Category Archives: ignorance
Just Before We Met (A Love Song in Terza Rima Key of C)
Ignoring your past, being born anew,
in replica of lake’s new fallen snow,
from my heart, I dreamed. Was it untrue?
Whizzing through the clouds, passing through rain drops
as crystal hail, sputtering and bouncing off my umbrella;
splattering above my shoes, on wet sidewalk.
How could I have caught you with all my faults?
I stretched out open palms to break your fall;
stinging hands, melting, absorbed into salt.
I dropped you. I almost had you in flight.
I go by the place where you had fallen;
to introduce myself, for that lost night.
To say that we both come from the same place,
from the same space, just before we met.
Written with clenched hands in spring clouds.
Seeking what I had lost;
miss-understanding the meaning of love
—as just a common heart, that is always lost.
Edit8: This is ,a revision dob 2013 piece …in an attempt to write in “terza rima”, w/ a twist on-line 14 and an epilogue, oops! 😊
Releasing Illusions From The Shore
Creation’s sand sifted from our hands—
clutched for a moment by gravity
as it flowed, streaming silently,
to settle —in small scattered piles within us.
Thought and mood changes from grain to grain.
Perils and adventures rise and fall—
again and again from one position to the next.
All things change us—
All pleading for illusions un-hooded truth—
Only a mindful soul in peaceful acceptance
Prepares the meeting room table
for each sunset, for each full moon, for each new sunrise—
Guests are encouraged to speak
with innocence and understanding
as they… the children are;
where they become the sand—
Released from the creation of their hands.
*****
(In silence, I mourn Creation’s loss, from above…
there is not a child born, that does not —seek our love).
~~~~~
From sand to diminishing pottery, my soul pours out the last of life.
It’s existence to non-existence, in remembrance
—of holding its last grain of sand.
PoPo Teaches Grandpa A Lesson [rev2]
How stupid am I?
Well it starts out like this—
My Grandson, leaving a summer math class
carrying a piece of folded paper
—Followed by his gracious and grinning teacher
I asked, “What is that?”
Pointing to his hand holding the paper,
Hoping it wasn’t a note from the “warden”
Being shot by one of his righteous and never wrong Heroes.
He handed it to me—
It was a bunch of math problems
He needed to solve before tomorrow’s class.
Looking at it with a quick glance,
Spotting the first problem to be solved—
I asked, “What’s 9 times 3?”
Looking at the sky,
As we were going towards the car
Quietly said, “27”
Hmmmm!
Then he turned towards me and asked,
“What’s 9 times 0?”
I said “9”! Quite proudly—
Both he and his teacher burst out laughing
As she patted my grandson
On the back, saying, “see you tomorrow.”
Opening our car doors, he said,
“Grandpa, you know what ever number times zero
Will always be zero.”
Driving off
I looked in the rear view mirror
And saw him wearing my baseball cap
Usually left in the back—
He was wearing it backwards
And giving me this shit eatin’ grin.
It was a long ride back
Thinking how smart I really am.
Notes Found On The Refrigerator June 2017
21st. century compass has no true North.
It circles quickly left— counter clockwise
then, clockwise right— endlessly spinning
in no direction
—until you step on it.
Then…
with crystal glass chips or plastic pieces
in the soles of your steps— they become new footprints.
Without arrows, digital flags, religion, or discrimination;
moving your steps equally forward in moral direction
for all the children
—We have wished for
Or given birth to—
Wishing peace in each movement
—life in progressive harmony.
—Forgiving each other in step
—without history’s cruel march
of forgotten sins.
*****
How dare you say I ran away!
I escaped!
— Gun fire, violence in the street,
Whispers about how I look or speak.
I am huddled in an alley finding nothing new.
We agreed for something else— beyond boundaries
—Kicking ass and often hitting the ground
covering our face, committed to our personal space.
I went over the wall
and fucked the barbwire
— escaping with the truth.
*****
Ladies I would invite you up for champagne and lobster
but, since I can’t get it up anymore—
would you like cheese and crackers?
Oh, you old ladies of lords!
Let me open the door
and light a candle
that excludes us from history books
banishing us from false assumption
enjoying each others company
—eating crackers and cheese.
*****
When I said— what I said
and then— did something different
It was not false.
I just moved on—
not convinced of that particular truth.
*****
Sooooooooo…
Scolding me at 70 years old,
having burst in my youth with fire,
is about as productive as a wet match.
*****
Although, I believe in the right of your opinion
and should be shared—
I also believe you will treat our intelligence
and our ignorance, with the stipulation—
of mutual respect.
*****
Why do you insist on haunting
me with my past?
I have been forgivin’
…and have made retribution
from history into history
as I have clicked my mistakes
Into humanities recycle bin.
****
The sun has set
into memories—
as so have you—
In the morning glow
of love— my tears of dew
—misting rainbows from my heart
falling to the ground
eventually dries
in full sunrise
in my opening eyes.
Yes, I miss you.
Though I will rise to dance in the morrow’
with the day’s first quest
half-smiling— after— sleeping alone.
*****
All I can do, is adjust the jib until you hoist the sail”
—I said
As she was running calm waters with only the kicker on
—leaving the bay
Not needing any wind, just a cool facial breeze
—ignoring everything I say.
Still—
in silence, the wind picked up.
We stood nodding to each other, fore and aft, tightening the main sail.
—we sat together hand splashing water
leaning— into a beautiful day
*****
Life is not a bowl of cherries
it’s a nutty fruit bowl of reality
—in full color
transcribed from black & white
over dark ripened rectitude
—spoiled by miss-steps, success,
and the feeling
you’re the only cherry in the bowl—
with sprinkled sugar and heavy cream.
Perhaps, as sour or perky as we are
we still spit the pit onto the floor
of destiny—
bowing on or mats, kneeling in our pews,
and howling at the empty bowl
—of the rising moon.
Notes Found On The Refrigerator February 2017
The Internal Seed
I never did pretend very well.
Truth was perception—
Dismissing objective proof,
For the answer to the basic question
“How does popcorn pop”?
Mistakes, miss-judgments, funneled into the mind
Of tornadoes swirling heart-popping roofs off conjecture.
How long can one pretend to believe you can be received?
Gently through the bluster of ignorance?
And, yes, I am not the person I am.
I am the one inside of you
That never does pretend, very well.
“Wake up!” Said, the knife and fork to the spoon.
*****
I have lost many memories that I often find in my heart.
*****
Go home and simply be honest
To your lover and rekindle
The one action you forgot.
The Daily Commuter
A bird flew down in early sunlight
Along the side of the road
Ignoring the cars, trucks, and motorcycles.
Pecking and hopping side stepping the trash
After some inspection of an empty bag.
He has the sky, opened and holding all dreams
Of freedom; to fly without a trail left behind,
Or a destination in mind. What is he thinking,
Walking this highway during morning rush hour,
Completely oblivious before lunch time?
Authors Note:
Are we mindlessly going about our daily activity and ignoring its purpose? Life, love, beauty, and… the confident directions of the path we chose to travel?
Have we forgotten the aimless untraceable flight of each of our own way that separates us from the common highway? Landing by the side of the road forgetting how to fly, only to find an empty bag?