delete

the path of action.

To do or not to do, I tell ya, Ophelia Bodelia,

That is the question!

Just sayin’.

King of Soul

Give me America

April 22, 2018

Give me America anyday because

I hear America bringing

politics gone mad

into process.

Just give it to me:

America.

Give me America anyday because

I see America clinging

to an old notion

of liberty.

BlkPanthr

Give me America anyday because

I still feel America flinging

the deadends of malice

into arcs of goodwill.

Give me America anyday because

I know America’s still singing

an old song, just with

a new beat.

BlkViolin

You can’t beat

America.

ElecCar

Give me America anyday because

I can sight America winging

its way o’er terrains of pain

and strife.

It’s just life, y’all

to have to put up with

this stuff.

This stuff that’s goin’ down now:

them with their their guns and butter

vs. them with their lgbt muttering—

just give me America, you guys!

ChicFila

Give me America anyday because

I feel America clinging

to hope and justice

and even God

is still with us,

y’all.

Heroic

King of Soul

The Ancient Rime of Pandorro and Zuckaberq

April 12, 2018

Twas many and many millennia ago in a mythos by the sea

that Pandorro opened a magic jar and set the demons free.

For centuries upon centuries the humans attempted to correct

the myriad of maladies that Pandorro’s foolishness did eject.

Every now and then and by ’n by we’d find a way to block ‘em,

but always the little demons would scamper out to unlock ‘em.

By the time the twentieth century rolled onto the world’s time zone

them varmints found copious means to make themselves at home.

Along comes Marco Zuckaburq, some time in the early twenty-first,

flinging myriad platforms for vain fancy faces to they go forth and burst.

With all them billions of faces splattering themselves in cyberspace,

suddenly we had every kind of trolling vulture online in human race.

It all came down on Marco when he got grilled by political critics;

they badgered him  about unleashing all them demon analytics.

Zuckerb

It seems every demon came trolling from Pandora’s ancient blunder;

Faceless faces and drooling trolls came ripping cyberworld asunder.

But let us face the facts of freedom, y’all, far-flung in facebook data.

Every deviant spirit’s now unbound to show its Face sooner or lata.

Glass Chimera

The Second Dumming

April 2, 2018

(with apology to W.B. Yeats)

Spinning, spinning on internet spires

the demagogues have lost sight of our foundation;

Polls spread apart; the moderates cannot hold;

Seared extremities are loosed upon the land,

The opiate tide is loosed, and everywhere

our old consensus urge gets lost in the noise

The worst gain all attention, while the best

Are mired in mediocrity.

Um, um, some revolution is at hand,

like, like . . . absurdity rules the land.

It’s ridiculous! Immediately as the tweets is tweeted

with some viral bizarrity from lala land,

it occludes our sight: somewhere in the pixels of the dream

a shape with venus body and head of man,

gazing blank and shiftless as The Cloud demands,

is moving its slow members, while all around

retweet droppings splatter from our  looney clowns.

The narco takes the cake; so now we reep

as two centuries of freedom deep

spin downward now to chaos bleep by bleep.

So what rough beast, its hour come at last,

slouches toward America to delete our past?

King of Soul

Derelictic Dialectics

March 26, 2018

While surfing the web today in the usual way

I stumbled upon a dispute in some political fray;

seems it was a matter of some current politics,

rendered hot and bothered by fringish  dialectics.

The dispute’s gravity has been magnified beyond repair

due to polarizing factions that foment both fair and unfair.

Populists spurt rants irresponsibly in fact-check neglect;

indignant apparatchiks would impose politically correct.

Who’s to say what’s a fact and what is not

in the midst of this politico-cultural polyglot?

Fact-checking technocrats want censoring rules

assuming the populist rabble to be unschooled fools.

If I had to choose between political correctness

and uninformed opinion  that’s incorrect  and reckless,

I’d opt for the unrestrained, the free and eclectic

instead of the censured, the tamed and restrained derelictic.

Some say democracy will end in chaos and confusion

with too many fringies spurting fake news and delusion,

but really, the slide toward our enslavement will commence

with self-appointed fake-checkers who in fact are quite dense.

Because freedom to think, to speak and to act, is the stuff of liberty,

more essential than cubicles of fact-checking drones who decree

that this or that fact is not fact but in fact it is fake

and thereby impose conformity that the people can’t take.

Derelictic

While surfing the web today in the usual way,

oh, let me stumble into some free folk at play,

where the ass and the elephant freely roam

to make fools of themselves ’til the cows come home.

King of Soul